The sound of Michael Jr's old motorcycle coming home is something I've cherished the last few weeks. When it's past twilight and I know he should be on his way from hunting, I stand on the porch ...and pray. There are so many things that can go wrong, even though he's taken the courses and is experienced. He hardly looks it but he's only 14, but I won't stand in his way of becoming independent and enjoying the hunt, but I won't leave it uncovered in prayer either.
Thanksgiving morning, he shot a nice sized one. Funny that we don't have the meats that are "in season" for our meal. Instead, we have frozen turkey ...doesn't make much sense. Our freezer doesn't either. We have venison and 10s of pounds of chicken (from that broken crate Mike got from California), when everyone else is stocking up on pork and beef.
Miranda and Megan both have new jobs and couldn't come home for Thanksgiving. We'd thought of going to them but the powers that be didn't answer us on that. Instead, we took up other family on an offer to visit and are glad we did. It was nice to see Mike catch up with ones he hadn't talked with in so long. I enjoyed sitting with Cindy, Sandy, and Lisa watching all the boisterousness happen.
We got home in time to finish preparing our own meal and despite the undersized turkey I bought, it was good but not the same without everyone here. The shopping wasn't the same either. I'd never been Black Friday shopping until last year when Megan insisted I go. Concord Mills, a big mall near Charlotte, was dead, as far as I was concerned. I had more fun wearing that full length raccoon fur coat amongst the shoppers at Bass Pro. I could've easily been on exhibit with the taxidermied animals! Alas, we found a couple of small gifts and mossied on up the highway to the Troutman Horse Auction. We found the missing shoppers; they were all there selling off their prized pets. People come from all over: Ohio, West Virginia, Tennessee, South Carolina ...but I've never seen that many people there!
McKala, Michael, Melody, and I began making our rounds and as we passed by the lower riding ring, our neighbor, Ronny, called us "Harpers" out. We sat and talked with him for over an hour. Afterall, he is the man who gave us a buggy ride shortly after we moved here 3 years ago. He's shown Michael and McKala how to plow with his giant, Percheron of a horse and is letting them ride him now. As we watched all the specimens circle around, we told him of our neighbor from the mountains who also shared his hobby with our family. Lo and behold, there Ernie was, riding behind a pair of gray Belgians! We rushed over to say hello, followed him over to the bleachers when he got off, and told him of all the changes that've happened since we left Long Branch Road.
Ernie had an idea! He said McKala should ride with the Mennonite young man who was showing off his team in the ring. I told Ernie that she can cook and clean and tend to children better than I can, so he said that the young man should know that. But what we didn't know is that as she and he rode around those few minutes, they managed to share a whole lot of information. McKala was surprised that he was so talkative, given that ofttimes they aren't. Michael teased her that she'd have to work on her sewing skills, so the joke now is that she needs to learn to make pants.
We were able to introduce Ernie and Ronny. What are the chances that not once but twice in a lifetime we'd have someone share with us the thing, the same thing, that brings them joy? It may be a hobby to them, but to us it's a blessing, an experience. Ronny's allowing Michael to hunt on his land and them to ride "Bubba" are great replacements for the basketball court, which we won't be pounding this season. I love that McKala has determined to ride despite her condition. I said to her, "But you've been coughing for day and night." She's decided that in the middle of the shots and treatments and fatigue, she'll push forward, trusting that she can survive "even if the healing doesn't come".
We stopped by the store to get deli meat, of all things, because my tiny turkey had no leftovers. When we arrived home, Mike and the little ones were still breathing, so the day had gone well.
Friday night, we found out that Mike's mother was going to be admitted into the ICU. He thought he'd need to be there in Georgia, but thankfully she had improved some on Saturday. I don't remember much else from that day, except that Macklynn found me while I was cleaning and asked why I still hadn't made a pumpkin pie with him. (Our elderly friend, Virgie, had given us 2 pumpkins and 2 large boxes of apples.) When I got frustrated and told him I was doing the best I could, he held back tears. Then I knew how important it was to him, not to HAVE a pie but to MAKE a pie with me, so we did.
Sunday morning we visited an affluent church and were pleasantly surprised by the pastor's topic of dicontentment in regard to the holidays. Towards the end he explained that Phillipians 4:13 is not at all about "doing all things through Christ" for success BUT in times of distress. He talked about how we plaster verses on things, pulling them from their context. Speaking of scripture, I'm in the 34th chapter of Isaiah. I came across this in Chapter 32: "The vile person shall be no more called liberal, nor the churl said to be bountiful. For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work iniquity, to practise hypocrisy, and to utter error against the Lord, to make empty the soul of the hungry, and he will cause the drink of the thirsty to fail. The instruments also of the churl are evil: he deviseth wicked devices to destroy the poor with lying words, even when the needy speaketh right. But the liberal deviseth liberal things; and by liberal things shall he stand. Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice, ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech." It would be that "liberal", charitable with one's things, is a good thing except that here and until now, it is done "to utter error against the Lord". Sound familiar?
I was brought to Isaiah by Anne Graham Lotz's (Franklin Graham's sister's) book, "Expecting to See Jesus". I see things so similarly to the way she does. She says that there is no way to be a child of Christ and not be changed and moved and brought to our knees by God's Word. For years and years, I've hoped to have a real connection with the events of Christmas and their meanings. At 2 am upon completing the book with the house quiet, I stepped into the kitchen to hear "O Holy Night" beginning to play on the radio and was flooded with prayer, tears, weeping ...a revival ...just what the book is about. You have to read it! I got it from the library. You probably can, too.
Yesterday, Mike and I both got to go the dentist, our "dentist date" as Melody called it. I say "got to" because I haven't had dental insurance in 4 years and now have a small window to get some things done. I still have a couple of gum pockets of 9 mm. The idea that I could lose those teeth in a few years makes me appreciate that I have them at all. (Mike will be losing 2 teeth today.) The things people struggle with all over the world remind me what a luxury it is to have even the hot shower I had this morning. And as Madalynn, 4, so perfectly put as she jerked her head up from what she was doing, when one of her sisters mentioned that we're poor, "We're not poor. We have food and a house!" Ah, out of the mouth of a babe.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Rock the Boat
I've been thinking about the holidays arriving and what's become inevitable for so many of us. I can't remember a time when I was downright hateful with family or friends, not without provocation anyway. I'm trying to recall when I was just plain rude to any of them and can't. I've bent over backwards to have smooth sailing. That's why rocking the boat seems okay with me right now.
There comes a time when enough is enough, no matter the age, no matter the position in the family tree, no matter the status in society. The interesting twist in establishing a line in the sand is that when we cross back over to their side, anything we do in earnest is an expression of mercy, a clear act of good will ...because we have made known that we don't "like" what's been happening, but we're reaching out anyway.
It's all right to lose the "nice" shell temporarily ...funny how so many people conveniently assume being nice comes easy for us. So, when they tromp all over us, we'll get over it ...because we always do. That's why "truth" is so imperitive! It may be that they'll never know the difference if we don't finally stand up and say, "I don't like that. It's wrong and it's rude." How many people will suffer one more holiday with individuals who start something to hamper everyone's day? Is this the tradition we want to pass to our own children? Is this what they have to look forward to in the pomp and circumstance, all the preparations?
We are bound to take care of our family and friends in times of need but no one says we have to let their undisciplined emotions snuff out the joy of gatherings. I can't subject me or the kids to any more than we already have on our plates. Mike has this broken leg only a week into this new job. (His size 14 shoes got hung up in the rungs of a step stool.) We have the house torn apart: switching bedrooms, cleaning out closets and drawers, painting walls, shampooing carpet - I finally got rid of the strange orange substance that had poured down the wall and onto a snakeskin behind the boys' beds! McKala's asthma has relapsed some. We having testing to get underway. We still haven't "winterized" the outside. And, of course, the list goes on, BUT I can't let it prevent me from "dropping everything" periodically when one of the kids wants me to do something fun. I don't want them to remember me striving to keep order at all expense.
We finished up sports, much to the dismay of most of the kids, until sometime next year with a football banquet for Michael last night. I asked permission to tell the parents and players how I felt about all the times they'd taken Michael for us to practices and away games. The room was big and I was visibly nervous but managed to get out how much their "yeses meant in a season of noes for our family". It's a Christian travel team and they showed the spirit that expressed it.
We had no plan to go to church this morning but while I was sleeping, Mike had been looking up a sister church in NC to the one he'd been in last week in NJ. He woke me and said if I wanted to go, I had 10 minutes because it's 45 minutes away. I guess not washing my makeup off last night turned out to be a perk this morning. I grabbed the same clothes I wore, except the hand-me-down shoes Megan gave me. I spent 8 dollars getting them new heels. I don't know what I was thinking, that the size 10 shoes would stay on. I put Madalynn's shorty socks in the toes of them last night and limped through. Sometimes being a tightwad isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Other times it 'is' all it's cracked up to be. The Harpers won't be as "active" for a while, but it leaves time for things like Melody sitting in McKala's room, that's now just down the hall from us. As I eased off to sleep the other night, I heard them giggling. Transitioning to a teenager has been so hard for Melody and blissful giggling doesn't come all that readily. I started to quiet them when I remembered a specific night back in the mountains. All the lights were out but Megan and Miranda were giggling (loudly enough to be heard from 2 stories down, mind you). I wanted to hush them ...and Mike said, "Don't".
Times of sweetness are what we all want to remember after the dust settles, so pick them well for you and your family.
There comes a time when enough is enough, no matter the age, no matter the position in the family tree, no matter the status in society. The interesting twist in establishing a line in the sand is that when we cross back over to their side, anything we do in earnest is an expression of mercy, a clear act of good will ...because we have made known that we don't "like" what's been happening, but we're reaching out anyway.
It's all right to lose the "nice" shell temporarily ...funny how so many people conveniently assume being nice comes easy for us. So, when they tromp all over us, we'll get over it ...because we always do. That's why "truth" is so imperitive! It may be that they'll never know the difference if we don't finally stand up and say, "I don't like that. It's wrong and it's rude." How many people will suffer one more holiday with individuals who start something to hamper everyone's day? Is this the tradition we want to pass to our own children? Is this what they have to look forward to in the pomp and circumstance, all the preparations?
We are bound to take care of our family and friends in times of need but no one says we have to let their undisciplined emotions snuff out the joy of gatherings. I can't subject me or the kids to any more than we already have on our plates. Mike has this broken leg only a week into this new job. (His size 14 shoes got hung up in the rungs of a step stool.) We have the house torn apart: switching bedrooms, cleaning out closets and drawers, painting walls, shampooing carpet - I finally got rid of the strange orange substance that had poured down the wall and onto a snakeskin behind the boys' beds! McKala's asthma has relapsed some. We having testing to get underway. We still haven't "winterized" the outside. And, of course, the list goes on, BUT I can't let it prevent me from "dropping everything" periodically when one of the kids wants me to do something fun. I don't want them to remember me striving to keep order at all expense.
We finished up sports, much to the dismay of most of the kids, until sometime next year with a football banquet for Michael last night. I asked permission to tell the parents and players how I felt about all the times they'd taken Michael for us to practices and away games. The room was big and I was visibly nervous but managed to get out how much their "yeses meant in a season of noes for our family". It's a Christian travel team and they showed the spirit that expressed it.
We had no plan to go to church this morning but while I was sleeping, Mike had been looking up a sister church in NC to the one he'd been in last week in NJ. He woke me and said if I wanted to go, I had 10 minutes because it's 45 minutes away. I guess not washing my makeup off last night turned out to be a perk this morning. I grabbed the same clothes I wore, except the hand-me-down shoes Megan gave me. I spent 8 dollars getting them new heels. I don't know what I was thinking, that the size 10 shoes would stay on. I put Madalynn's shorty socks in the toes of them last night and limped through. Sometimes being a tightwad isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Other times it 'is' all it's cracked up to be. The Harpers won't be as "active" for a while, but it leaves time for things like Melody sitting in McKala's room, that's now just down the hall from us. As I eased off to sleep the other night, I heard them giggling. Transitioning to a teenager has been so hard for Melody and blissful giggling doesn't come all that readily. I started to quiet them when I remembered a specific night back in the mountains. All the lights were out but Megan and Miranda were giggling (loudly enough to be heard from 2 stories down, mind you). I wanted to hush them ...and Mike said, "Don't".
Times of sweetness are what we all want to remember after the dust settles, so pick them well for you and your family.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
My Mike?
I'm out on the front porch at my favorite time of day, when the sun starts its dissent, but not before it abandons its part in casting shadows across the landscape. I can barely see the screen from the piercing rays but it's worth it.
Mike and Michael are out "inquiring" with the neighbors about a great big deer "rub". McKala just put on some chicken to slow cook. Melody, Macklynn, and Madalynn brought in acorns from their scamper in the woods and decided to make "art" with them. Madalynn used so much glue that her "designs" are airing out here on the porch with me. Megan called me after church, where Miranda was supposed to be with her, BUT Miranda was told she had to work ...and before I go any further, I'll spell it out once again, but more acutely, just how strongly I feel about dining out and unnecessary shopping on Sundays. You see, Miranda started her waitressing position under the spoken provision that after a couple of Sundays, she would be off for them. She since has been told that she "will" work every Sunday or won't work at all. Please, keep that in mind next time you go out on a Sunday and what it looks like to non-believers who very likely "know" what the commandments have to say about keeping The Lord's Day holy. So many were happy to side with Truett Cathy on marriage; why not on Sunday work?
Back to Friday. It began with a trip to the Orthopedic doctor for Mike. He's been flown back to have his leg looked at after a fall off a stepstool. When he told me, I thought, "You're kidding me?!" He was having such a good week, calling me with stories and songs. There's more to the sweet irony of it, but that'll be another tale for him to tell. In the meantime, I can say that through what he thought to be a "detour" of a flight, which he barely connected with the second part of, he got the last seat on the plane and it was next to a man who, by the end of the flight, prayed the prayer of salvation. Wait a minute! My Mike?
I had to wait in the car at the doctor's office because we're just not sure where the "repo man" will show up and before we come across what we "should" be driving, like something with no payment. I brought along a book I'd started. I felt compelled to read it because my friend who just miscarried for the fourth time handed it to me. Interesting note is that I had bought it for Megan at a discount store last year, but neither of us had read it.
The book is "Choosing to SEE" by Mary Beth Chapman, whom I would be honored to meet one day. I knew the subject matter of the book and maybe avoided it for that reason. Once I got started, it was a breath of fresh air to see how open and real she is. As I read about the adoptions and then the pivotal day, May 21st, I cried several times, reaching into the dash where we keep extra restaurant napkins, forgetting that all that's been cleared out. There was nothing in the car, so I pulled my fleece jacket to my face, which was no help at all. The make-up I was careful to put on that morning for Mike was running down my face. Finally, I stretched my shirt far enough to soak up some of it.
He and I had a small lunch, ran a couple of errands, and took the long way home. He's hooked on KLove now. Wait a minute! My Mike? yeah, (smiling), yeah ...The lyrics, "How many times have I cried out, 'God, please take this?'" came across the waves and the crying I learned to suppress, which was only evidenced by tears, began. I have a vivid memory of an afternoon a few years ago when we lived tucked away in the mountains. I don't know what had gone down that day between Mike and me. I only remember the snow falling everywhere, ground covered in many inches, no one around, bundled up in snow gear ...and hitting my knees hard in the middle of the driveway pad. I screamed out to God, pleading for Him to do something, to show Himself. I suppose it would've echoed across the ridge if not for the air saturated in snow flakes.
He heard me that day and every other day. The proof was sitting there in the car with me on Friday.
Somehow though, I must've become content to be the "martyr". After all, "God and me" had a good thing going. I was His brave soldier. Although my communication with Him still channeled through my husband, it wasn't like it is now. Mike is right smack where he's supposed to be and it's taking some getting used. Subordination, believe it or not, really isn't a problem for me. Relinguishing part of the role as disciplinarian, coordinator, and spiritual guardian isn't as cut and dry as you'd think, though. Well, I guess on the "obeying" front, it is. The book I have, "Me? Obey Him?" isn't talking about God; it's talking about our husbands and now that my friend, who passed along the "Choosing to See" book to me, has read it and also sees no error in it, I know that I have to keep sharing it and trusting its Biblically grounded message.
To my chagrin, I wonder how long I delayed providence by pondering, being deceived, on maybe, just maybe, if someone else would love me. How can we be "obeying" anything or anybody when we're second guessing with a back-up plan? Now, I feel quite the fool. How easy is it to love a man of God? How hard is it to love a man who's not "of" God? What am I getting at? I didn't love Mike well enough when he was at odds with his Maker. From time to time, I'd fathom what it'd be like to be in a peaceful relationship ...with someone besides him. I wasn't a good soldier, after all. Maybe that's why accepting this new "situation" is hard for me. I didn't fight the good fight. No matter who thought I was this good thing or that, I wasn't pure through and through in my own thought life. In so doing, I doubted that God "had my back". I perceived my own plans, my own uprising. That's how I wound up in an emotional affair with a childhood friend. I fought it, not even speaking to him at first. Soon the floodgates of my sadness opened and he was gladly there to contain them.
Somewhere in the middle of a few weeks of conversation, I decided that I would take Mike up on the next time he said he couldn't live with me anymore. Much to my surprise when that day came, God intervened and grabbed hold of Mike's brokenness in a way that I couldn't deny. At the time, even though I knew how good a thing it was, my heart felt a cruel twisting of fate. I'd finally stood up, wasn't scared, may've found a "friend" who shared my interests and who found value in me. But I knew, beyond knowing, that it wasn't to be mine. It never was. It never is when it's not in God's timing.
See how much more beautiful this all would be if I had a clear conscience, a peace, a true heart? See how much easier it would be for me to accept? All these years I just wanted to have Mike's approval, to gain his praise, "his" acceptance. Perhaps that would've been easier for him if I hadn't done one the most despicable things anyone can do. Very early our marriage was a disaster. (That's why going "The Vow" route with my old calendar I found didn't recall what I wished for). I don't remember feeling a sense of retribution. I was just consumed with lust, so much so that I brought its filth into our own dwelling, seducing another man under the roof that my husband was gone working for.
I've written about this before, not sure which title it's under, but the other details lie there. I wasn't as specific though about "the act" until today. I'd say I wish I could erase it. Finding myself as that base of a person is what brought me to salvation, though. In all my accomplishments and pride, I'd never understood just how bad I was and what I was capable of. I took heavenly forgiveness on readily. I knew I was different afterwards. Mike said he did, too ...but for me to expect him to truly and thoroughly forgive here on earth where he hadn't even gotten his "own self" right with God, was expecting miracles that weren't ready to be realized. If you're contemplating doing something that would devastate someone else, just remember that they may say and try to forgive you one day, but you will live with the fall out, the way I did for 17 years.
I hadn't anticipated rehashing all this, but I suppose it'll make its connection where it should. Anyway, yesterday we took a 2 1/2 hour ride to Michael's final game of the season. I took Mary Beth Chapman's book along. I had to see how she got through the death of her 5 year old daughter and the profound sorrow of her son who was at the wheel when it happened. I cried ...and cried ...and cried ...and cried. I cried in the car and finished crying field side. I've never read anything like it. Even 2 years later, she was only getting by as God's lamp at her feet led the way. Her candidness confirms that my own is justified, that people don't need to think Christian life is one of ease. It's hard, really hard.
The huge confirmation for me, though, was that no matter how much misery I've had, no matter the daily in and day out of mental anguish; I have never had grief, the finality of grief. That is something I can not dismiss. I can't be too careful to pray, too careful to consider God's plans for the day, too presumptuous that I "need" something ...because I haven't suffered the worst pain. I have to move forward cheerfully. Listen, you've got to rid yourself of unthankfulness, discontentedness, hatefulness, even grouchiness ...before you have a "really good reason" to experience these feelings. After I got my bearings straight and as we watched the boys compete, I announced that I would be nice. I got some funny looks, but I meant it, even though I flubbed it up some already this morning. "Nice" before may've been to stay under the radar, out of trouble. I wish I could remember the name of book I borrowed several years ago, back in Georgia. The author said there was a night she cooked pork chops, maybe, but either way was something her husband really liked and when he came home he didn't want it. She took it personally, as I have time after time. So, was that meal for his pleasure or for hers? That's what she asked herself.
You know, as I'm out here rocking in the dark in this chair, I used to want someone to grow old peacefully with, to "point our rocking chairs toward the west". I still want that, but God has once again outdone himself. He's granted me someone and some way to do bigger things. I've told my friends that I get disturbed when my teaching plans, as meager as they are, get sidetracked. I used the think it was an attack. But because it's always for the exchange of something better, I'm convinced that God is about to show this family something it couldn'tve comprehended, that no institution could ever educate enough for, that nothing in history has been like. We're on the cusp of something, something good. Rocking chairs may never have been in the plan ...except to rock babies, especially those who don't have the luxury of good health or good mothering, just like Mary Beth Chapman does.
Mike and Michael are out "inquiring" with the neighbors about a great big deer "rub". McKala just put on some chicken to slow cook. Melody, Macklynn, and Madalynn brought in acorns from their scamper in the woods and decided to make "art" with them. Madalynn used so much glue that her "designs" are airing out here on the porch with me. Megan called me after church, where Miranda was supposed to be with her, BUT Miranda was told she had to work ...and before I go any further, I'll spell it out once again, but more acutely, just how strongly I feel about dining out and unnecessary shopping on Sundays. You see, Miranda started her waitressing position under the spoken provision that after a couple of Sundays, she would be off for them. She since has been told that she "will" work every Sunday or won't work at all. Please, keep that in mind next time you go out on a Sunday and what it looks like to non-believers who very likely "know" what the commandments have to say about keeping The Lord's Day holy. So many were happy to side with Truett Cathy on marriage; why not on Sunday work?
Back to Friday. It began with a trip to the Orthopedic doctor for Mike. He's been flown back to have his leg looked at after a fall off a stepstool. When he told me, I thought, "You're kidding me?!" He was having such a good week, calling me with stories and songs. There's more to the sweet irony of it, but that'll be another tale for him to tell. In the meantime, I can say that through what he thought to be a "detour" of a flight, which he barely connected with the second part of, he got the last seat on the plane and it was next to a man who, by the end of the flight, prayed the prayer of salvation. Wait a minute! My Mike?
I had to wait in the car at the doctor's office because we're just not sure where the "repo man" will show up and before we come across what we "should" be driving, like something with no payment. I brought along a book I'd started. I felt compelled to read it because my friend who just miscarried for the fourth time handed it to me. Interesting note is that I had bought it for Megan at a discount store last year, but neither of us had read it.
The book is "Choosing to SEE" by Mary Beth Chapman, whom I would be honored to meet one day. I knew the subject matter of the book and maybe avoided it for that reason. Once I got started, it was a breath of fresh air to see how open and real she is. As I read about the adoptions and then the pivotal day, May 21st, I cried several times, reaching into the dash where we keep extra restaurant napkins, forgetting that all that's been cleared out. There was nothing in the car, so I pulled my fleece jacket to my face, which was no help at all. The make-up I was careful to put on that morning for Mike was running down my face. Finally, I stretched my shirt far enough to soak up some of it.
He and I had a small lunch, ran a couple of errands, and took the long way home. He's hooked on KLove now. Wait a minute! My Mike? yeah, (smiling), yeah ...The lyrics, "How many times have I cried out, 'God, please take this?'" came across the waves and the crying I learned to suppress, which was only evidenced by tears, began. I have a vivid memory of an afternoon a few years ago when we lived tucked away in the mountains. I don't know what had gone down that day between Mike and me. I only remember the snow falling everywhere, ground covered in many inches, no one around, bundled up in snow gear ...and hitting my knees hard in the middle of the driveway pad. I screamed out to God, pleading for Him to do something, to show Himself. I suppose it would've echoed across the ridge if not for the air saturated in snow flakes.
He heard me that day and every other day. The proof was sitting there in the car with me on Friday.
Somehow though, I must've become content to be the "martyr". After all, "God and me" had a good thing going. I was His brave soldier. Although my communication with Him still channeled through my husband, it wasn't like it is now. Mike is right smack where he's supposed to be and it's taking some getting used. Subordination, believe it or not, really isn't a problem for me. Relinguishing part of the role as disciplinarian, coordinator, and spiritual guardian isn't as cut and dry as you'd think, though. Well, I guess on the "obeying" front, it is. The book I have, "Me? Obey Him?" isn't talking about God; it's talking about our husbands and now that my friend, who passed along the "Choosing to See" book to me, has read it and also sees no error in it, I know that I have to keep sharing it and trusting its Biblically grounded message.
To my chagrin, I wonder how long I delayed providence by pondering, being deceived, on maybe, just maybe, if someone else would love me. How can we be "obeying" anything or anybody when we're second guessing with a back-up plan? Now, I feel quite the fool. How easy is it to love a man of God? How hard is it to love a man who's not "of" God? What am I getting at? I didn't love Mike well enough when he was at odds with his Maker. From time to time, I'd fathom what it'd be like to be in a peaceful relationship ...with someone besides him. I wasn't a good soldier, after all. Maybe that's why accepting this new "situation" is hard for me. I didn't fight the good fight. No matter who thought I was this good thing or that, I wasn't pure through and through in my own thought life. In so doing, I doubted that God "had my back". I perceived my own plans, my own uprising. That's how I wound up in an emotional affair with a childhood friend. I fought it, not even speaking to him at first. Soon the floodgates of my sadness opened and he was gladly there to contain them.
Somewhere in the middle of a few weeks of conversation, I decided that I would take Mike up on the next time he said he couldn't live with me anymore. Much to my surprise when that day came, God intervened and grabbed hold of Mike's brokenness in a way that I couldn't deny. At the time, even though I knew how good a thing it was, my heart felt a cruel twisting of fate. I'd finally stood up, wasn't scared, may've found a "friend" who shared my interests and who found value in me. But I knew, beyond knowing, that it wasn't to be mine. It never was. It never is when it's not in God's timing.
See how much more beautiful this all would be if I had a clear conscience, a peace, a true heart? See how much easier it would be for me to accept? All these years I just wanted to have Mike's approval, to gain his praise, "his" acceptance. Perhaps that would've been easier for him if I hadn't done one the most despicable things anyone can do. Very early our marriage was a disaster. (That's why going "The Vow" route with my old calendar I found didn't recall what I wished for). I don't remember feeling a sense of retribution. I was just consumed with lust, so much so that I brought its filth into our own dwelling, seducing another man under the roof that my husband was gone working for.
I've written about this before, not sure which title it's under, but the other details lie there. I wasn't as specific though about "the act" until today. I'd say I wish I could erase it. Finding myself as that base of a person is what brought me to salvation, though. In all my accomplishments and pride, I'd never understood just how bad I was and what I was capable of. I took heavenly forgiveness on readily. I knew I was different afterwards. Mike said he did, too ...but for me to expect him to truly and thoroughly forgive here on earth where he hadn't even gotten his "own self" right with God, was expecting miracles that weren't ready to be realized. If you're contemplating doing something that would devastate someone else, just remember that they may say and try to forgive you one day, but you will live with the fall out, the way I did for 17 years.
I hadn't anticipated rehashing all this, but I suppose it'll make its connection where it should. Anyway, yesterday we took a 2 1/2 hour ride to Michael's final game of the season. I took Mary Beth Chapman's book along. I had to see how she got through the death of her 5 year old daughter and the profound sorrow of her son who was at the wheel when it happened. I cried ...and cried ...and cried ...and cried. I cried in the car and finished crying field side. I've never read anything like it. Even 2 years later, she was only getting by as God's lamp at her feet led the way. Her candidness confirms that my own is justified, that people don't need to think Christian life is one of ease. It's hard, really hard.
The huge confirmation for me, though, was that no matter how much misery I've had, no matter the daily in and day out of mental anguish; I have never had grief, the finality of grief. That is something I can not dismiss. I can't be too careful to pray, too careful to consider God's plans for the day, too presumptuous that I "need" something ...because I haven't suffered the worst pain. I have to move forward cheerfully. Listen, you've got to rid yourself of unthankfulness, discontentedness, hatefulness, even grouchiness ...before you have a "really good reason" to experience these feelings. After I got my bearings straight and as we watched the boys compete, I announced that I would be nice. I got some funny looks, but I meant it, even though I flubbed it up some already this morning. "Nice" before may've been to stay under the radar, out of trouble. I wish I could remember the name of book I borrowed several years ago, back in Georgia. The author said there was a night she cooked pork chops, maybe, but either way was something her husband really liked and when he came home he didn't want it. She took it personally, as I have time after time. So, was that meal for his pleasure or for hers? That's what she asked herself.
You know, as I'm out here rocking in the dark in this chair, I used to want someone to grow old peacefully with, to "point our rocking chairs toward the west". I still want that, but God has once again outdone himself. He's granted me someone and some way to do bigger things. I've told my friends that I get disturbed when my teaching plans, as meager as they are, get sidetracked. I used the think it was an attack. But because it's always for the exchange of something better, I'm convinced that God is about to show this family something it couldn'tve comprehended, that no institution could ever educate enough for, that nothing in history has been like. We're on the cusp of something, something good. Rocking chairs may never have been in the plan ...except to rock babies, especially those who don't have the luxury of good health or good mothering, just like Mary Beth Chapman does.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Do I Believe?
Last night I read my last blog and it said that I saw, along with others, "opportunity written all over" this. Here we are a few weeks later and my husband has been hired by Samaritan's Purse. One of their facilities is just a few miles from this house we're renting. I still don't even know how he came across the advertisement for the job. He applied as a fleet mechanic/driver/volunteer director and against 3 or 4 odds and after around 15 hours of interview, he landed the job. It's decent pay and good benefits. It's less than half of the bring home pay we're accustomed to. Most anything would be now that he's no longer self employed. At this point though, it's not about the money, not at all.
I sit here, shamefully I suppose, still in disbelief. This time 3 years ago I had a husband who wouldn't even say my name, wouldn't allow me to cry, would belittle me in front of the children, would threaten divorce and even suicide regularly, would tell me what and how to do things without regard to my experience or opinion of them, would buy or borrow whatever was "right in his eyes", would never say he was sorry. I have more on the list I made a couple of weeks ago, but there's no need to dig deeper. I was "convincing" myself just how different this man really is, despite the "issues" we still have.
There are those who would ask, "Why must you keep bringing up the past?" Believe me, I haven't brought it all up because that is his to do. I hope in this writing I do that a wife will find hope, will persevere and know that people really do change, that God is still at work, that "feelings" are no basis for decisions, that "love" comes in so many forms. The truth, the hard truth matters because in one of my most open blogs last year, I got a message that just said, "Thank you." That woman, a classmate of mine, is dead now. What I had written meant something to her.
My computer has been on the brink of crashing, so it seemed fitting and with the support of family and friends, I began writing in a notebook the beginnings of a book. I have several pages and ideas going. The immediate "gratification", if you will, brings me back here. There is something very special about writing what's on my heart in the here and now and having the people I care about gain something from it or correct me right away.
That same day a couple of weeks ago, I made of list of things about him that drive me crazy and very quickly thought of some things that I do, which I conveniently deem harmless, but do the same to him. We are "new" creatures who are nicer to strangers than we are to each other. We can't harness much from the past to go on. This is an entirely different "being", this marriage we have. Mike went full throttle into capturing romance and because we hadn't become "friends" yet, I haven't found a comfortable place there. This is going to be a long haul. Thank God we have the rest of our lives to get there. To Mike it feels like "never" right now and to be honest, it does to me, too.
God has been showing me the picture I am in the mirror. In my efforts to run the household when he's gone, to survive emotionally, to remain stable; I became severe. I've become almost unisex and by that I mean, taking on both roles of gender. A soft answer comes hard for me. I don't always scream them out but I'm very matter of fact, too matter of fact. I've been compared by him recently to some characters and personalities that I simply can't stand. I've lost, or more likely never had, the fullness of womanhood. It's there for the taking right now. My husband has stepped up to his rightful position, the thing I've pleaded to Heaven for all these years, but now I have these subconscious reservations, conditioning of the deepest kind. I know very well some of it is trepidation, a fear that this isn't really happening, that it's too good to be true, that there's no way I could deserve for it to be this good. I'm not alone; some of the children are dealing with it the same way.
The thing is that it's not about us. God is that big. He does things beyond our imaginations and the "fear of amazement" I alluded to in a post, which I'm aware in the context of 1 Peter means the fear of terror, still
makes me think of the fear of miracles, the doubt, the pathological hardness toward them. I'm still trying to believe this, that my husband, the father of my children who were hardly glad to see him arrive home not that long ago, is calling listening to "Lead Me" by Sanctus Real in sorrow for what he's done and in understanding of what he's to do now. That he is in New Jersey to take part in the rebuilding of destruction, that he is entrusted to do so, that he has always been seduced by the mystery of weather, and possesses all the elements this job requires is amazing. That he isn't "stuck in a truck" with nothing particular to look forward to is so good to me. That he'll have "devotions" with his coworkers every morning, that he will be fed the things he's missed, that what the moths have taken will be restored are all still settling in with me. That he doesn't have to hear the knocking of an engine he knows he doesn't have the funds to repair; that he doesn't have to gaze at page after page, hour after hour, of what load to take, to then only argue with the broker about the rates; that he doesn't have to live off fast food, but instead get meals covered with blessings prepared for him; that he isn't living behind a steering wheel blows ...it all just blows my mind.
For most of my life, I've understood that I am to respect his position; however, that duty does not by its very nature cause love for the person holding it, so where I have to go is to combine them. Somewhere, little by little, I became almost impenetrable, a strong wall, lost my vulnerability to my husband and my femininity along with it. I used to contribute it to not "adorning" myself but it's really something else. I'm very selfconscious in heels, mostly because I can't walk gracefully in them. I'm very selfconsious in a dress, mostly because I don't like people to stare at my varicose veins. I'm very selfconscious in big earrings, mostly because I don't want to look like a "wannabe". There's more to it though. I don't care for ribbons and jewelry, for soft colors, for giggles and other girlish things. I've left someone behind. In my utilitarian, get it done 'cause somebody has to, mentality; in my don't attract anyone because I'll be tempted to be who I was; in my don't cave to him because he'll consume me; in my, yes, I know God can do this BUT; ...I'm not the gracious, lovely, meek Michelle who balances the fiery, passionate, emboldened one.
I have as much growing to do as he does and I hope you will pray that we grow together into a threefold cord that our children can finally witness, so they will know that anything and everything is possible through Christ ...because all the goodness in the world doesn't matter if it isn't done at home first. Do I believe that I will thaw while everything else is freezing this winter, while my husband is out being the hands and feet of God? We'll soon see.
I sit here, shamefully I suppose, still in disbelief. This time 3 years ago I had a husband who wouldn't even say my name, wouldn't allow me to cry, would belittle me in front of the children, would threaten divorce and even suicide regularly, would tell me what and how to do things without regard to my experience or opinion of them, would buy or borrow whatever was "right in his eyes", would never say he was sorry. I have more on the list I made a couple of weeks ago, but there's no need to dig deeper. I was "convincing" myself just how different this man really is, despite the "issues" we still have.
There are those who would ask, "Why must you keep bringing up the past?" Believe me, I haven't brought it all up because that is his to do. I hope in this writing I do that a wife will find hope, will persevere and know that people really do change, that God is still at work, that "feelings" are no basis for decisions, that "love" comes in so many forms. The truth, the hard truth matters because in one of my most open blogs last year, I got a message that just said, "Thank you." That woman, a classmate of mine, is dead now. What I had written meant something to her.
My computer has been on the brink of crashing, so it seemed fitting and with the support of family and friends, I began writing in a notebook the beginnings of a book. I have several pages and ideas going. The immediate "gratification", if you will, brings me back here. There is something very special about writing what's on my heart in the here and now and having the people I care about gain something from it or correct me right away.
That same day a couple of weeks ago, I made of list of things about him that drive me crazy and very quickly thought of some things that I do, which I conveniently deem harmless, but do the same to him. We are "new" creatures who are nicer to strangers than we are to each other. We can't harness much from the past to go on. This is an entirely different "being", this marriage we have. Mike went full throttle into capturing romance and because we hadn't become "friends" yet, I haven't found a comfortable place there. This is going to be a long haul. Thank God we have the rest of our lives to get there. To Mike it feels like "never" right now and to be honest, it does to me, too.
God has been showing me the picture I am in the mirror. In my efforts to run the household when he's gone, to survive emotionally, to remain stable; I became severe. I've become almost unisex and by that I mean, taking on both roles of gender. A soft answer comes hard for me. I don't always scream them out but I'm very matter of fact, too matter of fact. I've been compared by him recently to some characters and personalities that I simply can't stand. I've lost, or more likely never had, the fullness of womanhood. It's there for the taking right now. My husband has stepped up to his rightful position, the thing I've pleaded to Heaven for all these years, but now I have these subconscious reservations, conditioning of the deepest kind. I know very well some of it is trepidation, a fear that this isn't really happening, that it's too good to be true, that there's no way I could deserve for it to be this good. I'm not alone; some of the children are dealing with it the same way.
The thing is that it's not about us. God is that big. He does things beyond our imaginations and the "fear of amazement" I alluded to in a post, which I'm aware in the context of 1 Peter means the fear of terror, still
makes me think of the fear of miracles, the doubt, the pathological hardness toward them. I'm still trying to believe this, that my husband, the father of my children who were hardly glad to see him arrive home not that long ago, is calling listening to "Lead Me" by Sanctus Real in sorrow for what he's done and in understanding of what he's to do now. That he is in New Jersey to take part in the rebuilding of destruction, that he is entrusted to do so, that he has always been seduced by the mystery of weather, and possesses all the elements this job requires is amazing. That he isn't "stuck in a truck" with nothing particular to look forward to is so good to me. That he'll have "devotions" with his coworkers every morning, that he will be fed the things he's missed, that what the moths have taken will be restored are all still settling in with me. That he doesn't have to hear the knocking of an engine he knows he doesn't have the funds to repair; that he doesn't have to gaze at page after page, hour after hour, of what load to take, to then only argue with the broker about the rates; that he doesn't have to live off fast food, but instead get meals covered with blessings prepared for him; that he isn't living behind a steering wheel blows ...it all just blows my mind.
For most of my life, I've understood that I am to respect his position; however, that duty does not by its very nature cause love for the person holding it, so where I have to go is to combine them. Somewhere, little by little, I became almost impenetrable, a strong wall, lost my vulnerability to my husband and my femininity along with it. I used to contribute it to not "adorning" myself but it's really something else. I'm very selfconscious in heels, mostly because I can't walk gracefully in them. I'm very selfconsious in a dress, mostly because I don't like people to stare at my varicose veins. I'm very selfconscious in big earrings, mostly because I don't want to look like a "wannabe". There's more to it though. I don't care for ribbons and jewelry, for soft colors, for giggles and other girlish things. I've left someone behind. In my utilitarian, get it done 'cause somebody has to, mentality; in my don't attract anyone because I'll be tempted to be who I was; in my don't cave to him because he'll consume me; in my, yes, I know God can do this BUT; ...I'm not the gracious, lovely, meek Michelle who balances the fiery, passionate, emboldened one.
I have as much growing to do as he does and I hope you will pray that we grow together into a threefold cord that our children can finally witness, so they will know that anything and everything is possible through Christ ...because all the goodness in the world doesn't matter if it isn't done at home first. Do I believe that I will thaw while everything else is freezing this winter, while my husband is out being the hands and feet of God? We'll soon see.
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