Because I Need to Be Here Again

**I haven't posted in so long because I've allowed myself to be intimated. I hate that feeling of powerlessness, and so I will come back and post again, if only to scratch the surface of my blog once more and find the groove of the habit I turned from when I was confronted about the things I write about. 

Yesterday I went back to Old Rag Mountain to hike. I love hiking. I love being in the woods and the mountains, and the sounds and smells and hard work feeds my soul. Old Rag is a really challenging hike. My friend Susan and I finished at 13.5 miles round trip. Not a single mile is flat. It's a half marathon up and down a mountain. About two miles of the hike is hand over hand rock climbing and rock scramble. It's tough, strenuous, and the summit gives you some of the best views in the entire state of VA. My sweet friend Susan was a rock star. She's a gorgeous southern belle with the tenacity of a mountain lion. She has MS and lupus, but almost never shares that with anyone. She never wants anyone to count her out, or give her pity. She's beautiful and strong and wise. I adore her to the moon and back. She's ten years older than me and has been through hell and back, but you'd never know it. Her beauty isn't only on the outside but pours out of her heart. I was thrilled she agreed to go with me. She rocked the trek. We talked several times about how the hike was a parallel to life. We spend miles and hours going up the mountain with tree cover over head and treacherous rocks at our feet. We have our heads down not because we want to miss the incredible beauty around us but because it is necessary to keep ourselves safe.

The rocks and twists and turns on this hike can injure very quickly and with no cell phone signal and miles from ranger help, it's imperative to be careful on the trails. But after you're almost ready to lie down and sleep from the sheer effort given, the trees part and you make it to the summit. You are literally in the clouds looking over the valley. The sun warms the rock face, and hawks circle the peak. It's incredible. It's so like life- we work so hard not knowing if the end will be worth it and yet somehow it always is.

We had several run ins with black bears. That was one of the most surreal moments of my life. We had been warned by a friend of hers to carry mace or bear spray but I shrugged it off. I had never seen any bears on that hike before, and naively thought the presence of humans would deter close encounters. I was so very wrong. We saw a mama bear and her cub, and later another cub on the trail ahead of us- knowing mama must not be far off. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The trails on this mountain don't allow for running, and the reality of no cell signal means any injury or attack leaves assistance several hours away. It was a bizarre cross between wanting to stand and watch the incredible creatures and the heavy awareness that both of us are single mothers of four children and having our faces ripped off by an angry mama bear would be a disaster for our families. I felt alive and terrified all at the same time.
The incredible thing about a hike of that magnitude is that all of life's problems and frustrations melt into the vastness of the mountain. I suddenly feel insignificant and fragile, and closer to God who designed each animal, rock, and plant. The older I get, the more I discover who I truly am, and dirt and nature invigorate me to no end. I'm thankful I have a new hiking buddy. I've waited years for someone who wants to be outside like I do and climbing those boulders with her was a slice of heaven on earth.
I can't wait for our next adventure- this time with bear spray on hand.

Vote for Heather!

I entered a writing contest at Faith Radio.
It's a story of grace, and I hope you'll read it.

I need your help. The judges only read the top ten fiction and top ten non-fiction essays and the way you get into the top ten is through votes.  I've been hovering at the #11-12 spot for the last couple of days and could use every vote you can give me. You do have to make a quick account (no spam or anything) but people have said that it sends them back to the login page after creating the account. If that happens to you, don't give up just click on the top at the Faith Radio logo and search writing contest.  I hate begging.. but would love the chance to get into the top ten. The winners get an appt with an acquisitions editor from Bethany House publishing.

Please feel free to share with your friends, spouses, family. Every vote counts!  Thanks for loving me!

http://myfaithradio.com/2015/when-your-bridge-is-out/

I'm Not Sorry

This morning was "Mornings with Mom" at my kids' elementary school.
I love that they offer that. Today was juice and donuts served by some volunteering dads.  We can bring board games and sit and take some special time with our kids. They have one for dads too and I think it's a neat way to celebrate one another.
It was so fun to be there this morning and see so many moms I know. I feel completely settled in this community and it's home now. It's an amazing feeling to be in a place where I have roots and to know I am loved and have many families I love dearly.

As we were filing out of the cafeteria, the halls were full of moms and children, and I began to listen.  The word I kept hearing come out of the Mothers was "sorry." Over and over and over again.  As Mothers pulled children to their chest and out of the way of others, as Moms walked through a conversation, as they bumped their kids while moving through the tight hall space, as they merely moved through life.
I went to the grocery store afterwards and three different times women crossed in front of me and said 'sorry'.  Not, 'excuse me', or 'pardon me', but 'I'm sorry'.
My heart is so heavy over this.  Why are we women programmed so well to apologize simply for existing?! Why are we so quick to dismiss our very presence as though it might be offensive to others? Why have we been conditioned to quickly look down, or minimize our footprint on this earth in order to make space for others? Why can't we capture the syllables before they slip through our lips and pull the word back into ourselves to burn?

I do it too.  My dad has gotten after me for years for apologizing for everything under the sun.  As a woman who has strong empathy instincts and who has been a codependent for so many years, I have learned to feel responsible for everyone's emotional well being within a hundred square miles of myself.   If I think my personal being, or words, or actions have offended or upset someone in any way, I am very quick to offer them my apologies, and work hard to smooth the way for them while often chipping away at my own well being. I've gashed out pieces of my own soul to try desperately to make sure others were whole.  I've lost myself in an ocean of sadness, anger and resentment because I began to feel that I wasn't seen.  And yet I'm learning that I made myself small. Invisible.  I minimized the very creature God created me to be in the fear that I might make someone else uncomfortable. I became a very skilled chameleon in that I would adjust my behavior quickly in order to soothe those around me. When I wasn't able to fix it, I would apologize, and bathe in guilt and shame that I wasn't good enough to make others ok.

I'm tired of apologizing for myself. In fact, I'm beginning to believe that it's an affront to my God.  To not fully lean into who I have been designed to be is instead denying the world the very thing I was put here to do. Only I can be the best me. Only I can do what I was created to do. And by sheer statistics, there will be people I annoy, anger, frustrate and confuse.  My job isn't to fix that for them. My job is only to 'To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with my God.' 

Listen to your words.  Hear the places you take ownership by apologizing where it isn't necessary. Start to stop that word from spilling out like bitter water.  Show our daughters that that word needn't be at the top of the vocabulary list. Smile at women who apologize for themselves and tell them 'no apology necessary'. I want to stop shrinking and start being. I'm only sorry it's taken me this long. 

Timing is Everything

I love that God works in my life in really active, personal ways.
I got an encouraging email yesterday at the perfect time.  It held the words I needed to hear to soothe my heart and I am so grateful for the gift.
I wanted to share some of it with you- I asked her if that was ok, and she gave me permission.

(A handful of years ago. :) )

Heather, I don't know if you remember me, but I have vivid memories of you. You were this beautiful, graceful, almost gossamer creature. Anyways, you were so young and I was one of the older mothers in MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) just struggling with so much more than I could handle and, as it turns out, much more than I even realized.
I read your blog the other day. I read several entries before I realized that I had known you at one time. The reason I write is my story is so close to yours. After 27 years of marriage, I too found out that my life had been a lie for at least a while but more than likely most of my marriage. My divorce became final a month shy of my 29th anniversary. He never wanted to try to fix what was broken and morphed into someone I didn't know. God knows I tried to save my marriage. That awful day when my entire world crumbled was just over 4 years ago. Reading your blog was so cathartic. I don't have small children anymore; I can't imagine going through all of the mess with little eyes and hearts involved. I hope I haven't bored you or made you relive hard times. I just can't talk about it anymore because I'm supposed to have "moved on". I do have a male friend - he has made me feel loved and wanted again. But the pain still is there; I'm beginning to think it always will be there. Please continue to write. The tears I cry reading your story are comforting in a way. I hope that doesn't come off wrong. But I don't have anyone to talk to about this anymore and even though the conversation is one sided with you writing and me reading, it gives such comfort knowing I'm not alone. I'm sure so many people have told you how young you are and you'll have plenty of time to be happy - as true as that is - it doesn't touch your here and now. It does nothing to fix the shattered dreams and the broken pieces of your life and the kids' lives. Know that you have a prayer warrior on your side now because of your willingness to be transparent. Without trying to sound overly dramatic, I love you and am ever so grateful you decided to write about something so personal and painful.


I can't tell you how perfectly timed this email was. I was so grateful that she took time out of her day to encourage me. This is why I write. I love what Brene Brown says- There are no more powerful words in the English language than 'Me too'. Each of us walk through struggle and hurt while we're here. I've learned that pain doesn't discriminate and every person you meet will have a place in them that aches- but knowing your pain is understood a bit, or normalized some, or shared by another, is one of the best remedies for isolation. I share some of my story because I know that my story is not unique. It's filled with players who hurt and who've hurt each other. It's full of missed opportunities for grace, and moments of wounding. But it's far from unique or isolated. We all hurt sometimes, and we all wish we could go back and do things differently based on the knowledge we have now. The reality is, that as sweet Maya Angelou said "When we know better, we do better."
Thanks for being here with me. You can't know how much it matters.

A few years older. I know better, and I'm trying to DO better! 

What Is Normal Anyhow?

In the wake of the collapse of my marriage, there have been many more lessons to experience than just ones that originate within our family.
I've been stretched and pulled and taught and humbled in more ways than I can recount through the last two and half years, and more recently, as the fog has cleared, have begun to see some of the stigma and judgement that presses in around us in subtle, but sometimes hurtful ways.

I have become aware as a woman inside of christian culture, I had judgement deep seated in my heart about divorce.  I certainly never thought it would come knocking at my own door, and am ashamed to admit now that most of the time I heard word of a family divorcing, or a woman on her second marriage, my thoughts towards them weren't filled with grace and compassion. While I'd love to title myself as a woman who believes in equal rights, I had fallen into the culture of thinking that women were often to blame and had they prayed harder, gone to counseling, or just worked harder and longer at their marriages, they often could have prevented the breakup of their families.  And then the most awful information poured from the mouth of my husband and as time passed beyond that day, it became quite clear that no prayer from me, no pleading for counseling and no extra-submissive behavior would right the wrongs that had been done nor illicit remorse and change from the heart of another human being.  I was faced with a reality I never anticipated, and now, have joined the ranks of divorced women.

I have been treated with incredible grace by my friends and family and my church has been loving in ways I didn't expect… but there have been others in the shadows who watch and judge and attach presuppositions onto our family.  Sometimes I can see it in their eyes.. the way that other mothers know I am alone with four children and that my level of strictness might be softer than theirs. I know that when you add an ex to the circumstance, others wonder what awful thing happened to make him an ex, and concerns about safety for their own children playing with mine arise.
The truth is, I have discovered some of the stereotypes about single mothers do apply to me, and for good reason.  I am parenting alone. Parenting is a challenging job even for two people working together.  I get some (not much) support from their father and he sees them every other weekend during the day on Saturday and during the day on Sunday. I am never without my kids for more than a few hours at a time. To provide for them, I work multiple jobs and my schedule is jagged and busy. I also clean the house, pay the bills, drive my kids to activities, and run this household alone.  I am often tired.  I make it a point to go to bed at a decent hour whenever I can because I need sleep and know I am better when I get enough.  But many things fall through the cracks.  Things that would be part of shared work if I were married.  Homework, chores, cracking down on the computer and television and video games.  Discipline.  I don't get to tap out when I have a standoff with a child.  Sometimes they wear me down, and I give up out of sheer exhaustion.  I know too, that in the divorce, my children have been around other adults who live differently than we do. While all of these things are things I would have worked hard to protect my kids against being exposed to pre-divorce, there are things now that simply just are because of the ways our lives have changed.  I know my kids have said curse words, and, gasp! have heard me say a couple myself.  Grief and anger can do that to a person. While my kids might not be as innocent as they once were, they are growing in compassion and character. We have heavy conversations in ways we would have been buffered from had divorce never entered our  lives.

I understand that desperate desire to protect our children.  I am still a concerned mother. I can appreciate that some families see ours as a potential bad influence based on ideas they have concerning what happens inside of a family through divorce.  But I can tell you, we are so normal. We aren't a broken family, we're a family who has walked through brokenness.  It doesn't feel weird any longer to be here with my children without a man. There is a great deal of peace in my house and also the normal struggles of parenting younger children. We love loud, we fight loud, and we are growing and learning and changing. I wish I had had the gift of this awareness before I went through a divorce in order to offer greater compassion to families I had seen as 'broken'. But usually, life doesn't offer you the wisdom without the experience.  I'm grateful for the families who trust us. Who can overlook the fact that my sons might say something dumb or inappropriate or rude out of anger and keep it moving. For other adults and children who love us right where we are- knowing all of us on this earth are in the process of growing and changing. I'm grateful for grace.  We have definitely been scarred and bruised and stripped of innocence through our journey, but I still think we have much to offer and am learning to smile into the eyes of cautious parents knowing that pain comes to each of us in time… and we're all doing the very best we can.

The Tension of Uncertainty

I'm living in the tension inherent to single motherhood. The struggle between wanting what's best for my children and the reality that what I may be able to provide might fall impossibly short of that desire.

I have been living on my own, without a man, for more than two years.  I have a college education that follows my name, but after being a SAHM for so many years, it is virtually useless.  With four children who need some level of daycare should I be in a more traditional 9-5 job, I have found that my only viable option to provide is to do it in a non-traditional role. I live in a very expensive area.  I live in a more rural part of the suburbs and apartments aren't on every corner. We have many townhouses in this county, but those often cost as much, if not more, than the single family homes found in traditional neighborhoods.

This is the second home we've lived in since we had to leave the military base so quickly back in 2012.
I had no job and was shell shocked from the news I had been given, and no idea how to begin to take care of my kids on my own.  As God often does, the path out and into new life began to illuminate one step at a time.  I was offered a place to rent by someone I was connected to in my church community.  It was about half of the more traditional rental homes (in size and cost) but it would house us.  My family came and helped me wade through 12 years of marriage and family 'stuff' and pack, and purge, and store everything so that I could move my family forward.  The military housing we had been in was 2000 sq feet with a three car garage, and we had managed to fill every corner of it.  The new home was about 800 sq feet with no added storage, and the change felt daunting.  Somehow, I managed to figure out what was necessary and what could wait, and we filled the cozy space with our sagging, broken hearts.  That small space proved to be a healing island as we bumbled into a new life together.  The tight space held us close, and I think we all drew comfort in the small rooms as we desperately needed to trust and depend on one another.

I babysat some through my time there and did odd jobs to start creating provision on my own.  Seven short months after we settled into that space it was time to move on and we were blessed to be rescued by the family I had been babysitting for.  We moved into their basement. It had a partial kitchen, and two much larger bedrooms than the ones we had been squeezed into before, and a gigantic yard to run in.  It also was about 1100 sq feet, and it felt like we were moving up in the world. The five of us brought our noise, our angry hearts and our stuff into the home of another family. I helped babysit their son throughout the next year and when they moved out, we were able to move into the whole house.  We were now stretched out into 5 bedrooms and 2500 sq feet. I finally exhaled.  I had no earthly idea how I would be able to pay the rent that was more than any house I'd ever lived in.  I was providing almost fully on my own as our child support is a small fraction of what the children need.  I was willing to do anything I needed to do to provide and keep them out of day care.  I mowed yards, cleaned houses, babysat, and worked as a photographer.  I sold more things that I discovered we no longer needed and prayed hard that God would see us and remember us. Somehow, since last summer, I have been able to take care of my family.  Some months brought checks in the mail from strangers or friends, some months brought unexpected work for me, some months were complete miracles, but here we are, going on 7 months since we took over the house and I am not behind on anything I am responsible for.  But change is at my doorstep again. The homeowners own two homes and have a large business, and selling this house is the best option for their family. The buying/selling season for real estate is coming in mere weeks, and so we are to be out of this house by the end of February.  I am struggling to find someone to rent to us because my income is so new.  I don't have years of rental history or work history to prove to them that I'm not a risk.  My good references could fill a book, but homeowners want a sure thing. A single mom with many part time jobs and four children does not look like a sure thing. It's the end of January, and I'm not sure yet where I will take my children.
These kinds of jagged places in life have a way of growing and challenging faith. I vacillate between feeling hopeful that I will again see miraculous provision, and utter despair when I absorb the feelings of inadequacy that hover over my heart looking for any entrance to bring decay to my faith.  Friends and family champion me with 'God's got this Heather!' and 'I'm praying for you girl!' And while both of those statements bring some comfort and truth, the reality is that my faith in God and love of who He is doesn't promise me a life without struggle. There are millions of moms who love God who are living with children in places that would make me want to curl up and die. There are many mothers whose love of their children and love of God wasn't enough to buffer their children from incredible heartache and pain, and yet, I still say… God is good.

I don't have a beautiful miraculous ending to this story.  March may find me in yet another basement of friends… filled with both relief at having a warm home, and anger that the life I thought I'd be living is so far from my reality that I can't even see it through the tears anymore.  I have full faith that my life story is still being written, and that it is beautiful, but as with many rich, full stories, there are often chapters that pull at the heart, and take the breath away… I just happen to be living inside of those chapters. I'm ready to see what's on the next page.

The Risk in Purpose

It's January 7th.  Many people who felt spurred to action a mere week ago are finding it tough to get out of warm beds an hour earlier to exercise their bodies, or are tired of the diet food they've been trying to eat, or gagging on the fresh juice they're making with Christmas gifted blenders.

The sag of January comes in as the shine of December wears off.  We want to do better, but struggle to pull the motivation out of weary hearts and tired bodies.

I don't make resolutions, but exist in a continual place of wanting to do better.  Be more. Accomplish all I am meant to reach.  I try to find the sweet spot between loving who I am in this moment with longing for what is ahead.  I don't often find that sweet spot.

I am reading the book "The Road To Becoming" by Jenny Simmons (formerly of Addison Road) she discusses this place this way:
Perhaps you know what it feels like to dread the day at hand. Your plans have changed, failed, or come to a screeching halt and you are living in the in-between.  Not who you were and not yet who you might become.  (pg. 4) 

I find myself standing at the beginning of a full year stretched out ahead of me and I want more. I know I have purpose; work to do here. With my family, my own life, my relationships.  I have spent the last two years devastated, then healing, then growing, and this promises to be a year of risk. Risk that will bring me out of fear and intimidation into the life created for me to live.

Frustratingly, I also find myself toggling back and forth between grand courage, and crushing fear.  I worry that I will be rejected and will fail, and then I worry that I won't fail and will instead walk into my own purpose.  As backwards as that sounds, it takes great energy, courage and faith to live fully present in your purpose.  It is easier to hide, make excuses, avoid risk and do what everyone else is doing.  I'm terrified to open the door and find my self fully there.

To avoid it, I sink into words from people who are somehow walking in their purpose.  Women who have pulled themselves into public art somehow- from singing, to writing, speaking and creating.  Women who have found a way to get others to hear what they have to say; and I scan the pages, and soak in the words hungry for the truth bomb that will alight my heart and spur me to my own purpose, and yet that reading and scanning, and devouring is only a prolonging of my own work. A distraction bathed in some cloth of worthiness as I try to convince myself the time used will be beneficial to my own purpose.  And another day closes as I look to see my own words were not cultivated on paper. My own heart didn't open to an outsider and risk not just rejection but acceptance. Another day where I hid in the planning and the gonna-get-to-it-one-of-these-days. So today I did it.  I took a baby step in my own purpose. One that can bring rejection, and yet even in that I breathe a little fuller today knowing that this sunset will bring with it a bit of action.  And tomorrow will dawn with the chance to risk a bit more.  I'm headed into my office space where it is quiet and set apart to dream, and write, and ask God what doors to knock on… and tonight I will rest my head on the soft pillow of accomplishment.  Setting aside for a bit what others have to say about finding my purpose, and instead waiting to hear from the one who has purposed me.