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.

Fearless

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve.  The last day of 2014.  The wrapping up of this year and the preparation to welcome a new one.
I have spent many years as an anxious mess around New Years.  Fear would wrap itself around my heart and squeeze tight until I wanted nothing more than to go to bed and wake up sometime mid-February.  Beyond the flurry of resolutions and high hopes for a new year, new self, new life.
My fear was so thick, so real, so intense, that I hated this time of year. I would begin looking over the months behind us and then realize that one of these years I will face loss… one of these new years celebrations will mean that I leave behind a year that held someone I love and walk forward into a new year that won't hold that person inside of it.  I would struggle to exhale, knowing that someday, some year, loss will inevitably come.

2012 was the year loss came to my doorstep. The year I lost in grand proportions; the year I walked out of a year that held someone I loved and into a new year without him.  Two new year's eves later, I am here. Standing. Strong.  I bear scars and have lost some innocence I needed to shed.  My eyes are wide open to hurt that can strike harshly from the belly of one you called lover, and my heart is both flung wide open to beauty as well as guarded against anything that smells anything like what I've experienced before.  I've walked through the darkest forest of grief and come through into the dawn. I've hurt and bled and raged and numbed out and here I am.  I'm not afraid anymore.  I feel the fibers of my being pulled taut in strength, reverberating with the awareness that I can do hard things.  I can be slashed and bruised and torn, but not defeated.  I have the wide open awakening that life comes to each of us, but the places of darkness and wounding need not be the end of ourselves… in fact, I feel reborn, new, thankful and grateful to get to sift out the excess filth to uncover the beauty that was waiting for me underneath.  I feel the sun living in my chest, the full life that comes not from money, or an easy life, but from the deep knowing that come what may, I will be ok.  I can do this life.  I can take a beating and rise again. I am enjoying myself in ways never afforded to me inside of a relationship that was more than a little off kilter.  I am free to explore what it is that brings me joy, and the more light that pours inside of me spills out into my children.  I find my delight in their faces. They see my contentment and snuggle into that safety like a warm cocoon.  They have watched me navigate hurtful and difficult things and keep moving.  They are learning through my dark forest that pain isn't something to be afraid of, but to be stared down and plowed through.

This New Year's Eve I will stand in the light of the midnight moon and throw my arms open wide. I welcome 2015, knowing as a sage that it will bring brokenness as well as joy. It will hold confusion, sadness and hurt, but it will also be bursting with newness and opportunity and places to dive deeper into this life that was gifted to me.  I can't wait to unwrap it and savor what it holds.

This Little Light of Mine, I'm Gonna Let it Shine

In the two-plus years since my ex-husband left, I have been through a myriad of lessons, layers of healing, moments of panic and, seasons of hopelessness.  I have felt most every emotion I can think of and some I have no descriptive words for.  I've screamed and cursed at God, and wept into my pillow at the overwhelming realization that my dream had crumbled.
As I pressed through the painful places, I began to rise into new areas of brokenness in me that needed attention.  I had lived inside of an unhealthy marriage for fourteen years, and somewhere in that relationship I laid down who I was and walked away from her.  I worked hard, in the sick, codependent way that we sometimes do, to ensure everyone around me was ok.  I scanned faces and body language, held my breath to listen for subtle vocal nuances, and then would adjust myself accordingly so those around me would be ok. I was dying for everyone around me to be ok. But I have realized that I was never ok.

The earlier years of raising my children were filled with chaos and fear.  My oldest son was aggressive and unpredictable and I lived in a precarious place of fight or flight for multiple years.  I was hyper aware of his moods, and worked hard to try and make him ok.  As more years passed, and more children joined our brood; resentment, irritability, and frustration became my go-to emotions, and as guilty as I felt living in that skin, there was nothing lasting I could do to soften those edges and give me the deep exhale that my entire being was screaming for.  I was suffocating under the dirt that had been piled on top of my heart in a powerful effort to snuff out the light I had been given to share.

This year, as I've moved past the hurt of losing my marriage, and walked away from that initial wounding, I've headed into the deep work of finding my voice, looking for who I am, who I want to be, and learning to love her.

I am rediscovering things I enjoy, and finding that I can be a lot of fun. I have intense emotions both high and low and feel everything deeply.  I like to laugh, and be silly, but I enjoy nothing more than deep conversations that fly down low into depths of struggle and flit back high into laughter together.  My friends and family have been heroes in my personal revolution as I scrape harshly with my words and moods while I learn to uncover the authentic self.   I am learning how to say no to people, how to stand up for my opinions at the risk of rejection by others but incredible peace with myself.  I'm finding out how to look people in the eyes and tell them I disagree while lacing it with all of the love and grace I can muster.  I am discovering that my voice matters, and that the things I feel and love to do are worthy simply because they live inside of the woman I have been created to be.  I am embracing my oddities and finding joy in activities that others might find worthless.  I sing and dance around my kitchen, make silly jokes with my kids and have relearned that I am not quiet or calm.  The energy and passion I worked so hard to cover up for so many years is spilling out into my life again and I'm finding the light in my children's faces as they see my heart thawing and shining.
I have made mistakes and thrown heavy burdens on friends and family as I learn boundaries and relational honesty, but when I see the scrapes I've caused, I go back to acknowledge them.  I am so very flawed and yet so very beautifully made, and even in those places I hope to grow and change, I am finding I enjoy my own company.  I never dreamed I would be one of the statistical women who would lose herself inside of a relationship, but I did.  I consider it an incredible gift to get the chance to learn who I am and to get to learn to love myself away from the toxic confines of that place.  I'm finally growing up and into who I was made to be, and learning that I have a path created just for me and all I can give.

Story Gatherer

A few months ago I was asked if I wanted to be on the story telling initiative at my church. I had no idea what that meant, but knew that if there was a team working to tell and gather stories, I wanted to be part of it.
I meet with a small group, and we have been working towards growing our church in the vein of story telling.  How do we tell them? How do we gather them? How can we be a safe place for people to share pieces of their lives with us? It's been a fun and powerful experience to discuss such a simple concept that holds such weight.

I can think of no greater honor than to be dubbed a facilitator of stories.  If I could write my epitaph, I'd love for it to read: She gathered stories to her like flowers, and in turn shared those from her own garden. 
I truly believe that in the telling of our stories, from the coffee shop blunder, to the deeper, more visceral  chapters of abuse or rejection, we spin webs into the lives of others that connect us in a way that can't be achieved without them. Making space in your life for stories from the lives of others is the most powerful way to honor people.  We are designed for hearing them and sharing them- HONY (Humans Of New York) has made a huge splash in our culture by telling short stories of people walking along the streets of NYC.  We devour the stories, we add to them, and speculate the ending by the dress, stance, and few words spilled from a heart ready to share a little part of themselves with the world.

Stories move us to action, they connect us to one another in an emotional sense.  Our empathy, and compassion can be pinged by a well told story.  Stories humanize us, and if we allow ourselves to listen, then we often are moved out of judgement and into grace.  Stories open wide the heart to allow it to fill with love, and understanding, and it pulls forth the pieces of emotion that we have experienced in other situations that can attach to the experience being shared with us.  Stories can caution us, and prevent us from walking roads that would damage our souls, which then keeps us from trouble. They teach us, they grow us, they connect us and they can change us.

It's always confused me when people tell me that they 'hate people'.  We've all heard that from someone in our lives, and while I understand the surface level of defense against more pain from the hands and words of other people, I think that avoiding people, hating them, and being defensive against them creates a void in the soul meant to be filled by connecting with others. Our story is the treasure we carry with us. It's the way we can see God move in one another, it's the way we relate; and to avoid people, and consequently their stories, we miss the richness offered to us by listening.

I have had powerful times where I've found myself in someones story- and in their telling, I discover places in me that need attention, and grace, and love to heal.  When I hear my experience fall off of someone elses lips, and I can see myself there, I am often changed, and encouraged that my experience doesn't end here. I can see and hear my own future when I listen to stories of others- and the places they've walked ahead of me. It infuses me with hope and I learn once again, in the daily dosing I seem to require, that I am not alone.

Listening is sacrificial. It sets aside self for the gift of space for a heart.  It makes room in us for more love, less self, and more God. It's the honoring of their soul, their heart, and their experience. It takes time, and energy. But in gathering stories to ourselves… in making room in our lives to hear the experience of others, we are nourished in ways that make every moment worth it.
Look around… people are longing for us to hear them.  It's one of most precious gifts we can give to another soul.  Safety, freedom, and time.