The Afghan...

Are the threads being untangled, or becoming more hopelessly knotted together? And what good is one long, untangled thread, even rolled into a nice, neat ball? Is it not through the weaving and knotting of yarn that the afghan grows? 

(Quite honestly, I am processing as I write. I originally thought untangling was the goal, but am coming to think perhaps they are meant to be wound together...) 

I have often found (or thought) myself on the fringe, connected on one side, yet feeling totally disconnected on another. It's the deep seated childhood fear of being unimportant and all but invisible... Because of our divorce, I do not have the same place in my husband's family. There is a raw edge between us, connected by a few threads. This is the way of life after divorce, but it does not make it less painful. I am grateful for the years of healing, healing tears, and my eldest son's Face-time call from Halifax this past July. I am looking forward to more healing. 

Every strand woven makes the tapestry more colorful, yes? Grandma was a strand of bright and brilliant color. I only hope to be a little bit like her in all the best ways.

Crossing Over

It was an entirely emotional weekend. Unexpected tears flowed randomly throughout. Mostly I am sad, both for my friend and her family, and for the brokenness that always comes with the passing of someone dear. I've heard in the past that if our loved one is in heaven, then we are sad for ourselves, but I believe there is a deeper pain. As another preacher said, "We weren't created with a file folder for death." When our people die, a piece of us goes along with them; all our conversations, our memories together, our sense of connection... Tears are the healing balm.

As I sat in the funeral home waiting for the service to begin, I was touched on the shoulder. I turned to see a man standing next to me. "Hi, Lady," he said. I had to stand up to recognize the pastor of my previous church fellowship, the one I left when I moved off the farm and away from The Cabinetmaker. As neighbor of my friend, he had been asked to lead the service. The presence of both him and his wife, as well as our conversation following, opened a whole other torrent of emotion.

My ex husband and our separation came up in conversation. "Would you consider reconciliation? (with the Cabinetmaker)," they asked me, to which I answered, "What exactly does 'reconciliation' mean?" I have not been the one hiding these past two years. I have absolutely nothing from which to hide. There is no shame in my leaving, no shame in filing for a divorce. I have never sat down and talked with these people about our situation and it has been nearly 8 years since I moved. "I'm always available to talk," said the pastor's wife... except she's about 10 years too late. She'd have gotten a much reserved conversation years back. Today she'd get an earful and I'm not sure either one of us is ready for that.

I've learned a lot of things about church and organized religion these past ten years. I've also learned a lot about the love of God, His ability to care for me and my family, a lot about protecting women and children, and a lot about standing my ground and guarding my heart. I am sickened by the atrocities hidden behind church doors, the secrets kept, and the fingers pointed. I haven't lost my faith, instead it has deepened in a way I never thought possible. Gone are the trite sayings and flippant responses. Gone are judgement and condemnation (if I ever held that to start) and in their place is more love, more acceptance, and more room for those whose choices I don't understand.
  

Cindy. Cindy had a heart of gold. She was far from perfect, but she knew she was loved by her creator and trusted that her cancer and subsequent passing would glorify God. Her prayers were for her friends and family, myself included. Her prayers are being answered. I know that. God isn't finished with her at all. She may not be here in body, but she will remain in spirit for many years to come.

* Pictures from my walk at Webster Park last week.

Bits and Pieces

A myriad of thoughts dance haphazardly through my mind, stumbling, sprawling, colliding, unready (or perhaps unable) to gather into one coherent string of words... 

*A week ago I assembled a small puzzle of our family. It was given to me as a Christmas gift in 2016 by my former daughter in law. All seven of my children, five of their spouses, and eight grandchildren arranged in tight group before Barn 3 back on the farm in Williamson on July 4, 2016. Smiling faces, unaware of (or hiding) the invisible, widening fissures in our family. It was to be our last all together, summer gathering with any semblance of normalcy, no matter how hollow it was for some of us. There would be a tense and nervous Christmas gathering to follow. By the holidays I was breaking into a million pieces while my unknowing children, full of questions, looked on not knowing "what was wrong with Mom." They could only guess... 

* It's January and our work hours have been reduced. It's evidently common for Dunkin to be "slow" this time of year although we still have bouts of utter insanity... I was hired verbally as full time, but the app that details our paychecks lists me as "part time," giving the powers that be the freedom to slash hours without repercussion. My hours have been reduced to 30 from the previous 37 1/2 per week. I have been assured, "It'll pick back up again in February," but the looming tariffs threatened by our current administration would most definitely affect our supply of coffee. Coffee doesn't grow here in the United States... I'm not staying awake thinking about it, but it is there in the back of my mind. I already spent most of the money I'd saved up last summer to fix the brakes on my car. If hours don't pick back up again, I don't know how I'll pay my income taxes...

* I've been in contact with an old friend. Here and there a message. I missed a phone call yesterday because I wasn't at home and therefore away from the WiFi necessary for the app to work. Well, that's disappointing. We have so much to catch up on too.

* We are in the deep freeze, along with the rest of the eastern US. It's nothing out of the ordinary here. Par for the course. Single digit temperatures with frigid wind chills are a normal part of winter. We pile more blankets on the bed, stay inside more (maybe), and drink hot beverages. (Actually, we're still selling a ton of iced and frozen coffees, iced teas, and other iced drinks.) It's the season of soups and stews, and soon 30 degrees will feel like a heat wave. (A picture from yesterday's outdoor adventure, and the reason I missed my friend's phone call...)

Walls and Fortresses

Fear and shame are crippling childhood emotions that often keep us trapped long into adulthood. It can take a lifetime to lay them aside and find healing...

I tried to write about it, but the words are still locked inside. I don't know exactly where the fear and shame came from, but suspect there were multiple cooperating forces, along with a predisposition to being timid... But I do know that the last ten years have stripped away many of the walls I'd built throughout my first 50 years. I'm still the same person I was before, except there are far fewer walls and I can breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This past Friday my sweet, forever friend Cindy passed into the world beyond. One of those rare and extremely special friends who I didn't have to see often yet was a part of my heart and soul. One day in 2007 we met up for lunch at Panera Bread and sat for four hours! We ate a lunch, talked and laughed, nibbled some cookies, and then some more cookies (her idea), and caught up on so many lost years... It was like we'd never been apart... and now she's gone. Brave, beautiful Cindy... Cancer takes the best of us. I'll find you on the other side and we can sit for hours and hours again...

"Choice"

In the course of my bookcase moving adventure, I came across two souvenirs, a pair of spoons I brought home from the daycare several years ago. (I traded them for two I bought at Walmart.) It's the little things like this that keep me believing in God and His uncanny ability to answer when I am totally clueless. It's happened more than once in my life. Some folks call these coincidences, others call them "God Winks." Most times I say I felt God smile. I'm not sure what was going on with coincidences and God-winks back in 2018, but I know He was answering the cries of my heart.

January 4, 2018- 
So... I've been looking for answers. I've prayed for answers, and sometimes God has given them, but I have a tendency to question His answers, which leaves me looking for answers all over again, and wondering why He doesn't answer...

... He (the therapist) asked what I needed again. I may or may not have said "answers" and the conversation turned to answers vs choices. Here I am, the ever indecisive, needing to make hard choices. 

...  if I want to move forward, there will be more choices. Some will be easy, and others will be hard. It is the hard choices that help us grow and make us strong.

I was looking for a word for this year. maybe it is "choices."

January 8, 2018- 
"Because of Calvary, I am free to choose." Max Lucado, Grace for the Moment. 

It not so much about getting answers as making choices, and so I will practice choosing. (And quite honestly, I think God really is answering, even if He isn't answering in quite the way I'd expected.) 

January 9, 2018-
Today we got two little boxes of new spoons. (at work)Twelve individually wrapped spoons in each box...

 ... Do you know that on the back of each spoon the word "CHOICE" is engraved? It doesn't say choice on the box, and when I found them online it said nothing about choice...

Today I no longer question the choice I made. I did the right thing, agonizing though it was. Sometimes I still long for someone to wrap me in his arms, but I am wrapped in a love I didn't know existed prior to all the hard choices. Today I am able to love myself in a new and healthier way. My family and I are worth the cost of all I chose to leave behind. 

 

Life is Good

Peace. Peace within.

Nine years ago my heart and soul were in anguish. Seven years ago my heart was broken to pieces. Five years ago I couldn't imagine what healing might look like or how it could ever come true. I had been totally devastated... but not completely destroyed. I held onto the belief that I could be happy again, that my heart would heal, that life would be good. And it is.

There have been a myriad of battles along the way, lots of tears and heart-wrenching realizations. I left a much loved part of myself behind in the little gray house on the country road through apple orchards. I came home to my father's house, the place where my life began, where I was safe and loved, and began the journey to healing. Five years ago I wrote, "I haven't found myself yet, but I'm still looking." Today I can say I finally feel comfortable in my own skin. My year started out tough, but I've come so far the past ten years and I'd never have gotten here without all the adversity.

To be honest, I thought I was happy in my old life and for the most part I was. I'd never wanted to be anything other than a wife and mother. My positions weren't quite what I'd imagined as a young girl, there were lots of tears, but I'd never be the person I am today without those hard lessons. It's because of them that I have been able to sit down and sort through what I believe and why, to set some beliefs aside, and to tuck others deeper into my heart and soul. Inside I am still very much the same girl I have always been with a generous helping of confidence that I was previously missing. 

Honestly, life is good. It is very good.

(Pictures from my Indian Summer walk in the woods on Thursday, which also happened to be Halloween.)

What Day Is It?

What can I say about the last week and two days...? So many fragmented thoughts have still to be knitted together in my heart and mind. 

Forty years ago on the sidewalk outside our apartment, a little boy rode a tiny bike and threatened to knock my three year old off his tricycle. "How about I knock you off your bike?" I'd asked him, and he quickly replied, "My mom will call the police." Last night that little boy came home from the store with a half gallon of Rocky Road Ice Cream and said to his mom, "I brought the things you asked for and Martha texted and asked for ice cream, so I brought that too." (I hadn't, but that's beside the point.)

Friendships don't always begin with pleasantries. At our first encounter that little boy had also walked right up to me and declared, "We worship Jehovah." He stood directly in front of me as I sat on the ground watching Jimmy ride his tricycle, and waited for my response. "We worship Jesus," I told him.

While I remember those first moments of interaction, most of what came in the days, months, and years to follow blends together into an afghan of lifetime friendship. I heard her family call her "Ruthie," while the neighbors told me her name was Ann. My mother stepped up when the family needed daycare. On a moment's notice James and I were invited to her wedding in the community center at the apartment complex and learned on our way there that her new husband was the cousin of our friend. In time both of our families moved to the same little town in Wayne County, NY and I babysat on and off while she worked. We each had another baby giving each of us four (Josh, Joel, Charlie, and Drew for her, and Jim, Dave, Beth, and Joe for me). We took our kids on picnics, talked on the phone for hours, and argued religion. Tragedy struck their extended family and they moved a half hour farther out into the country. There was a barn and horses and a continued friendship.

I don't know why some people face trials and tragedies over and over and over, I only know that each one she faced knit us closer together. It's not my place to list them here, but I can tell you I have never stopped loving her and her children. Last Friday morning when she sent a text telling me the doctors at the Pennsylvania hospital had advised her to ask family members to come and say their last goodbyes to her sweet husband, she was a thousand miles from home. My daughters didn't hesitate to encourage me, for the third time in as many weeks, to make the 2 1/2 hour drive to the hospital. I sat with my friend, did everything I could to help her and the staff, met her son at the elevator when he made his 7:30 pm arrival, and made no attempt to hide my own sorrow when her husband David left this world at 12:30 am on Saturday, September 14. We spent the night at a hotel, met with a Pennsylvania funeral home, picked up her camper from a family member, and made the drive north from Watkins Glen, NY to my home in Webster. On Tuesday we headed south and I followed them home. 

I could look heavenward and ask God all the same "why?" questions I've asked in the past but the trusting Him to be there is much easier than understanding any of the "whys?" He is the one who knit this friendship together. He is the one who takes yarns of contrasting and complimentary colors and fashions the strands into unimaginably beautiful blankets. I don't understand, but I know He does.

Time Marches On

Looking backward is not advised, and yet each morning I look back over my Facebook memories, pour through the pictures and find myself amazed at how fast life moves along and what has transpired. Past moments on the farm very often catch me by surprise, bringing with them all the feels of yesteryear; bittersweet, poignant reminders of another life...

Materially speaking the farm was everything I'd ever wanted but had never dreamed would be mine. Simply stepping out the back door took my breath away. Three barns and a house surrounded by apple orchards, three and a half acres of land on a country road, and a wood burning stove. The kitchen was spacious, the living room big enough to hold our ever expanding family whenever special occasions arose. We spent countless hours outside in the yard, on the back porch, or gathered in the living room. Picnics, parties, holidays, we did them all...  And then the bomb dropped and the bottom fell out of my world. 

Grief is complicated and complex with threads of varying thicknesses and colors, twisted and wound into a multitude of indistinguishable knots. For months I picked numbly at knotted, outer layers, terrified of what lay beneath the surface, often setting the entire mess aside. I did all I could to live a normal life in a world that had suddenly shattered. Death leaves a visible gaping hole. Abuse leaves an unseen, shredding of the soul. Outsiders witness the abused gasping for breath, but they do not see the wound. The gasping renders others clueless. Rather than come alongside the breathless, they offer empty platitudes or avoid getting involved altogether... 

The best way to untangle a knot is to follow one colored strand, tediously and methodically unwinding it from the others. Eight years. I've been untangling threads, cords and strands for over eight years. It's a wearisome task.

(And here my thoughts were interrupted by someone I love. My phone was ringing and on the other end someone who intricately understands the complexity of grief, abuse, and knotted threads. If only (another fruitless hope)... If only I could wind the hands of time backward, to erase at least of portion the heartache to which my not-knowing-better has contributed. Today I know something different. Today I would give different advice.)

Can I untie the tangled, haphazard knots in this string of life? Can all the pain of yesterday be woven into hope and beauty? This is my earnest prayer.

Can You Hold This for Minute?

I've come to The Blog multiple times and stared at it, wanting to write but not knowing what to say... I visited my therapist the night before Thanksgiving. There were a few tears and some moments of laughter.

"Years ago you told me," I said to him, "that things like this take 3 to 5 years to work through..." 

"We're pretty close to that," he answered.

And I laughed and said, "It's been 8 years."

There remains the question, "Have I worked through it?" and the answer comes in layers. 

I'm grateful he didn't say, "It takes 3-5 years to get over things like this," because there is no way to "get over it." We can only learn to live with the awful truth and grow, however long it may take and however painful it may be, and we (I'm talking my family) are all working through this as individuals which means a myriad of different angles and understandings. It's the most complicated thing we have ever had to do, and honestly, in all likelihood we will be processing some aspect of it until our lives here end.

A few nights ago I had a conversation with a beloved family member who was trying to help me sort through some feelings. I don't think either of us was prepared for the feelings that welled up inside of me. "Anger" is a simple term that covers a broad spectrum of emotions from irritation to blind rage and everything in between. It's a safe word. A "weasel word," if you will.

For years I've known I should feel intense anger, but mostly felt only numbness. Rather than look my own indignation, outrage, or lividity in the face, I placed a cap on the bottle and screwed it down tight, It was too painful to let the emotions out, and besides I didn't even know how. All of my life I have been taught to put myself last, to think of others first, to keep secrets, cover sins, and think the best. I have taken on the emotions of others to the detriment of self, but this time it wasn't about just me. I dragged my feet, searched both scripture and soul, sought wise counsel, and eventually did the hardest thing I have ever done. I moved away from the home I loved, the church I attended, and the man I had married. It ripped my heart out, but in all honesty, it had already been torn to shreds.

Today I recognize the anger inside. I feel it tighten my back, neck and shoulder muscles, and creep down my arms and legs. It has shown up in blood pressure readings, fatigue and depression, as well as regret and feelings of hopelessness. It has brought isolation, loneliness, and insurmountable loss. 

But for all the negative there are positives to anger as well. I learned to set boundaries and an example as well. In spite of the numbness inside, in spite of the swinging pendulum of emotions, I did what needed to be done in order to lance the abscess and bring much needed relief to not only myself but my children as well. Surgery is painful. Healing is agonizing. Physical therapy is hard and exhausting work. (I speak allegorically.) Today I need not only to loosen the bottle cap, but remove the bottle altogether. The problem is that I don't know how to process anger in a healthy manner. I only know how to shut it down.

Please don't tell me I need to "give it to Jesus" because, although I have heard that all my life, I don't have an inkling what that is supposed to mean. Is it possibly enough to admit to myself and others that I am deeply wounded and profoundly angry not only for my children, but myself as well? I am ready to move on and desperately need to let it all go, I'm just not sure where to set the bag.

With all of that said, I have undergone an incredible transformation the past eight and a half years. Life rarely feels hopeless, I seldom isolate, and my family is healing in ways I once deemed impossible. The mirror reflects more peace and happiness with each passing year and I am incredibly grateful for each and every bit of growth, even if I'm not entirely grateful for how it came about.

(I'm headed to Florida on Wednesday morning. Stay tuned for some great times and photos.)

Going for a Spin

The thought processor is whirring...

I am struggling with cognitive dissonance; wanting one thing to be true, and yet knowing there is another truth offsetting the first. It is this disconnect that causes my heart to ache and bleed. No matter how I try I cannot reconcile the two. It is, I suppose, a little like trying to imagine a time before I was born, a world in which I did not exist, and another in the not-so-very-distant future when I will cease to be once again. Pieces of reality that my mind cannot comprehend... problems that cannot be solved... brokenness that will never be made whole,... at least not in this lifetime. And the thought processor continues to spin.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I went to the lake on Thursday afternoon, walked along the lake where the concrete break wall meets the bottom of the hill, and down to the little strip of hidden shoreline where years ago another break wall once was. I picked bits of glass from the pebble beach, climbed over broken concrete slabs and fallen trees, and took pictures before heading back toward the pier and walking along the edge of the sidewalk on the lake. I was looking at the dirty water when all of a sudden my right foot slipped out from under me and I went down directly on my left knee and backside. Mostly my knee. It was quite jarring, not to mention painful and embarrassing.

No one else at the lake seemed to have taken notice. The man who had previously been walking toward me had turned around immediately before I fell. (So much goes through the mind in those split second...) My camera was safe, I was not in the water, and I needed to get to my car. I could still walk but my knee was aching and I needed some ice. I couldn't stay home on Friday without losing my holiday pay on Monday... Long story short, I "iced" my knee with a bag of frozen corn, took a few ibuprofen for the pain and swelling, and propped it up on a pillow. No problem going to work Friday morning. I am grateful.

It was just me and three cousins doing pottery last night. I trimmed a previously thrown bowl and glazed several bisque fired pieces. I have quite the collection amassed. Bowls, cups, and mugs of varied shapes and colors. It will be like Christmas when they come out of the kiln.

Progress

It was a productive day and I am relieved to see the progress we made on the attic bedroom today. I am ever so grateful to The Cabinetmaker for lending me his time and expertise. I took a personal day off work and together we put up a vapor barrier and hung several pieces of paneling on the ceiling.  It was a good day. My mind will be processing for days to come, and I am thankful.

My car was at the shop today for new rear brakes, a pricey repair, and while they were in possession of my vehicle I asked about the front passenger tire which has had a slow leak for the past few weeks. They discovered a nail in the tire and patched that up for me as well. I'm going to be slightly poorer for a little while. Ha ha!

Finally, to top off an already good day, I drove down to the lake and got my feet wet, not intentionally, of course. The lake is tricky and those waves just splash wherever they darn well please, usually on my feet when I'm not paying attention. It was a good reason to toss my sneakers (tennis shoes) into the wash when I returned home.

It's Empty

Trauma throws the inner workings of our mind into turmoil. It takes the most natural and normal of thoughts and activities and throws them up into the air and turns them upside down...

My brain works somewhat differently than it used to. I have a difficult time processing church and the forced aspects of Christianity, those things that feel hokey and put-on, the holier than thou appearances of those who are anything but holy, and the judgemental atmosphere that often permeates places of worship. My trust has been shattered. The more accolades given, the more praise heaped upon them, the less I want a place in the party. 

And yet...

And yet I long to belong. To have the emptiness within filled with community. And the only place in my life I have ever known this filling has been through church and family. I lost half of my family when I left James. I knew the cost could be astronomical, but so was the cost of staying... I lost my church fellowship when I moved because I didn't want to answer questions, put up a charade, or make others uncomfortable... I lost my home because I left it behind, filled with everything we had built and collected in our 35 years together, and the piece of land my dad had helped us acquire when I had prayed that "Prayer of Jabez" so many years prior...

I considered not going to church this morning. After all it's Easter and my dressy clothes are still packed away in the back of the closet and mostly inaccessible corners of the attic and my yet unfinished room. But, it's Easter and how does one raised with Jesus stay home on this most important remembrance of Christ? I pulled a dress out of the tightly packed closet and located some pantyhose and a pair of shoes, and I went to church.

There is a comforting familiarity surrounding me in the midst of hymns and scripture. I was born into this congregation, albeit a different building. The old one burned to the ground in 1982. Some of the people there still remember my parents, especially the elderly and increasingly distant cousins, but I am yet a stranger in the midst of the crowd, a stranger who, although I've tried to be seen, remains all but invisible.

It's Easter. "We don't celebrate emptiness..." the pastor said. He was not referring to the emptiness of the tomb, of course, but emptiness in general. Especially the emptiness within our own hearts and souls. Jesus came, gave his life, and rose again to "fill our emptiness" but try as I might, I still don't completely understand how. I know all the right answers, I've heard all the sermons and read all the scriptures. I've done all the things, and at the end of the day I still often feel empty and alone.

I am far from alone in feeling empty. The world is full of emptiness and perhaps that is where the answer lies. Maybe the contentment does not come with feeling full and satisfied, because why would I reach out to anyone else if I don't have a knowledge of emptiness myself? (Am I making any sense here?) My kids and grandchildren, my friends and coworkers, a world full of children, and strangers in the grocery store all long to be filled, and sometimes all they need is a smile, a hug, a nod of the head, or a friendly hello to help fill the void. Maybe it's really all about pouring it out and collecting it up over and over again.

Thanks for listening.

(Pictures from our trip to the Lamberton Conservatory in Rochester.)

Drafty

This old blog is getting drafty. My blog list is full of unfinished drafts. Incomplete thoughts. Unfinished sentences. Fragmented reflections. I'm undergoing a complete metamorphosis and don't quite know how to put my thoughts into words. Transitions take time, often more time that I desire yet I'm well into the change and have come to appreciate its many unexpected blessings, although I am occasionally overtaken by the expectations of yesteryear. They come with a clutching of my heart, a tightening in my shoulders, and (often) the urge to fight back tears. I've been reminded that singleness too is a gift, but sometimes I momentarily forget.

Change can come on suddenly and drastic, like this afternoon's weather. We had an almost summer-like day until about an hour or so ago. The clouds rolled in, the wind changed, and the temperatures began their descent. It's raining. There will be no half-naked chalk drawing on the sidewalk tomorrow. It will be an entirely different kind of day and we will find different kinds of pleasures to pass the time. This is the way of life, and this is okay.

I'm not sure I can recap the past two weeks... (I had a birthday sandwiched in there somewhere. Still getting younger, although the mirror doesn't always cooperate. LOL! Down to 31 again.) Mostly thoughts have swirled though my mind, never quite settling before being stirred up and tossed about again. I stared into the eyes of a 15 year old Martha who appeared in my Facebook memories and found a complete stranger. I wondered at what felt like an impossibility... How can one not know herself? How does that happen? And the thoughts begin to swirl again. They're swirling still...

I Stayed Home (Mostly)

It was a fresh, crisp autumn day, the kind where in previous years I have taken off for the woods, gone for a long drive, or perused a seasonal antique shop one last time until next year, but yesterday I chose not to wander far or long. I took a quick trip to Old Navy and Wegmans, but otherwise stayed home. We cleaned up the garage, washed and folded laundry, drank coffee, and I made stuffed shells for dinner. I purposed to set aside the anxious spirit that calls me to stay busy and enjoyed the day at home.

Late last night I pulled up Youtube and let a playlist of contemporary Christian music fill the darkness... It's been months since I soaked it in, the kind of music that makes me close my eyes, breathe deep, and raise my hands... I'm not always sure if it's a balm or a burning... I finally know, after a lifetime of not understanding, why so many wounded individuals spurn Christianity. I've been awakened to the ugly side of organized religion, the kind that ignores the injured in favor of aiding and abetting the perpetrators. They call it grace, "Amazing Grace" even... We all need grace... even perpetrators... and this is where things get messy, complicated and confusing... Those who do everything to keep the faith and hold life together, who completely spend ourselves in the process, are tossed aside as unworthy... We are left broken, wondering what else we could have done, while the others are lauded as heroes...

Am I bitter? I suppose that all depends on your interpretation, which I've found to be another curious piece of present Christianity... The injured, the reeling, those who've had the breath literally knocked out of their soul are labeled "bitter" while the offender is credited with having been "redeemed." Bitter has a completely negative connotation, and yet we are forced to swallow the bitter pill, to take the bitter medicine, and expected not to grimace or recoil...

"Changed and different..."  The church so often gives this credit to offenders, and a huge piece of me understands the premise, after all I grew up hearing the message. I haven't a clue as to whether or not he's changed, but there is no doubt today that I am changed and different. Is this no less a work of God and His redeeming power? It's playing now... "I'm no longer a slave to fear..." He has freed me to become the woman He always intended me to be. The bitter medicine is doing the work.

Two In One

One

My busy week was followed by a sick week. Went to the chiropractor again last Monday and came out feeling suddenly congested. Returned home from work on Tuesday and went right upstairs to bed. Thought I was fighting a sinus infection/allergies. Went to work Wednesday all the time wanting to pull over and go to sleep on the side of the road. Stayed the day even though I felt like I should have stayed home. Started coughing Wednesday evening... Tested positive. (insert eye roll.) Slept most of Thursday, was much better by Friday, went to the parade on Saturday where we sat socially distanced from other festival goers. Stayed home from church Sunday, returned to work masked on Monday. No clue where I picked it up. It doesn't really matter.

Two

I had a bit of a relapse this week and found my emotional balance a bit off. I was tired, teary, and feeling defeated. Identifying and calming emotional triggers is a continual process that typically has to do with home and family.

My elder daughter's mom in law passed away last week. She had been sick for years and her death did not take anyone by surprise. Still, the finality is jolting. There was a small, family graveside service this Monday. I wasn't given a time or invitation to that and that is okay. We were, however, invited to calling hours at my daughter's home from 3-6 pm on Monday afternoon. I had already been out of work due to illness on Thursday and Friday, and taking time off on Monday was not feasible anyway. 

It was 4:20 pm by the time I was able to stop and offer my hugs and condolences and I had a 5 pm appointment with the chiropractor again. The counter in Beth's kitchen was covered with partially eaten cakes and desserts. I had decided to take a cookie on my way out when a former church acquaintance offered, "Kathy made the cheesecake." Kathy. Sweet, beautiful Kathy... I took a piece of cheesecake with a large, red strawberry on top and went to my chiropractor appointment relieved not to have run into either Kathy or the Cabinetmaker, but the trigger had already been set and the emotional dominoes started to topple...

"Home." What is home and where is it? (I'd already been struggling with this question and had asked my friend Dan, "So is home a place or a feeling?" and he had later responded with a quote from e.e. cummings that "showed up in his newsfeed.") Once upon a time "Home" was on the farm with my kids and the Cabinetmaker. Even though life was far from perfect, there was a sense of belonging. I had no idea at the time just how far from perfect life actually was. It took me two years post disclosure, and a friend who said, "I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you that the longer you wait the harder its going to be," for me to act on the boundary I knew had to be enforced. If I didn't have the strength and courage to take a stand on this one, I didn't have any strength or courage at all. I set a date and started to put things in order. It was agonizing. I moved away from everything that I loved. Later the Cabinetmake would say, "I've cost you everything you loved and held dear," and he was right. Nothing mattered more than taking that stand against the unthinkable. I had to do it. To leave it undone would have rendered me complicit.

So, I looked around at the place I had loved and called home for 16 years. I considered the man who I had decided to love 36 years prior, and wondered how I could ever explain any of it to anyone, much less my grandchildren who were too young to take in the truth, and when that Saturday in July came, I packed the necessities into the back of my Mazda5 and drove away while James stood sobbing in the driveway. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. harder by far than getting married, moving 2000 miles from home, and having a baby at 17 years old.

I came back to my childhood home, but the home of my childhood was no longer occupied by my parents. Instead it had become the home of my younger daughter and her family. It's been five years now since I moved into the little attic bedroom and although it feels so much more like home than it did when I first returned, the slowly healing heart still has moments when it aches and bleeds and longs to once again belong. 

(This showed up in my newsfeed as I was pondering the e.e cummings quote.)

Truth is Hard To Swallow

Forgive me a heavy post while I sort my thoughts...

My biggest regret in life is inadvertently teaching my children to tolerate and accept abuse. My greatest heartache is seeing the effects of my failure to teach them otherwise. I thought I was teaching them love and forgiveness. I somehow thought they would automatically and instinctively know what abuse looked like. I didn't realize they would come to view it as "normal." Instead of teaching them to choose healthy relationships, I modeled enabling, and I failed to protect them when they were abused. How often did I bite my tongue in order to avoid escalating a situation? How many times did I cover for him because of my own fear or embarrassment? How regularly did I tell myself "It isn't that bad" or "It could be worse"? Why didn't I realize how deep and long-lasting are the wounds of spiritual, emotional and mental abuse? How did I come to believe the lack of physical evidence equated the lack of actual abuse? How did I slip into focusing only on what was good in our family when in actuality so much was out of line?  The price is astronomical.

Today I have a divorce, but it took extenuating circumstances to get us here. I didn't arrive in this place without an incredible amount of inner conflict. It has been incredibly painful on every side. I have felt the crippling inability to respond, the suffocating agony of straddling disbelief and acceptance, and the fear of losing everything I loved including my relationship with my children. I have both kept silent and shared secrets, attempted to gloss over pain as well as expose it, and to be honest about our issues while not tearing down the other. It's an impossible balance and I fall multiple times on a daily basis. Sometimes I have a painfully difficult time getting up to try again.

When I walked away from my marriage, it was my desperate hope to set an better example for my children, but they were already grown. I finally saw a boundary that had to be enforced, even though there had been boundary crossings trampled long before. (Sometimes it takes my breath away when I realize the extent of what I have tolerated.) I am finally beginning to understand why outsiders are so furious with the "non offending" parent, even though I understand her place because I am her.

Where do I go from here? What can I do? It is impossible to travel back in time and do life over again, to make better past choices myself and set better past examples. I'm struggling to not make excuses for the younger me, while at the same time realizing that the younger Martha did the best she knew how to do. This is a painful process full of icky feeling emotions. My hands feel dirty but no matter how many times I wash them, I can't seem to get them entirely clean... And just when I feel utterly hopeless, God steps in to remind me that there is always hope with Him. I don't have to be an enabler. I can make better choices for the future. I can heal from codependence. I can be a better mom, grandmother, and friend.

Oh, There I Am!

There are moments when I am very much the same woman who started this blog a little over 15 years ago, and others where that woman feels a million miles away. There was absolutely no way I could have known in 2006 where the next ten years would take me, ... or the five following. There have been days so difficult that I didn't know how I would find the strength to survive. I learned how to cry again... when I thought that piece of me had been lost. The cap blew off the bottled up pain deep inside, spewing forth in torrents of tears, broken dreams, and gut-wrenching realizations. Healing felt impossible. The mountain before me insurmountable, the raging storm unstoppable... and yet, here I am.

Moments of searing pain still catch me off-guard, but my waking hours aren't consumed by the deep, unending ache. I've learned to love and forgive, to let go of what I can't control (which is just about everything), and to work on the only one I have any power over at all. Me. God continues to open my eyes to the world around me, to teach me new way, and to carry me over chasms uncrossable. 

There remain situations I don't understand. Life is about relationship, and relationships, quite frankly, can be hard. Only God sees straight to the heart. He knows me intimately and loves me anyway. It doesn't matter if I'm in a good mood and having the time of my life, or if I am angry and incorrigible. He's always just a prayer away, and that's not very far at all.

I am entirely thankful for the chance to find myself again, and even more grateful to have God holding me as I do. I'm looking forward to learning to new lessons, finding new friends and renewing old friendships, and taking deep, unhindered breaths and I climb new mountains.