After a week and a half of being in Utah with my family, I am finally home. Charlie was so excited to be "in my home!" Watching her rediscover all her toys, connect with her memories, it made me so sad.
This home holds so many good memories... and now, so many bad ones. Every picture of "us" makes my heart break. I so desperately miss him. I miss us. I miss our family.
I thought I was ready to be back. Now, I just don't know for sure.
I have bills to wade through, decisions to make, numbers to crunch.
I don't even think this can be "my home" for much longer. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that my daughter is losing every semblance of normal, that HER entire life is being turned upside down in all of this.
He was here when we were gone. He came by to get some stuff... clothes, movies, books.
The book that she gave him for his birthday was gone. The journals that sat right beside it, the ones I had been keeping for years before we got married, the ones that I gave to him and read to him by the fireplace on our wedding night, they are still here.
My heart is breaking. His decision has seemingly been made.
And my decisions are just beginning...
I don't know how I am going to make it through.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Line Please...
I suppose it is rare when I am at a loss for words. I am pretty sure most people don't see me having that issue very often. But I am getting to the point where I really just don't know what to say.
What am I supposed to say when people ask me where he is? What am I supposed to say about him going? How much do I disclose? What do I say when the kids who idolized him as their fun-loving Sunday school teacher ask where he has been? What do I say when old friends or former client inquire as to how things are going with us, with the business that we worked so hard to create?
And, worst of all, what am I supposed to say to Charlie? What do I tell her about where daddy is and why he has gone? How do I protect her in all of this? I feel like I have been left to fend for myself and no answer is a good answer. Nothing seems to come out right. No answer is sufficient. How do you compensate or try to minimize someone else's selfish decision, especially when it is hurting the one person that is a living, breathing manifestation of your heart?
In the end, the reality is that he has chosen a life different from the one that we had. He has chosen a world without US in it. He wants to still be her dad, he wants to be involved in her life, but how do you really DO that without being there for her all the time? How do you separate your daily life from this little person that is so much a part of you? How do you explain that you still want to be there for her when you have already spoken to the contrary with your actions? How do expect her, at two-years-old, to understand the disconnect between what you say and how you act?
Sadly, I know that she doesn't. I can feel it in her. I sense her anxiety. I feel her cling to me. I know her fear. I experience her rejection in all of this. Although she can't really articulate it, I know she is sad. I know she is scared. I know she is confused. I know she misses him. I know she expects that, at some point, her life will go back to the way it was, safe and predictable. I know because I am her mom. And it makes me so incredibly sad.
I wish I knew what I was supposed to say. I wish I knew how to fix it. I wish I were given some script on how to handle it, how to make her see that this isn't her fault at all.
All I can do is tell her what I know, that I love her unconditionally. And I am never going to leave her.
What am I supposed to say when people ask me where he is? What am I supposed to say about him going? How much do I disclose? What do I say when the kids who idolized him as their fun-loving Sunday school teacher ask where he has been? What do I say when old friends or former client inquire as to how things are going with us, with the business that we worked so hard to create?
And, worst of all, what am I supposed to say to Charlie? What do I tell her about where daddy is and why he has gone? How do I protect her in all of this? I feel like I have been left to fend for myself and no answer is a good answer. Nothing seems to come out right. No answer is sufficient. How do you compensate or try to minimize someone else's selfish decision, especially when it is hurting the one person that is a living, breathing manifestation of your heart?
In the end, the reality is that he has chosen a life different from the one that we had. He has chosen a world without US in it. He wants to still be her dad, he wants to be involved in her life, but how do you really DO that without being there for her all the time? How do you separate your daily life from this little person that is so much a part of you? How do you explain that you still want to be there for her when you have already spoken to the contrary with your actions? How do expect her, at two-years-old, to understand the disconnect between what you say and how you act?
Sadly, I know that she doesn't. I can feel it in her. I sense her anxiety. I feel her cling to me. I know her fear. I experience her rejection in all of this. Although she can't really articulate it, I know she is sad. I know she is scared. I know she is confused. I know she misses him. I know she expects that, at some point, her life will go back to the way it was, safe and predictable. I know because I am her mom. And it makes me so incredibly sad.
I wish I knew what I was supposed to say. I wish I knew how to fix it. I wish I were given some script on how to handle it, how to make her see that this isn't her fault at all.
All I can do is tell her what I know, that I love her unconditionally. And I am never going to leave her.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Better off dead
It is like cancer, but it really isn't, like grieving the loss of a loved one, but not.
Two times over the past couple of days, someone has compared what I am going through to death. My counselor said that what I am working through is not much different than Will being diagnosed with terminal cancer. Now I have to work through that. But this is certainly different. This is not some random incident of chance. This is a choice. This is far beyond me dealing with issues of loss. It also encompasses feelings of rejection, betrayal, abandonment.
I have been in that place where I have had to deal with the pain of the unknown, the seemingly indiscriminate hand of fate. We spent 7 weeks in the NICU and more than once I wondered if my sweet baby was ever going to make it home. I wondered if she would be healthy or fully functional. I prayed. I wrestled with God. I begged him to intervene. I hoped. I came to a strange peaceful place. I knew that even though I was not in control of the situation, God was. My faith, however small, allowed me to have some respite and a hope for whatever the future would hold. I was certain then that was the hardest period of my life. I was so very wrong.
This is so much harder than anything else I have ever endured. If Will really did have a terminal disease, at least I would know that there is nothing that we could do to fix it. we would pursue every option, we would find the best doctors that we could, we would seek the most educated advice, and then, we would do just what we did in the NICU, wrestle with God, beg for intervention, and eventually find peace in the faith that we have. But this is so different. Together, we are not consulting the best counsel or even God. All of that is out the door. Will isn't leaving us to go "home." Will is leaving us to be with someone else. He has no desire to fix it. He has no interest in making things better. He doesn't believe in the healing power of our God anymore. He doesn't believe in the love that we had. He doesn't want to find a cure. He just wants to move on. It is that resignation to the situation that gives me the greatest amount of pain. All of the hurt, the pain, the rejection and betrayal could all be mended, if only we were willing to try.
Maybe it is because I know how much God can do. Maybe it is because we live with the miraculous reminder of God's ability to heal. Maybe it is because I have been so encouraged by friends whose stories reflect God's desire to restore marriages and families. Maybe it is because I am so desperate to fix it... to fix us. Whatever it is, there is something in me that refuses to give up, that clings to any strand of hope and wants to put God back in control of the situation and in the center of our marriage. I want to find a cure. I want to be healed. And I know of a great physician that can get us there, if only we would go to him. If only we could try...
Two times over the past couple of days, someone has compared what I am going through to death. My counselor said that what I am working through is not much different than Will being diagnosed with terminal cancer. Now I have to work through that. But this is certainly different. This is not some random incident of chance. This is a choice. This is far beyond me dealing with issues of loss. It also encompasses feelings of rejection, betrayal, abandonment.
I have been in that place where I have had to deal with the pain of the unknown, the seemingly indiscriminate hand of fate. We spent 7 weeks in the NICU and more than once I wondered if my sweet baby was ever going to make it home. I wondered if she would be healthy or fully functional. I prayed. I wrestled with God. I begged him to intervene. I hoped. I came to a strange peaceful place. I knew that even though I was not in control of the situation, God was. My faith, however small, allowed me to have some respite and a hope for whatever the future would hold. I was certain then that was the hardest period of my life. I was so very wrong.
This is so much harder than anything else I have ever endured. If Will really did have a terminal disease, at least I would know that there is nothing that we could do to fix it. we would pursue every option, we would find the best doctors that we could, we would seek the most educated advice, and then, we would do just what we did in the NICU, wrestle with God, beg for intervention, and eventually find peace in the faith that we have. But this is so different. Together, we are not consulting the best counsel or even God. All of that is out the door. Will isn't leaving us to go "home." Will is leaving us to be with someone else. He has no desire to fix it. He has no interest in making things better. He doesn't believe in the healing power of our God anymore. He doesn't believe in the love that we had. He doesn't want to find a cure. He just wants to move on. It is that resignation to the situation that gives me the greatest amount of pain. All of the hurt, the pain, the rejection and betrayal could all be mended, if only we were willing to try.
Maybe it is because I know how much God can do. Maybe it is because we live with the miraculous reminder of God's ability to heal. Maybe it is because I have been so encouraged by friends whose stories reflect God's desire to restore marriages and families. Maybe it is because I am so desperate to fix it... to fix us. Whatever it is, there is something in me that refuses to give up, that clings to any strand of hope and wants to put God back in control of the situation and in the center of our marriage. I want to find a cure. I want to be healed. And I know of a great physician that can get us there, if only we would go to him. If only we could try...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
12 Steps
I have never been to rehab or a 12-step program but I think I do know that the first step is admitting that you have a problem. So, I suppose it is confession time. I have a problem. To be frank, I have a lot of problems.
Here it is: I am far, far from perfect. I can look back on my life and point out several occasions where I wish that I had done things differently. I wish that I had made better choices. More than that, I wish I had been an all together better person. I wish that I had more strength, more conviction, more fortitude. I wish I had been more generous, more patient, more honest. I wish I were able to think with a sense of perspective, even then. I wish I could be in those moments where I have a second or two to determine my reaction, to process my emotions and take those precious, fleeting seconds to make good choices.
Instead, I have failed so often. I have hurt people. I am more aware of my flaws than ever. I am aware of how I miss the mark, and I am dreadfully saddened by it. I guess I feel the need to make peace with all of those in my life that I have hurt. Chances are, if you are reading this, you are probably one of those people.
I feel like I could spend days, weeks, months trying to make restitution (is that part of a 12 step program too?) but I think, at this point, I am not even sure where to begin. So, here it is, my desire to make things right. My ache to apologize, to take ownership for the pain that I have caused others is laid out all right here.
In truth, I am a pretty terrible person. I have gossiped. I have envied. I have been proud. I have lied. I have cheated. I have been judgmental. I have hated. I have coveted. I have given in to my anger. I have lashed out. I have sought revenge. I have wounded and cut down with my words. I have ignored. I have withheld. I have rejoiced in misfortunes and been jealous of people's success. I have been stubborn, sarcastic and cynical. Sometimes, I have been downright mean. I have used people for my own personal gain, neglected people that mean the world to me and ignored those that God has called me to love, due purely to my own selfishness.
I probably missed a lot of things in all of that, but it is a start, I guess. For those of you that found yourself reading this paragraph and associating "Jessica" with those wrongs, I am so incredibly and deeply sorry. I am sorry for allowing my brokenness to affect you. The odds are, you are probably deeply important to me. That seems to be how I operate though. I often do hurt the people that I most care about.
So, if I had a time machine, would I go back and do it all differently? The sad reality is that I just don't know. I hate that I have hurt people. I hate that I have been fake or hypocritical. I hate that I have misrepresented Jesus to others. I hate that I have let you (and the many others that I love and care about so deeply) down.
But I am starting to see my pain, yes, even my own failures, as places of growth in my life. As much as I can see different ways that I have associated with the list above, I also see how those things do not make up the person that I want to be. They are not the sum of me. They do not define me. But they are places where I can look back and see how much God has changed me. They indicate places of change, of growth. They are markers of the person I don't want to be versus the person I am on the way to becoming.
I can see now how I have learned from my own screw ups. Experiencing my own brokenness and seeing how I have hurt others and even myself allows me to see that I am, indeed, not perfect. I am not God. I don't have this all figured out. It has helped me to see that I do have a true need for a savior. Without Him, I am just this list of failures. With Him, however, I am a little better than I was the day before. With Him, I have hope that I can be a better person.
So, I am trying to be grateful for my failures. I am trying to see how God can redeem them. I am hopeful that I can continue to look back and see how God has changed me, how I am growing and how dependent I am on Him to keep moving on this trajectory.
Here it is: I am far, far from perfect. I can look back on my life and point out several occasions where I wish that I had done things differently. I wish that I had made better choices. More than that, I wish I had been an all together better person. I wish that I had more strength, more conviction, more fortitude. I wish I had been more generous, more patient, more honest. I wish I were able to think with a sense of perspective, even then. I wish I could be in those moments where I have a second or two to determine my reaction, to process my emotions and take those precious, fleeting seconds to make good choices.
Instead, I have failed so often. I have hurt people. I am more aware of my flaws than ever. I am aware of how I miss the mark, and I am dreadfully saddened by it. I guess I feel the need to make peace with all of those in my life that I have hurt. Chances are, if you are reading this, you are probably one of those people.
I feel like I could spend days, weeks, months trying to make restitution (is that part of a 12 step program too?) but I think, at this point, I am not even sure where to begin. So, here it is, my desire to make things right. My ache to apologize, to take ownership for the pain that I have caused others is laid out all right here.
In truth, I am a pretty terrible person. I have gossiped. I have envied. I have been proud. I have lied. I have cheated. I have been judgmental. I have hated. I have coveted. I have given in to my anger. I have lashed out. I have sought revenge. I have wounded and cut down with my words. I have ignored. I have withheld. I have rejoiced in misfortunes and been jealous of people's success. I have been stubborn, sarcastic and cynical. Sometimes, I have been downright mean. I have used people for my own personal gain, neglected people that mean the world to me and ignored those that God has called me to love, due purely to my own selfishness.
I probably missed a lot of things in all of that, but it is a start, I guess. For those of you that found yourself reading this paragraph and associating "Jessica" with those wrongs, I am so incredibly and deeply sorry. I am sorry for allowing my brokenness to affect you. The odds are, you are probably deeply important to me. That seems to be how I operate though. I often do hurt the people that I most care about.
So, if I had a time machine, would I go back and do it all differently? The sad reality is that I just don't know. I hate that I have hurt people. I hate that I have been fake or hypocritical. I hate that I have misrepresented Jesus to others. I hate that I have let you (and the many others that I love and care about so deeply) down.
But I am starting to see my pain, yes, even my own failures, as places of growth in my life. As much as I can see different ways that I have associated with the list above, I also see how those things do not make up the person that I want to be. They are not the sum of me. They do not define me. But they are places where I can look back and see how much God has changed me. They indicate places of change, of growth. They are markers of the person I don't want to be versus the person I am on the way to becoming.
I can see now how I have learned from my own screw ups. Experiencing my own brokenness and seeing how I have hurt others and even myself allows me to see that I am, indeed, not perfect. I am not God. I don't have this all figured out. It has helped me to see that I do have a true need for a savior. Without Him, I am just this list of failures. With Him, however, I am a little better than I was the day before. With Him, I have hope that I can be a better person.
So, I am trying to be grateful for my failures. I am trying to see how God can redeem them. I am hopeful that I can continue to look back and see how God has changed me, how I am growing and how dependent I am on Him to keep moving on this trajectory.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Redemption Song
Redemption.
That is my word.
I didn't really realize that was my word. It is funny how you can say a word over and over and over again in the course of one conversation and not ever notice that you used (or, more likely OVER used) the word so frequently. It isn't until someone else points it out to you that you finally are made aware of the theme of your conversation.
At least that is how it was for me.
Back in October, just as my world began unraveling on me, I was lucky enough to have one of my oldest and dearest friends come to visit for the weekend. I poured my soul out to her that night over a glass (or 2, or 3) of wine. We talked about my current problems, the hope that I was clinging to, the reason I felt that way, knowing that the entire theme of the Bible is redemption, a God who brings healing to a broken and needy world, along with my fears, my doubts.
It wasn't until months later that I recognized the true significance of that conversation.
She sent me a simple email with a link to a blog that made her think of me... simply because she was so struck by the number of times I used that one word as we spoke that night.
Redemption
I didn't even realize that I had used the word THAT much. Granted, a little wine may have been blocking my memory a tad but I have vivid memories of that night. And she was right, redemption was the theme, I just hadn't seen it at the time.
And her simple email made me realize that I need to embrace what I know... God's story is still that of redemption. He still longs to redeem me and my situation. He longs to bring redemption to my story, because my story is His story.
But I am starting to realize that maybe I have been limiting the scope of redemption. I keep thinking that the only way God can really redeem this situation is if he brings my husband back to me. Redemption in my eyes has been our family being restored, my daughter having a full-time father, falling and staying in love with my husband.
But as hard as it has been for me, I am trying to confront the harsh reality that God can redeem me, even if Will never comes back. Even if Will chooses someone else over his family, God can redeem that. I don't think that is HIS plan, I don't think that is what He wants in all of this, but being a God who loves us enough to let us make our own decisions, no matter how bad, he is also able to redeem them.
I am slowly coming to grips with the fact that MY version of redemption is not necessarily the only possible means of redemption. It may not happen in the way I want it to. It may not happen the way GOD wants it to. But, no matter what, GOD CAN REDEEM. GOD WILL REDEEM.
I just have to be patient and trust. I have to know that He has a redemption song that he is composing for me to sing even now, even in the midst of the pain. One day, I will be singing. Married, remarried, single... I don't know. But I will sing.
REDEMPTION WILL BE MY SONG.
That is my word.
I didn't really realize that was my word. It is funny how you can say a word over and over and over again in the course of one conversation and not ever notice that you used (or, more likely OVER used) the word so frequently. It isn't until someone else points it out to you that you finally are made aware of the theme of your conversation.
At least that is how it was for me.
Back in October, just as my world began unraveling on me, I was lucky enough to have one of my oldest and dearest friends come to visit for the weekend. I poured my soul out to her that night over a glass (or 2, or 3) of wine. We talked about my current problems, the hope that I was clinging to, the reason I felt that way, knowing that the entire theme of the Bible is redemption, a God who brings healing to a broken and needy world, along with my fears, my doubts.
It wasn't until months later that I recognized the true significance of that conversation.
She sent me a simple email with a link to a blog that made her think of me... simply because she was so struck by the number of times I used that one word as we spoke that night.
Redemption
I didn't even realize that I had used the word THAT much. Granted, a little wine may have been blocking my memory a tad but I have vivid memories of that night. And she was right, redemption was the theme, I just hadn't seen it at the time.
And her simple email made me realize that I need to embrace what I know... God's story is still that of redemption. He still longs to redeem me and my situation. He longs to bring redemption to my story, because my story is His story.
But I am starting to realize that maybe I have been limiting the scope of redemption. I keep thinking that the only way God can really redeem this situation is if he brings my husband back to me. Redemption in my eyes has been our family being restored, my daughter having a full-time father, falling and staying in love with my husband.
But as hard as it has been for me, I am trying to confront the harsh reality that God can redeem me, even if Will never comes back. Even if Will chooses someone else over his family, God can redeem that. I don't think that is HIS plan, I don't think that is what He wants in all of this, but being a God who loves us enough to let us make our own decisions, no matter how bad, he is also able to redeem them.
I am slowly coming to grips with the fact that MY version of redemption is not necessarily the only possible means of redemption. It may not happen in the way I want it to. It may not happen the way GOD wants it to. But, no matter what, GOD CAN REDEEM. GOD WILL REDEEM.
I just have to be patient and trust. I have to know that He has a redemption song that he is composing for me to sing even now, even in the midst of the pain. One day, I will be singing. Married, remarried, single... I don't know. But I will sing.
REDEMPTION WILL BE MY SONG.
Friday, January 22, 2010
My Boo doll
Charlie knows that there are two toys that she has inherited (okay, she found them one day so I pretty much had to give them to her!) from mommy. She knows that she needs to be a little more careful with them than her others. One is the Pooh Bear doll that Will bought for me in high school. I slept with it almost every night until we got married and the Pooh bear was replaced by him (Pooh has made a reappearance in my room, in case you were wondering).
The other is my Boo doll.
Years ago when the movie Monsters, Inc. came out, I was immediately smitten with the little character, Boo. She completely captured my heart. I loved the way she would talk, her precious expressions, her pigtails. I longed to have a little girl just like her. Will bought me a little talking Boo doll back then (cause we would do that a lot, buy each other toys) and she sat on my nightstand for years as a reminder of what I had always hoped for, my own little Boo.
Years later, God gave her to me. In the most unusual and frightening of ways, God gave me a gift that I will never, ever believe that I am worthy of. He gave me my sweet and precious little girl, my own Boo. I remember holding this tiny, two and a half pound nugglet in the NICU and just praising God for her. Praising God that she was such a fighter , praising God that she was so strong. Praising God for the way I felt when I held her... I felt more secure, more confident in our ability to walk through the fire of the NICU. When I held her close to my chest, I felt closer to God. I experienced his love in a new and amazing way.
I still praise God for her. In fact, I think am more thankful for her now than I have ever been in my life.
On those days when I just want to stay in bed, she reminds me of why I get up. When I want to run, I remember why I stay. When we play tea together, when we spin circles and "ring around the rosies," when she makes me "breakfast" in her kitchen or just grabs my face and kisses me or tells me that she loves me, I praise God for her.
"Snuggling on the couch" is one of her new favorite things to do. I think it is a gift from God. I choose to believe that God is using her to fulfill some of my own deep needs for the comfort of physical touch. And I often am transported back to those feelings I experiences two and a half years ago in the NICU.
Now, as I snuggle with her on the couch and watch Monsters, Inc with her (one of her current favorite movies) the blessing does not ecape me and I find myself drowning in gratitude.
I am praising God that she is still such a fighter , praising God that she is still so strong. Praising God for the way I feel even now when I hold her... And I often feel one of those rare waves of security and a level of confidence that she and I will indeed be able to walk through this new fire of life.
And I hold my own little boo (pigtails and all) closer to me, hopeful that doing so will help me to feel even just a little bit closer to God and experience His love in an ever newer and more amazing way.
The other is my Boo doll.
Years ago when the movie Monsters, Inc. came out, I was immediately smitten with the little character, Boo. She completely captured my heart. I loved the way she would talk, her precious expressions, her pigtails. I longed to have a little girl just like her. Will bought me a little talking Boo doll back then (cause we would do that a lot, buy each other toys) and she sat on my nightstand for years as a reminder of what I had always hoped for, my own little Boo.
Years later, God gave her to me. In the most unusual and frightening of ways, God gave me a gift that I will never, ever believe that I am worthy of. He gave me my sweet and precious little girl, my own Boo. I remember holding this tiny, two and a half pound nugglet in the NICU and just praising God for her. Praising God that she was such a fighter , praising God that she was so strong. Praising God for the way I felt when I held her... I felt more secure, more confident in our ability to walk through the fire of the NICU. When I held her close to my chest, I felt closer to God. I experienced his love in a new and amazing way.
I still praise God for her. In fact, I think am more thankful for her now than I have ever been in my life.
On those days when I just want to stay in bed, she reminds me of why I get up. When I want to run, I remember why I stay. When we play tea together, when we spin circles and "ring around the rosies," when she makes me "breakfast" in her kitchen or just grabs my face and kisses me or tells me that she loves me, I praise God for her.
"Snuggling on the couch" is one of her new favorite things to do. I think it is a gift from God. I choose to believe that God is using her to fulfill some of my own deep needs for the comfort of physical touch. And I often am transported back to those feelings I experiences two and a half years ago in the NICU.
Now, as I snuggle with her on the couch and watch Monsters, Inc with her (one of her current favorite movies) the blessing does not ecape me and I find myself drowning in gratitude.
I am praising God that she is still such a fighter , praising God that she is still so strong. Praising God for the way I feel even now when I hold her... And I often feel one of those rare waves of security and a level of confidence that she and I will indeed be able to walk through this new fire of life.
And I hold my own little boo (pigtails and all) closer to me, hopeful that doing so will help me to feel even just a little bit closer to God and experience His love in an ever newer and more amazing way.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
New Things
I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: "Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They're his people, he's their God. He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone." The Enthroned continued, "Look! I'm making everything new. Write it all down—each word dependable and accurate."
Revelation 21:5 (The Message)
Revelation 21:5 (The Message)
"Restore us, O LORD God Almighty; make your face shine upon us,
that we may be saved."
Psalm 80:19 (NIV)
"He provided redemption for his people; he ordained his covenant forever— holy and awesome is his name."
Psalm 111:9 (NIV)
Psalm 80:19 (NIV)
"He provided redemption for his people; he ordained his covenant forever— holy and awesome is his name."
Psalm 111:9 (NIV)
From the moment I saw our house, I fell in love with it. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't big. It had 2 little bedrooms and a single bath. But there was something about that house that got to me. Something about it made me feel like I was home. The hardwood floors, the hexagon tiling, the little door in the kitchen for the milkman, all signs of a lovely OLD home. The house was built in 1937. It had, as so many people say, "Character." But it had clearly been loved. It had new copper plumbing, central air and heat, recessed lighting, fresh paint, buffed floors. The house was not just old. It was old but had been made new. It had been lovingly restored to a better version of itself. I don't know much about the process. We weren't a part of that. But we were the benefactors of someone else's love and care for this old home. We were able to appreciate the hours that were probably poured into it.
It amazes me how some people can walk into a home that has been run down and see the potential in it. I am not that person. I remember looking at "fixer uppers" in the house hunting process. Walking into them and wanting to walk away out of fear. I didn't want to think about the time and energy (not to mention the $$) it would take to make the place livable. I just wanted to move in, to settle in. I wanted "turn key." And that is what we got.
But now, I kinda wish I had pictures of the house before it became the house we know and love. I wish I knew how beautiful it was when it was built, how dilapidated it had become over the years. Although I love and appreciate the final product, there is something that I have missed in the process. I am beginning to think that I can't truly appreciate the house because I never saw the mess of it. I never saw it at its worst. I often wonder if the previous owners ever drive by, just to see... to see if the people who moved in love the house as much as they did, if they are appreciating it and seeing the valuable time effort and LOVE that they poured into it. Sadly, I would have to say that I don't always. I sometimes take it all for granted. I neglect it.
But as I am beginning to see more and more mess in my life, I am also beginning to appreciate even more the process of restoration. Making something new again, making something that was broken now functional and useful, turning the mess into beauty, an old house into a home, it certainly is a process. It takes time, it takes dedication, it takes love.
My prayers right now are all about this transformation. I so desperately need restoration right now. I need a savior who could pour all of that into me... time, effort, love, dedication. I need someone who sees the mess and doesn't turn away out of fear but rather, without hesitation, says "Yes! This is beautiful! I can fix this. This is what I do best. This is easy for me. This is going to be an amazing finished product!"
I know He can do it. I know He wants to do it. I know that it is his profession. It is His craft. It is is what He does best. It is the greatest story in the world. How the God of the universe longs to make us new. How the God who created the world desires to restore all of it back to the beautiful, perfect place he had envisioned, before we messed it all up.
My mess of a life needs to be made new. My little world needs redemption.
I need God to fix me. I need him to show me that he is making me a better version of me in this process. And maybe someone out there will be able to appreciate it all. They will be able to see the growth that is taking place in me. The finished project is just part of the beauty. But there is tremendous value in that process of the broken me becoming the whole me. The me where all things are now new.
It amazes me how some people can walk into a home that has been run down and see the potential in it. I am not that person. I remember looking at "fixer uppers" in the house hunting process. Walking into them and wanting to walk away out of fear. I didn't want to think about the time and energy (not to mention the $$) it would take to make the place livable. I just wanted to move in, to settle in. I wanted "turn key." And that is what we got.
But now, I kinda wish I had pictures of the house before it became the house we know and love. I wish I knew how beautiful it was when it was built, how dilapidated it had become over the years. Although I love and appreciate the final product, there is something that I have missed in the process. I am beginning to think that I can't truly appreciate the house because I never saw the mess of it. I never saw it at its worst. I often wonder if the previous owners ever drive by, just to see... to see if the people who moved in love the house as much as they did, if they are appreciating it and seeing the valuable time effort and LOVE that they poured into it. Sadly, I would have to say that I don't always. I sometimes take it all for granted. I neglect it.
But as I am beginning to see more and more mess in my life, I am also beginning to appreciate even more the process of restoration. Making something new again, making something that was broken now functional and useful, turning the mess into beauty, an old house into a home, it certainly is a process. It takes time, it takes dedication, it takes love.
My prayers right now are all about this transformation. I so desperately need restoration right now. I need a savior who could pour all of that into me... time, effort, love, dedication. I need someone who sees the mess and doesn't turn away out of fear but rather, without hesitation, says "Yes! This is beautiful! I can fix this. This is what I do best. This is easy for me. This is going to be an amazing finished product!"
I know He can do it. I know He wants to do it. I know that it is his profession. It is His craft. It is is what He does best. It is the greatest story in the world. How the God of the universe longs to make us new. How the God who created the world desires to restore all of it back to the beautiful, perfect place he had envisioned, before we messed it all up.
My mess of a life needs to be made new. My little world needs redemption.
I need God to fix me. I need him to show me that he is making me a better version of me in this process. And maybe someone out there will be able to appreciate it all. They will be able to see the growth that is taking place in me. The finished project is just part of the beauty. But there is tremendous value in that process of the broken me becoming the whole me. The me where all things are now new.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Taking this to heart
I find myself using that phrase a lot... I am going to "take this to heart." It is one of those sayings that I often let slip into a conversation without really processing it.
In the midst of this pain that I am experiencing, I find that now, more than ever, I need to really learn how to take things to heart. I need to find a way to connect all the head knowledge that I have to my heart. I think I am hoping to find a shortcut. The problem is that it seems to be an awfully long road. That space between my head and my heart has never felt so distant.
I am a pretty logical person. I don't often get wrapped up in my emotions. Don't get me wrong, I can be emotional, I have been known to cry at a hallmark commercial or two, but I rarely let my emotions rule. In the rare instance when I find myself being driven by my feelings, my analytical side usually kicks in pretty quickly and brings me back to my senses. That is probably why I find it tough to get things from my head to my heart. I have spent many years short-circuiting the process.
Right now, I KNOW a lot of things. I KNOW that God loves me. I KNOW that he would never abandon me. I KNOW that he can use all things for good. I KNOW that he has a plan to redeem not only me but also my miserable situation. I KNOW that he cares for my daughter much more than I ever could. I KNOW that he has a plan for her too. I KNOW that I am loved. I KNOW that I am worthy of love, that I am a good and decent person who is a daughter of the King. I KNOW that I have value in him.
But I am sorry if I just don't FEEL all that right now. Right now I FEEL abandoned and lonely. I FEEL left in my despair. I FEEL like nothing good could come of this situation. I FEEL like my daughter has been left hanging. I FEEL unlovable, disposable. I FEEL unworthy. I FEEL like garbage.
But I do recognize that my feelings are not what dictates the reality of all of this. Those things I KNOW, they are truth. The things I FEEL, they are not. So, every day, I just try a little harder to move those short 12 inches from my head to my heart. Someday, my heart will finally take it.
In the midst of this pain that I am experiencing, I find that now, more than ever, I need to really learn how to take things to heart. I need to find a way to connect all the head knowledge that I have to my heart. I think I am hoping to find a shortcut. The problem is that it seems to be an awfully long road. That space between my head and my heart has never felt so distant.
I am a pretty logical person. I don't often get wrapped up in my emotions. Don't get me wrong, I can be emotional, I have been known to cry at a hallmark commercial or two, but I rarely let my emotions rule. In the rare instance when I find myself being driven by my feelings, my analytical side usually kicks in pretty quickly and brings me back to my senses. That is probably why I find it tough to get things from my head to my heart. I have spent many years short-circuiting the process.
Right now, I KNOW a lot of things. I KNOW that God loves me. I KNOW that he would never abandon me. I KNOW that he can use all things for good. I KNOW that he has a plan to redeem not only me but also my miserable situation. I KNOW that he cares for my daughter much more than I ever could. I KNOW that he has a plan for her too. I KNOW that I am loved. I KNOW that I am worthy of love, that I am a good and decent person who is a daughter of the King. I KNOW that I have value in him.
But I am sorry if I just don't FEEL all that right now. Right now I FEEL abandoned and lonely. I FEEL left in my despair. I FEEL like nothing good could come of this situation. I FEEL like my daughter has been left hanging. I FEEL unlovable, disposable. I FEEL unworthy. I FEEL like garbage.
I want to feel in my heart all those things that I know in my head.
I just don't know how to get there. I want to feel it, experience it, revel in it all... but I can't. I am just not there yet. I know someday I will be. I know someday I will look back and SEE it all, FEEL it all. But that day is not today. It probably won't be tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now.
But I do recognize that my feelings are not what dictates the reality of all of this. Those things I KNOW, they are truth. The things I FEEL, they are not. So, every day, I just try a little harder to move those short 12 inches from my head to my heart. Someday, my heart will finally take it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Forgiven
I know that I am forgiven. I know that I have been given an amazing gift of grace by the creator of the universe who loved me enough to sacrifice his son for me. And I know that the love between a parent and child (at least for me) is incredibly fierce. I know that this forgiveness is the greatest gift I could ever receive. But I have so often abused grace. I have turned and gone my own way over and over again.
I know how valuable forgiveness is. I recognize my own desperate need for it. I realize that it is nothing more than a gift.
So why is it so difficult for ME to forgive?
I want to be angry. I want to have a right to that anger. I want to hate. I want to know that my feelings are justified, that it is "fair" for me to feel this way. I want to cling to my pain because my pain means that I can feel "RIGHT" in the resentment that I feel. I can do what I want, justify what I do... because I have been hurt.
But that just makes me a victim. And it makes me an ingrate. How can I experience such deep and complete forgiveness from God and then turn around and hold a grudge against those who have hurt me?
My pain is deep. My pain is comfortable. My pain is reoccurring. It lingers every day. Every time I think about my brokenness, the pain that awaits my daughter, the fact that I am losing everything I own and the life that we have built together, cashing in 14 years of memories and truly good times, overwhelming moments of happiness...the pain returns.
But I can't live in that pain. I can't continue to dwell on it. It cannot be my home. As easy as it would be to do, and as much as I might feel the need, I cannot do it. I have to choose forgiveness. I have to ask God to help me do that, because right now, I don't have it in me. I have to ask God to stand in the gap for me because the gap right now feels more like the Grand Canyon. This is that gap that we all experience... the gap between what I know I SHOULD do and what I really WANT to do. It is the distance between the me that I AM and the me that I truly want to be.
I am choosing forgiveness. I just don't know quite how to get there.
Maybe the first step is just putting it out there. Saying it out loud, writing it down.
Forgiven. You are forgiven. It doesn't make what you are doing right. It doesn't give you my blessing. But it means that I cannot live in this place of pain. I don't want to play the victim. I am choosing to let go of that, asking God to bridge the gap, choosing to live in the freedom of forgiveness and grace, and praying that God's promises are realized in that place.
I know how valuable forgiveness is. I recognize my own desperate need for it. I realize that it is nothing more than a gift.
So why is it so difficult for ME to forgive?
I want to be angry. I want to have a right to that anger. I want to hate. I want to know that my feelings are justified, that it is "fair" for me to feel this way. I want to cling to my pain because my pain means that I can feel "RIGHT" in the resentment that I feel. I can do what I want, justify what I do... because I have been hurt.
But that just makes me a victim. And it makes me an ingrate. How can I experience such deep and complete forgiveness from God and then turn around and hold a grudge against those who have hurt me?
My pain is deep. My pain is comfortable. My pain is reoccurring. It lingers every day. Every time I think about my brokenness, the pain that awaits my daughter, the fact that I am losing everything I own and the life that we have built together, cashing in 14 years of memories and truly good times, overwhelming moments of happiness...the pain returns.
But I can't live in that pain. I can't continue to dwell on it. It cannot be my home. As easy as it would be to do, and as much as I might feel the need, I cannot do it. I have to choose forgiveness. I have to ask God to help me do that, because right now, I don't have it in me. I have to ask God to stand in the gap for me because the gap right now feels more like the Grand Canyon. This is that gap that we all experience... the gap between what I know I SHOULD do and what I really WANT to do. It is the distance between the me that I AM and the me that I truly want to be.
I am choosing forgiveness. I just don't know quite how to get there.
Maybe the first step is just putting it out there. Saying it out loud, writing it down.
Forgiven. You are forgiven. It doesn't make what you are doing right. It doesn't give you my blessing. But it means that I cannot live in this place of pain. I don't want to play the victim. I am choosing to let go of that, asking God to bridge the gap, choosing to live in the freedom of forgiveness and grace, and praying that God's promises are realized in that place.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The new beginning I never wanted
A new year, a new you... cliched but true. But this year, it isn't about taking on a new diet plan or striving to eat healthy. No, this year is far different. This year, I am learning to embrace a new start. A start that I really never wanted. I am realizing that sometimes we don't get a say in the path we have to travel, the life we have to live.
This year I learn to live in faith.
I learn to live without my husband.
One week ago today, the other shoe finally dropped. He just can't "do it" anymore.
I was angry. I was hurt. I was disappointed and, for the first time in a very LONG time, feeling completely and utterly alone.
I don't know what to do with the pain. I don't know how to repair it... it is killing the "fixer" in me.
I could point the finger. I could choose to see that there is a long list of things HE needs to change or that he did to hurt me. But instead, I choose to see my part. I take responsibility for some of this. I have failed him. I have "missed" him. I have not been a perfect wife. Sometimes not even a good wife. But I love him.
We failed each other. We didn't pursue the mess. We let opportunities for truth, pain and eventually growth slip through the cracks. We left God in the foyer of our marriage. We didn't invite him in all the way. We never truly learned what real love looks like, not the warm, fuzzy kind of love that you experience in the first months of dating someone, but the love that sees the mess, that sees the ugliness and loves in spite. The love that forgives, the love that extends grace, the love we experience in Him.
I am crying out, I am desperate. I want restitution. REDEMPTION. I know I serve a God whose story is just that.
So now, I wait. I wait in FAITH that he will do his mighty work. That he will fix my brokenness, Will's brokenness, my daughter's brokenness. I trust that, in the midst of the pain, there is growth to be had. In the midst of the pain He is there and that my story continues... His story continues in me.
I am learning, very, very, very slowly, to live in faith. It is all I seem to have right now.
This year I learn to live in faith.
I learn to live without my husband.
One week ago today, the other shoe finally dropped. He just can't "do it" anymore.
I was angry. I was hurt. I was disappointed and, for the first time in a very LONG time, feeling completely and utterly alone.
I don't know what to do with the pain. I don't know how to repair it... it is killing the "fixer" in me.
I could point the finger. I could choose to see that there is a long list of things HE needs to change or that he did to hurt me. But instead, I choose to see my part. I take responsibility for some of this. I have failed him. I have "missed" him. I have not been a perfect wife. Sometimes not even a good wife. But I love him.
We failed each other. We didn't pursue the mess. We let opportunities for truth, pain and eventually growth slip through the cracks. We left God in the foyer of our marriage. We didn't invite him in all the way. We never truly learned what real love looks like, not the warm, fuzzy kind of love that you experience in the first months of dating someone, but the love that sees the mess, that sees the ugliness and loves in spite. The love that forgives, the love that extends grace, the love we experience in Him.
I am crying out, I am desperate. I want restitution. REDEMPTION. I know I serve a God whose story is just that.
So now, I wait. I wait in FAITH that he will do his mighty work. That he will fix my brokenness, Will's brokenness, my daughter's brokenness. I trust that, in the midst of the pain, there is growth to be had. In the midst of the pain He is there and that my story continues... His story continues in me.
I am learning, very, very, very slowly, to live in faith. It is all I seem to have right now.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Hitting the Snooze
I miss my alarm clock, the one I used to be able to hit and then sleep for awhile longer. The one that was so easy to turn off as I would roll over and fall back asleep. I will admit to being a major snoozer. I would have to set the alarm for a good 45 minutes prior to when I really needed to get up just because I knew I would be snoozing.
But those days are long gone. Today, my alarm clock is vibrant and attention-getting. She wears Tinkerbell PJ's and continually exhorts me to "get up, get up, get up" every morning as she peels the covers from me. There used to be a day when I would get her and pull her into bed with us. The three of us would then spend another hour or so cuddling and sleeping. It was the best "snoozing" experience of my life. But now things are different.
Charlie doesn't want to cuddle with me in the mornings anymore. She wants to get up. She wants to get moving. She knows that each day has new promise and holds the potential for fun and excitement. Today could mean a play date with friends, a trip to the store (or better yet, Starbucks with mommy where she gets her "regular;" chocolate milk". Whatever the day holds, she is ready for it. She wants to start it. She is going to learn something today. Another part of her world is falling into place. I am amazed at how much she is processing and learning. It is like I am watching her world get patched together, one stitch at a time in her little two and a half year-old brain. The things she recognizes and says make all of this very clear to me. She knows when we pull into the parking lot of chic-fil-a, starbucks, church or target exactly where we are and why we are there. She remembers that she left her Buzz Lightyear doll at her friend Emily's house weeks ago. She remembers that Brooky and Hannah gave her specific clothes for her birthday 6 months ago or that Santa brought her "big girl panties" for Christmas. She knows that certain things we don't touch because they are hot or even "fraaaagile." She amazes me everyday as she puts all the things she is learning into little compartments in her brain and then pulls them out later as she needs them.
But I am often not ready for the day. I don't want to get out of bed. I just want to hit the snooze. My world doesn't seem to hold the same valuable lessons that her world holds. I don't have the same excitement over each day's potential. But I should. For as much as I have learned in my 31 years of life, I realize more and more each day how little I really do know and how little I have really understood. More so, I can see how many days have gone by with opportunities ripe for learning that have passed me by.
I remember the days (ever so vaguely) of sleeping in until 11 or even noon. It felt good at the time. But then I would get up and realize that I was still so tired. It was as if my overindulging had really done me more harm than good. My day would go in slow motion. I would be disappointed in the end with how little I got done before it was time to hit the pillow again.
Even today, I push the snooze of life too often. I waste away my time. Hours and days pass without even a single reflection of what I am learning, weather or not I am growing. I am pushing snooze on the truly important things in life. Maybe rolling over is just easier than being awake and aware of what my issues are and what I truly need to do to change. Whatever the reason, I find am sleeping the days away and, in the end, I just feel listless and even more exhausted with it all. Pushing the snooze is making me stagnant.
The funny thing is that now, after Charlie has dragged me out of bed (and after my first cup of coffee), I actually feel good. I feel awake. I feel ready for the day. Slowly I am realizing that the discipline of getting up (even though I HATE it as my feet hit the floor each morning) is important to starting my day, a day that holds promise and potential for me too, if only I get out of bed. If only I recognize it as another day and a new opportunity.
Even though I don't WANT to do it and I want to sleep, I want to be selfish, I get up now. I will occasionally ask for extra cuddle time (the elusive snooze) but I don't often get it. Instead, I get breakfast with Charlie. I get my morning cup of coffee. I get a jumpstart on my day. No more snooze. It is time to start the day. It is time to learn, to grow, to experience the beauty and potential of the day ahead.
But those days are long gone. Today, my alarm clock is vibrant and attention-getting. She wears Tinkerbell PJ's and continually exhorts me to "get up, get up, get up" every morning as she peels the covers from me. There used to be a day when I would get her and pull her into bed with us. The three of us would then spend another hour or so cuddling and sleeping. It was the best "snoozing" experience of my life. But now things are different.
Charlie doesn't want to cuddle with me in the mornings anymore. She wants to get up. She wants to get moving. She knows that each day has new promise and holds the potential for fun and excitement. Today could mean a play date with friends, a trip to the store (or better yet, Starbucks with mommy where she gets her "regular;" chocolate milk". Whatever the day holds, she is ready for it. She wants to start it. She is going to learn something today. Another part of her world is falling into place. I am amazed at how much she is processing and learning. It is like I am watching her world get patched together, one stitch at a time in her little two and a half year-old brain. The things she recognizes and says make all of this very clear to me. She knows when we pull into the parking lot of chic-fil-a, starbucks, church or target exactly where we are and why we are there. She remembers that she left her Buzz Lightyear doll at her friend Emily's house weeks ago. She remembers that Brooky and Hannah gave her specific clothes for her birthday 6 months ago or that Santa brought her "big girl panties" for Christmas. She knows that certain things we don't touch because they are hot or even "fraaaagile." She amazes me everyday as she puts all the things she is learning into little compartments in her brain and then pulls them out later as she needs them.
But I am often not ready for the day. I don't want to get out of bed. I just want to hit the snooze. My world doesn't seem to hold the same valuable lessons that her world holds. I don't have the same excitement over each day's potential. But I should. For as much as I have learned in my 31 years of life, I realize more and more each day how little I really do know and how little I have really understood. More so, I can see how many days have gone by with opportunities ripe for learning that have passed me by.
I remember the days (ever so vaguely) of sleeping in until 11 or even noon. It felt good at the time. But then I would get up and realize that I was still so tired. It was as if my overindulging had really done me more harm than good. My day would go in slow motion. I would be disappointed in the end with how little I got done before it was time to hit the pillow again.
Even today, I push the snooze of life too often. I waste away my time. Hours and days pass without even a single reflection of what I am learning, weather or not I am growing. I am pushing snooze on the truly important things in life. Maybe rolling over is just easier than being awake and aware of what my issues are and what I truly need to do to change. Whatever the reason, I find am sleeping the days away and, in the end, I just feel listless and even more exhausted with it all. Pushing the snooze is making me stagnant.
The funny thing is that now, after Charlie has dragged me out of bed (and after my first cup of coffee), I actually feel good. I feel awake. I feel ready for the day. Slowly I am realizing that the discipline of getting up (even though I HATE it as my feet hit the floor each morning) is important to starting my day, a day that holds promise and potential for me too, if only I get out of bed. If only I recognize it as another day and a new opportunity.
Even though I don't WANT to do it and I want to sleep, I want to be selfish, I get up now. I will occasionally ask for extra cuddle time (the elusive snooze) but I don't often get it. Instead, I get breakfast with Charlie. I get my morning cup of coffee. I get a jumpstart on my day. No more snooze. It is time to start the day. It is time to learn, to grow, to experience the beauty and potential of the day ahead.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Write it down
I generally don't make resolutions. They just feel more like "potential failures" to me. Granted, I sometimes make a loose goal, create an ideal, pursue a good intention, but very rarely do I commit. It is probably just because I know how truly terrible I am at keeping them. Let's face it, I am the girl who hates playing any sort of game that I know I can't win. Basketball, tennis, even Phase One? Just count me out. I know I am not winning and I don't want to play. I don't want to fail. I don't like the feeling of losing, of disappointing, of coming up short... again. So, I just don't play, and I certainly don't make resolutions.
But it is just so hard to enter the New Year without thinking about them. And this year, I thought a LOT about them. Maybe it is the first time in years that I have realized how much in me I really do want to change. Maybe I just feel more resolve than any year previous. Or maybe I am just beginning to scratch the surface of the truth that I really can do anything.
Whatever the reason, this year I did it. Not only did I come up with some lofty goals. This year, I really went for broke. I wrote my resolutions down.
There is something about putting pen to paper that is so solidifying, so permanent, so... freeing. I wrote them down... one or two at first but then they began to flow. It isn't about going to the gym, it's not even about giving up sweets (although I hope to be able to work on both of these things in 2010) but rather really taking the time to focus on who I am, who I really want to be and how I get there. I long to recognize my failures, embrace my hurts, find God working in the everyday. I want to be aware. I want to live. I want to love... without reserve or condition.
Now, I am not delusional. I know that I am going to fail. I know that there are days when I won't hit the mark and in those days, I will be tempted to see that list of resolutions more like a list of predetermined failures but it really isn't about that anymore. It isn't about always KEEPING every resolution. In some ways, it is just about making the resolutions themselves. I am jumping in, I am off the sidelines, I am in the game. Deal me in. I probably won't make every shot, I won't win every game, but when I DO, it will feel good. It will feel right. And it will move me one more step closer to being the woman that I really know I am meant to be, the woman God created me to be. And that makes staring down that list of potential failures totally worth it.
But it is just so hard to enter the New Year without thinking about them. And this year, I thought a LOT about them. Maybe it is the first time in years that I have realized how much in me I really do want to change. Maybe I just feel more resolve than any year previous. Or maybe I am just beginning to scratch the surface of the truth that I really can do anything.
Whatever the reason, this year I did it. Not only did I come up with some lofty goals. This year, I really went for broke. I wrote my resolutions down.
There is something about putting pen to paper that is so solidifying, so permanent, so... freeing. I wrote them down... one or two at first but then they began to flow. It isn't about going to the gym, it's not even about giving up sweets (although I hope to be able to work on both of these things in 2010) but rather really taking the time to focus on who I am, who I really want to be and how I get there. I long to recognize my failures, embrace my hurts, find God working in the everyday. I want to be aware. I want to live. I want to love... without reserve or condition.
Now, I am not delusional. I know that I am going to fail. I know that there are days when I won't hit the mark and in those days, I will be tempted to see that list of resolutions more like a list of predetermined failures but it really isn't about that anymore. It isn't about always KEEPING every resolution. In some ways, it is just about making the resolutions themselves. I am jumping in, I am off the sidelines, I am in the game. Deal me in. I probably won't make every shot, I won't win every game, but when I DO, it will feel good. It will feel right. And it will move me one more step closer to being the woman that I really know I am meant to be, the woman God created me to be. And that makes staring down that list of potential failures totally worth it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)