When He Didn't Call

I cried today - the happiest tears I have cried in a long time.  I’m not much for crying anyway, but I cried them because my son - whose voice I haven’t heard since July 23 - didn’t call me to arrange his final travel plans.  He told me he would.  He didn’t.  The letter I got from him Monday said that he was told they would receive six minute calls home on Tuesday.  I was primed.  My phone (which I leave pretty much everywhere but ON MY PERSON) was glued to my hip.  My ringer (which is almost always off) was turned all the way up - even at places I would normally be embarrassed to have it go off.  No call.  Wednesday, other parents were receiving their calls still and said to keep the phone on and by me... which I did.  Nothing.  Thursday, again... nothing.  Each day I felt more like I was dying on the inside.  His absence has hit me hard.  I have written a handwritten letter every day - sometimes 10+ pages worth of letter.  I mail them every couple of days.  I stay up hours at night - like I did when I used to wait up for him to get home from work or friends’ houses - listening to the deafening silence that had once been filled with conversation and laughter with my oldest child.  My heart has been squeezed.  That’s the only way I can describe it.   It physically feels like it’s being wrung out of all that is in it.  

With his siblings the day he left for MEPS.

The day we dropped him off to go to MEPS, was a strange one for me.  He was visibly nervous (which I rarely ever see in him).  He was in a different world.  We had driven through the night the 16 hours or so from Dallas to our home in order to get home in time to take him.  The distance we all felt and hated was palpable, but we muscled through it.  We decided to stop and have breakfast at a local family restaurant we had yet to try.  The only place in the whole restaurant that would fit our family of 7 was a booth and table/chairs set in the back corner of the room.  We squeezed 7 into a six person area and got cozy.  It was a great breakfast - despite a bit of a somber mood.

I did well for awhile...after we had breakfast and got back in the car.  We did something bizarre and funny - Mark and I had found some old time gum cigarettes at a vintage candy store we stopped at for funzies on the way home from Dallas.  You know the kind that have a little puff of powdered sugar that rises from the end of the “cigarette” when you blow on it.  I remember being banned from having these as children.  So it was a novelty for me... one that kept us both awake and laughing on the way home from Dallas and on that the kids enjoyed watching each other try on the way to Rockford.  It really broke up the mood.  It’s funny to say that something so ridiculous actually was needful for us right then.  We needed some levity.  The truth of his choice to serve the USA - to be owned by them - in this time of instability, of disrespect for our military, of shootings at military bases and recruiter’s offices, of accidents on Marines bases, etc. was hitting all of us differently and the same.  The siblings were realizing how much he would miss and what would change while he was gone.  We parents were thinking similar thoughts but they were all jumbled up with memories of pond fishing, family dinners and swims, bedtime prayers, helping with homework, birthday parties, and filling up a church pew on Sundays.  I asked the kids and Mark if we could all just pray aloud for him on the way there.  We all took turns, and it was the most blessed time I can recall us having as a family in many years.  The neatest part was that each of the kids prayed for Austin from their own hearts and through the filter of their own experiences.  Sadie (who is our worrier) prayed that he wouldn’t be fearful.  Levi (who is our emotional out-burst/rage monster) prayed that he would have self-control and calmness.  And so it went...  

I didn’t cry at drop-off.  I held it together.  I cried as we drove away.  Then I stopped.  Then, we stopped at a small grocery store on the way home, and I stood in the meat department looking at quantities of meat.  I stacked about 8 one pound packages of ground beef into my cart, and I stared at them.  I cried... in the meat department...about meat.  I cried, because I didn’t need that much meat anymore.   My biggest consumer of red meat isn’t at home anymore.  The butcher who came out to stock meat put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Um, excuse me... I think maybe it’s a better deal for you to get this.”  He handed me a giant bag o’ beef.  “We sell it in these bigger quantities for people like you.”  I put back my individual packages and took what he had given me home.  I’m pretty sure he thought I was completely insane.  :)  

Background:  When I began to parent Austin when he was 9 years old, he had been the “only child” of my husband and was being raised primarily by him and his parents.  He was as sweet a child as I could imagine.  He was pretty much always in a good mood - a “bright sider” I would call him.  He could turn any bad news into good, and I loved it.  He was so much like me sometimes it was scary.  We could talk for hours without taking a breath.  I once had the thought, “I’ve always wondered why I AM the way I AM” - personality, quirks, and all, and when I met and parented Austin - I felt like I finally knew so much of the why.  Only later did I realize how difficult it would make him to discipline.  Every discipline we tried to impose was met with a good attitude and a bright side disposition.  (“No electronics for two weeks?  That’s probably a good thing, because I DO have a book report due, and I should really be reading.”  “Stay in my room until tomorrow morning?  I had a couple of lego sets left from my birthday that need assembled anyway, I guess.”)  I always joked that if I put him in the cellar he’d make friends with the rats.   Of course, he could never stay mad, and he’s usually aimed to please.  

toddler Austin and his pup at the farm

eating corn with daddy

I wasn't allowed to kiss him until after the wedding.  :)

Austin with his best friend and two "new" (at the time) sisters

The last few years have been tough ones as he has dealt with becoming an adult.  He has been trying to deal with hurts of his past, fair-weather friends, disappointment in role models, etc.  He also has been trying to decide whether or not he wanted me to adopt him.  I have always been ready and waiting without pressuring, but I always knew I wanted one thing:  for it to be his choice after he was an adult who was dealing with the adults in his life as an adult himself.  It took him about a year and a half to decide that he wanted to petition the court with me for his adoption.  I was happy, but then I waited for the other foot to drop, and it did.  So many adoptive parents I know talk about how the child(ren) they sought to adopt often turned on them - like a completely different person - when the court date came near.  My experience was much the same.  Austin had hardly EVER argued with me.  He never could stay mad at me more than a few minutes (and vice versa).  He was (and is) literally my shadow.  He is on my heels from the moment he comes through the front door until one of us leaves the other at their bedroom door at night.  To say we had become close was an understatement.  The day I met Austin, I asked God to give me the love of a mother for Austin, and that if it was not His will to do so, he take me out of his and his dad’s life forever.   I have no doubt that He did give me that love... over time, as I asked, He gave me just that.  

Like all of us, Austin has patterns of sin - wrong things that he does on a regular basis.  His particular patterns have been lying (every day, for pretty much any reason), never admitting he was wrong - no matter how painfully obvious it sometimes was, and trying to get away with things he knows are wrong.  Basically... he’s a human... like the rest of us.

Anyway, today’s letter...

“Hey!  I have a lot to write and not much time or space, but I will try to comment on your last two letters.  I hope your letter from 9/29-30 is not your last.  We get mail until and through Marine week.  The last one should be sent no later than like the 15-16th.  I don’t remember all I said in my last letter.  So I may repeat some things.

“Did good on CFT (Combat Fitness Test), not sure of the score, but I did 30-35 seconds better on the hard part of it.  We had our second uniform fitting and bought stuff for The Crucible/Graduation.  Went on a hike around base (like 5-7 miles we think).  Monday we had final drill in the rain.  We did good, and Senior (Senior Drill Instructor) was really happy.  We got third place with 66 points.  1025 got second place with 67, and 1027 got first place with 68 points.  We lost a point because a kid left chapstick in his pocket and another was moving too much when we were supposed to be standing still.  One of the reasons I joined The Corps was discipline... I know maturity comes with time.  Bearing and self-control are parts of discipline, and I have gotten better, but I want it and embrace it.  I change and have changed, and that’s what matters.  

“Yesterday we had our knowledge test and application.  I very much doubt I failed, but I can retry if I did.  There were four fails but I think I know who they are.  We are being treated way better and almost regular by our DIs (and other ones).  They are nicer, answer questions, joke some (we have to keep most of our bearing though), and get plenty of time to eat.  It is nice.  We even learned our first Graduation drill movement!  We started working on our uniforms for our inspection Friday.  PFCs haven’t because our stuff is still at the cleaner’s. 

“My right shin started hurting again, but I had faith that God would heal it.  So I commanded it to be healed in the name of Jesus, and I knew He COULD fix it, but I had faith that he WOULD heal it right then, and He did!  I put my hand on it, had faith He would heal it at that moment and I started praying in the Spirit (words came to my lips and I prayed them out loud) and it was healed.  It has been a long time since I have prayed in the Spirit, and it was good.  I give credit to the Psalms 91 book (he bought at PX), boot camp, and ultimately God for calling me back.

“Today we have the museum visit and listen to older veterans talk about their service time.  Will be a fun day.  Got final PFT (Physical Fitness Test) tomorrow.  Last night we got Cliff Bars and protein bars.  Only at boot camp can you eat 2 protein bars, 2 1/2 Cliff bars, and a handful of Twizzlers and still be hungry - LOL!  Can’t ‘see’ my abs yet, but they are there and I can do 16 pull-ups (twice what I used to).  Still weigh 180 +or- a few, but I will always have a gut.  It runs in the family.  I feel bigger (good), I think because we PT waaaay less and our bodies are finally able to grow back and recover. 

“I loved your last letter.  That part at the end of the middle where you said who I am, that was epic.  A really good calling me out as to what kind of man I am and will be by God’s grace.  I am so excited to be home and start life.  We got our orders yesterday, and apparently I have 7 days of recruiter’s assistance (RA).  So I don’t leave for SOI (School of Infantry) until the 10th of November.  Yes, I will be working some of those days, but at least I will be home.  All infantry got it.  (Nov. 10 is also the USMC birthday.)  Good way to start my real training.  I think SOI is 2 1/2 months but it may be longer.  IDK but they said we could have our phones on certain days when we are there so that will be nice.  Now to comment on your letter:  

“It is nice to hear fall is coming.  We feel it here too.  I feel when you all pray for me.  Like I literally feel it by the day and sometimes half of days.  Please pray for protection (physical and spiritual) everyday.  Thank you for adding me to the church prayer list.  Love it that you got your shirts and it is awesome you guys are wearing them (especially dad for work).  Gives me some pride.  :)  He gave me one just like it before I left.  I remember the day I left too.  I have grown up a lot since then.  The sermon notes and in your letter are really good.  I have some to share when I got home. 

(My favorite part)

“I could have had that short call home, but when Senior (SDI) asked who ‘needed’ to because they honestly didn’t know (their travel plans).  I decided to have that integrity thing and not take it.  (Then I got skipped on fire watch, thank you Lord!)  There is always a reward for doing right (even if we don’t get it until Heaven).  

“So glad you have travel and condo plans down.  So exciting!!  I would suggest to go to the family meet and greet with other platoon parents.  You can meet my DIs on family and graduation day. 

“Well, I need to get back in bed.  Love you and am so excited to see you soon.

“Lots of Love, 

Austin”

I had been reading the letter out loud to Austin’s youngest sister, Violet.  I started not being able to talk when he started talking about his shin healing (which he’s had such bad problems with since first phase).  My favorite part by far though, was the part in which he said he didn’t call me, because he didn’t want to lie and say that he didn’t know his travel plans yet, because he did know them (thanks to me not realizing that sending them would maybe mean he couldn’t call home).  The days I spent weepy and mournful because he wasn’t calling were the same days he was wrestling with conscience about honesty and integrity, coming out clean, and not calling his mom while he heard so many of the other guys talking about how their calls went.  If you had any idea the number of hours of long conversations, disciplinary decisions and enforcing, prayer, and more long conversations, have gone into his issues with honesty and integrity, you would know why tears streamed down my face this morning.  I remember a conversation I had with him back in March when he had been caught in another series of lies.  He had said to me, “What’s the point of telling the truth and doing the right thing??  There’s no reward.  Why should I bother with that when nothing good comes to me from it!?”)  At the time, I wanted to scream, “It’s all about you, isn’t it?  Nothing good comes to YOU from it, but what about the others in your life??  Don’t they matter?”  I just looked at him and said, “You’re not entitled to rewards for every good thing you do.  You do it anyway.  The fact that you think you deserve rewards for doing such a simple thing as respecting another person by telling them the truth really makes me mad.  You may not see rewards here OR in the next life, but that’s not why we tell the truth.  We do it because it honors God and those He made, AND it makes like a whole heck of a lot easier when we don’t have to try to keep our lies straight.  Do it right, and you might just get the respect of those you love.  That’s good enough in this life.” 

I have never been so happy nor felt more blessed to NOT get a phone call from my dear son at boot camp.  He was honest.  He had a victory in an area that is so difficult for him.  I know he will fail.  I know he won’t always act with integrity, but as I have been praying for him and for the other men he will graduate with in these next weeks, I pray they will hear that still, small voice and that they will have integrity and strength to do what’s right, and that I will be understanding and supportive even when I am sad about not getting those calls or knowing those plans.  

It is by great wisdom and for great reasons that the USMC has the rules it does about having no kind of contact with your recruit than that of paper letters.  It has been for the best for us in every conceivable way.  I can't tell you how many times I would have rescued him out of boot camp if I could have.  I struggle between being hover-mom and uninvolved-mom.  There comes a time (or perhaps many times) for many of us when we have to make a decision about the kind of mom we want to be.  One of the most defining moments of my life as a mom came when my first husband told me he was having an affair and would be taking our child with him.  I was hover mom.  Later on, after we had reconciled and had another daughter, he left us without knowledge of where he had gone and if/when he would return.  Again, hover mom.  When he later started having visitation with the girls, taking them one night a week and every other weekend, I had a choice to make.  I could be miserable and eat whole pizzas in one sitting while watching Lifetime movie marathons waiting for them to return. OR I could make some new friends, go on hikes and canoe trips, and be revitalized for when they did come back.  Some things have happened in our lives - a miscarriage, an accident, a friend's child with cancer, our own abuse at the hands of a man we trusted... that have made us the moms of sons that we are today.  Some of us pull our sons in so tight they can hardly breathe and put the hammer down when we see them acting out of line.  Others of us pull away from (or even abandon) our sons physically and/or emotionally for fear of the pain they could cause us.  Others of us baby our boys and come to their rescue - coddling them long into adulthood.  I have been all of these moms - done all of these things.  There was only ever one motive for all of those behaviors: selfishness and control.  By being over-protective I'm protecting myself from the pain of bad things happening to them.  By being uninvolved or emotionally disengaged I'm protecting myself from the pain of a) being hurt by their actions or b) being devastated losing that which we love so much.  By being too authoritative, I am trying to control the way he runs his life.  We aren't happy with any of these choices, because they're not what we were meant to be.  We were meant to give life, to think of our children first, and to protect them by knowing when to draw them close and when to let them go... when to give them a boost and when to give them a kick in the shorts.  

In trying to explain how I feel about this thing known as USMC boot camp, I can only say this:  I've been mourning the loss of our family the way it used to be and fearful about how it will change into the future. I have recently come to the realization that this is the first time in our family's life that a decision that one of our children has made is impacting the whole family so intensely. We were all plunged into these unwanted emotions...grief and fear and loneliness while at the same time experiencing such pride and love for our son/brother that simple paper and pen can't come close to expressing it. On the other hand, these precious written letters describe it so much better than any other form of communication could, aside from many tearful embraces. Most of us didn't choose this Marine family life, but it will define us in a whole new way - for better and worse but mostly for better. Our sons aren't the only ones who are being changed during these 12 weeks. We are becoming something new too...through tears, sleepless nights, and days when we can't eat. We are becoming Marine moms/family. There is no way to do it perfectly, because there is no need for warriors in a perfect world. So we will do the best we can in this broken, imperfect place to be this thing our sons and our fallen world combined to make us...Marine moms. Give yourself allowance to be human. We will fail. We will get down. We will come near to breaking points, but we will keep getting back up, dusting ourselves off, and giving our all for our children, because that's what we moms do. I need God every day to do it.  I don't know how I could do it any other way.

The "Old Lady Suit"

“I really need a new swimming suit,” she said as we walked down the aisle of a local department store.  I could believe it, considering I couldn’t remember the last time I had bought my pre-teen daughter a swimming suit.  She has, after all, really changed a lot in the last couple of years.  As we headed to the swimwear, she said, “I’d really like one that comes with shorts or a skirt... like the ones I used to get.  Those are the most comfortable.”  I told her I wasn’t sure that suits in her age range came with a skirt or shorts anymore.  As I perused racks of one-piece swimsuits and tankinis, she went to a rack across the way and pulled out a blue and white floral... old.lady.suit.  It was straight up like what I would wear to cover up stretch marks and cellulite.  I said, “I doubt they will have that in your size, honey.”  She grabbed the only size small they had, and I quickly started handing her a few others that looked a bit more her age and went toward the tankinis.  She said, “I don’t want a tankini.  I want a one piece. Tankini tops float up.”  Message.received.  She went into the dressing room and came out a few minutes later smiling shyly her approval of and wearing The Suit... the one I had hoped she wouldn’t pick.  I don’t know why I felt like that.  So as we drove home I tried to wrack my brain.  “Why would I have a problem with my daughter picking a modest, pretty swimming suit?”  One reason:  I was afraid people would think I made her pick it... because we are Christian... because we homeschool.  

Make no mistake, everyone is judged and everyone judges.  I’ve just felt and read a lot of homeschool judging lately.  We have one TV with Netflix at our house.  We don’t and never have watched the Duggars - not a single episode, but we know they exist, and we know their basic premise.  We also have more children than average.  We are Christians.  We homeschool.  So many people would lump us in a “category” with them.  I saw a blog that a few friends had shared about a recent Duggar scandal.  The article said that the reason one of their adolescent sons had sexually abused some family members and friends’ children was attributable to many reasons - all of them having to do with their Christian faith and their homeschooling (because, we all know that sexual abuse doesn’t happen outside of the Christian homeschooling community?).  The blog reasoned that home schooling should not be allowed, because home schooled children don’t have any “safe adults” to talk to outside of their own families like they would have if they were in any other school.  (Never mind that those same children also wouldn’t be exposed to as many “unsafe adults” being home schooled either - just by virtue of the fact that they are not around as many children or adults not known to them - for better or worse).  Another reason this blogger announced that homeschooling was bad was that home schoolers did not participate in comprehensive sex education (which, of course, prevents children, adolescents, and adults from making bad decisions about sex and prevents them all from committing sex crimes).  The sheer amount of judging that took place in that article - even assuming that I’m not telling my children about sex - was stomach-turning.  

My 11 and 14 year old daughters would tell you that we have and do discuss sex, sex trafficking, sexual assault, pornography, birth control, abortion, and just about anything else that they are likely to encounter in the world outside our home or see on TV or movies inside our home.  They would also tell you that, since they were young, we talked about good touch/bad touch, how babies are conceived and born, and whatever other age-appropriate sexuality information they should have.  These conversations are not shrouded in secrecy or mystery.  They are not embarrassing or shocking.  They are just part of life on this planet.  Many parents of desk schoolers and home schoolers should and DO talk to their children about these things when they feel the time is appropriate.  We feel like it’s part of our responsibility in protecting and, yes, even empowering our children to respect and protect the hearts, bodies, and minds of themselves and others in a world where people do bad things.  These conversations haven’t always been easy ones to start, and I will be honest.  If I knew that someone at school or part of a community education program was going to be talking about these things to my kids as part of a curriculum of some type, I would feel relieved in that I could trust that they would get that information from someone else.  I probably wouldn’t feel as much pressure to talk to them about these issues.

The night my daughter picked out The Suit, I realized something... I’m glad that she had the opportunity to pick out something to wear that made her feel comfortable being her very tomboy self without fear of what other girls her age would think and say to and about her choice of swimwear.  She’s the one doing the splits in the air off the diving board.  She’s the one wearing big ol’ goggles, practicing dives, playing water sports, and walking on her hands to find change at the bottom of our pool.  She feels that, with a suit that offers more coverage, she can better do those things without worrying about body parts falling out or going askew.  She feels, dare I say, empowered by her choice of practical, modest swimwear, and that, my friends, is something of which I am proud.  I know many girls - from all different schooling situations - who dress modestly and practically because it makes them feel good about themselves.  This situation also made me think:  I feel that the basic two ways of dressing that are left to us females both have the ability to give us “power” - we have power over men, just by virtue of being female after all.  Dressing in clothes to display and exploit our bodies gives us the power to make more men look at and notice us.  Dressing to respect our bodies gives us the power to not merely be reduced to the size of our dresses and of certain body parts.  It gives us the ability to have deeper conversations, to offer input, to be respected, to be valued, to be truly heard for what we have to say... not for what we have to offer in a physical sense.  It’s taken me awhile to figure all this out, you see.  When I was the age my older daughters are, I just didn’t think about these things.

The second article I read - which was just last night - had to do with a parental rights issue - that of a mom who was led away from her child’s school in ankle cuffs because her child had too many unexcused school absences.  One of the most liked comments said, “...Kids should be forced to attend mandatory public schooling so that they will learn to get up at a certain time, go to bed at a certain time, eat healthy foods, wait in lines patiently, be obedient to and respect bosses, keep a stringent schedule, socialize, and work hard.  They will never learn those vital skills at home, because parents who choose to home school are lazy, undisciplined idiots who don’t want to follow a schedule and are too selfish to get their kids to school on time.”  Wow.  I don’t even know where to start.  Now, this is hardly the first time I’ve heard criticisms of home schools.  Everything from “home schoolers don’t appreciate education” to “home schoolers aren’t aware of cultural diversity” to “home schooled kids just aren’t tough enough to handle real world education” have been leveled at me - and, of course, the “anti-social” myth as well.  These are all just laughable...  ask any adult or child who’s spent any time with our children, and they’ll tell you that, even the ones with shyer personalities are very verbally engaging with all ages/races/genders of other humanoids.  

However, here were some newer (to me) criticisms.  Here’s what I wanted to say:

Mozart, Thomas Edison, Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Alexander Graham Bell, and Robert Frost’s parents might well have disagreed with your assessment of the method by which they were educated.  So might the parents of these remarkable women: Agatha Christie, Florence Nightingale, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Louisa May Alcott, Susan B. Anthony, Pearl S. Buck, Venus & Serena Williams, and Condoleeza Rice.  These women didn’t have their rights trampled by not having state-sanctioned “safe adults” or a lack of state-written “comprehensive sex education”.  Yet somehow they grew to become, not only good citizens, but some of the most confident and amazing and influential humans of their times.  They were/are outstanding athletes, health care professionals, authoresses, Pulitzer Prize winners, human rights advocates, and diplomats.

My almost 19 year old son has wanted to serve his country in the military since - pretty much since he could walk and talk.  That has always been what he has had in mind to do, and we fully support him in that.  I didn’t make him wait in line for lunch, but he somehow learned how to wait in lines quite well.  I didn’t take him to a school building every day, but he still manages to wake up and attend college classes and work on time.  I let him do homework in his pajamas; yet he somehow manages to wear appropriate clothing in public. I rarely tested him.  Yet, he always performed in the 90+ percentile for private schooled children when given a once per year standardized test.  My home-educated son just got one of the highest scores our local Marines recruiter had ever seen on an ASVAB test.

Hear me.  There are plenty of examples of people who were state-educated who are brilliant and successful, but no one has accused them of being lazy, backward, anti-social, and undisciplined.  Any kind of school can produce children who are lazy, backward, anti-social, and undisciplined.  Are there desk-schooled children who are bright, driven, and energetic?  YES!  I’m happy to know many friends and family members whose children are just that.  They thrive in the desk-school environment.  Are there home schooled children who are lazy, ignorant, and irresponsible?  Yes!  It is primarily the positive involvement of the parent(s)/family unit, that gives children their strength, their belief-system, their confidence, and their respect for the lives, bodies, and property of others.  Conversely, it is the negative or absent influence of the parent(s) of other children that gives their children rebelliousness, anger, laziness, lack of self-control, and lack of respect for the lives, bodies, and property of others.  

I guess I’ve been discouraged at the fact that these news stories put all home schoolers (especially Christian ones) in a “freak” category... to the point where people are saying that our rights to school children in any way but by the state should be illegal.  The Duggar story is tragic for everyone involved - including the 14 year old boy who abused family members.  When I worked for the state police, we had a crime in which an adolescent boy was sexually molesting and abusing children on one of the local school busses.  Not long after, we handled another case of older children taking younger ones to a secluded place on the playground to abuse them.  Those boys could very well have never served a day in any kind of treatment, and I can almost guarantee that they are out walking around today.  No one will ever know, because juvenile court documents are protected and sealed for a reason - because children are felt to be somewhat salvageable if their past is not used by their community to define them.  That’s what people do.  We want to put others in defining categories, because it makes us feel more safe and more in control of the world around us if we can put everyone else neatly into a box and label it.  I say that to say that sexual abuse is a human problem that crosses ages, genders, and cultures.  I don’t know why it surprises anyone that Christians sin just as much as everyone else.  We all have our ugly “demons” that we face on a daily basis.  Christians just have a different source of help (if we ask for it) and forgiveness (full and free).  Those abuse cases years ago did not make up my mind that all kids who go to desk schools are abused and/or abusive. They did not make me feel that I should lash out at all parents who send their kids to school. They did not make me decide to home school.  They just made me sad for the victims and for the perpetrators.  

Freedom and Diversity are the rallying cries in our country today, but when I see people posting things that speak favorably of taking away freedoms from their neighbors or forcing a certain type of desk schooling that has no choice but to use cookie cutter style education (because of the sheer numbers of children being educated), we are not encouraging freedom or diversity.  In schools where the lunch program has been changed as part of the federal government’s push to make kids eat healthy, there are now school cafeterias where a 6 foot 3, 200 pound 18 year old football player’s lunch is the exact same in portions and caloric intake as the 5 foot 1, 100 pound 15 year old sedentary kid next to him.  This all because some of their classmates are obese.  Communities and school boards used to have all of the power to choose what was and wasn’t taught in their local schools.  They were able to offer a larger variety of classes, sports, and enrichment.  Now, with the powerful forces behind Common Core, even curriculum will be the same across our mandatory state education country.

We used to live in a place where the mentality toward basic rights like free speech, free religion, and the right of parents to raise their child as they see fit was, “I may not agree with what you do or how you do it, but I will defend to the death your right to do it.  I’ll never ask you to agree with home schooling or with the way we teach our kids.  I’ll never ask you to try it yourself.  I’ll never judge you for your educational choices.  In fact, I’ll always encourage you to make the education choices that are right for your family right now - which is what we do each year - evaluate where we are and where we’re hoping to go with education and decide whether or not to keep them home or send them to a desk school.  All I ask is that you remember, as I do, that we’re all just trying to do the best we can for our children - failing just as often as not, and that judging people based on the behavior of a certain few others you’ve placed in the same category in your mind is never going to be right, nor is it ever going to bring freedom and/or diversity.

Before You Leave Your Church

I am a divorced person.  My husband is also a divorced person.  I’m not the kind of person who tries to justify my divorce in the context of God and the Bible (or any other context).  Marriage takes 200% effort.  If one or both of the partners in a marriage are not giving 100% of what they have to make it work, it will (at best) struggle and (at worst) end.  Our divorces were, therefore, 100% our faults.  I think he and I both agree that, up to this point in our lives, divorce was the most painful season of life we have endured.  We believe that the only express Biblical reason for divorce is unfaithfulness (or abuse).   

I was “born into” a great church of loving Christian people almost 37 years ago.  I still go to the same church today.  Needless to say, with the exception of some new attendees at that church, I know everyone there, and they know me.  When I say “know” I mean it in the sense that they have been witness to all of my major life events from graduations, educational achievements, baptism, marriages, etc.  They have also seen me struggle with my faith, get angry with God, wallow in sin, and find a new kind of peace in my relationships with God and others.  So they know the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.  They’ve prayed with and for me.  They’ve struggled and hurt alongside me.  They’ve provided meals and companionship during seasons of illness or injury.  They’ve provided spiritual guidance to my family and me.  They provided help in the form of car and lawn maintenance when I was a single mother.  They have been Jesus’ hands and feet in my life.  They have truly been The Church to me.  Because of those things, I have developed a frank familiarity and a deep love for the people at my church.  

Over the years, I’ve seen scores of people come and go from our church for different seasons and reasons, but there has always been a “core” group of people who have stayed... the ones who have “skin in the game”, the ones who served funeral dinners, mowed lawns, cleaned toilets, and set up and took down chairs for events.  They don’t just talk about their “commitment”; they do their commitment.   A few years ago, our church endured a significant struggle that split it into camps.  At that time, Mark and I felt that old familiar sting of divorce pain. The pain was so intense at times that we couldn’t even stand to be in the building.  It reminded me so much of my divorce.  I felt, in a very visceral way, the same spirit of discontentment and discord.  People who had developed relationships with those around them through shared love of Jesus and shared work of sharing The Gospel with others suddenly canceled their friendships.  Years of relationship building crumbled to dust.  I’m not saying that there weren’t some justifiable reasons for some strife.  There were.  Divorcing people have their reasons too. 

“We grew apart.”
“He/she doesn’t meet my needs anymore.”
“He/she has changed.”
“I’ve developed feelings for another person.”
“We are unhappy.”

The things we witnessed and endured as we walked through that difficult time at church were unkind words, anger, bitterness, resentment, pride, silent treatment, gossip, etc. You know, the kinds of things that human beings do to one another every day of the week but that we somehow don't expect to see from the human beings at church.  These things made life in church feel like we were going through a divorce every Sunday.  We found ourselves avoiding it altogether - even trying another church once or twice.  I remember the first time I verbalized it to Mark.  I looked at him and said, “I just can’t go.  I can’t feel that awkwardness and hurt every week.  It feels like I’m getting divorced all over again.”  He looked at me and said, “It's weird that you say that, because I feel the exact same way.”  It was a feeling neither of us had ever wanted to experience again.  In the midst of our searching, we both felt God was telling us, “Aren’t you trying to teach your kids about what it’s like to ride out the tough times?  If you leave because things have gotten rocky and rough, what are you telling them about commitment in relationships?  Stay put, and wait.”  We did - through the pain, through the Facebook “unfriendings” (I never initiate facebook unfriendings.  I think it is an immature and selfish way of dealing with emotional and relational problems and insecurities, but that's an entirely different blog), through the awkwardness... because we did want to teach our children the importance of talking things out, working them out, and coming out stronger and better for it on the other side.  We were finally seeing how those things have made (are making) our marriage last... and not only last but become stronger and more secure.  Forgiveness, loyalty, and perseverance have made our marriage.  Could they make our church too?

When I was a child, my parents did a lot of volunteering at church (as they do today).  We were at the church many times each week either working or attending services.  Other children whose parents did the same things were kids that we looked forward to seeing every time we were there, and we often did.  Tonight, a few of those friends were here at our house with their children.  As I watched our children greet one another at the door with big hugs and laughter, a feeling of happiness overwhelmed me.  It was almost as if God said, “See?  It was worth sticking it out and working through it.  Wasn’t it?”  You see, I remember greeting their moms with that same loving enthusiasm 30 years ago - in fact, I still greet them like that today.  We are family.  Very few can say that they are so blessed.  I have endured (by God’s grace) seasons of serious discontentment with my church - for various reasons (and I'm sure they have done the same with me).  However, I am seeing the “fruit” of sticking out the tough times. 

There are circumstances in which it is the right choice to leave your church, the foremost of which is heresy within the leadership.  How many times do you hear other reasons for people leaving a church though?

“His sermons were boring.”
“The music is not my style.”
“I didn’t get along with so-and-so.”
“I’m not being spiritually nourished.”
“That church over there seems so much cooler.”
“I’m not happy here.”

I’m wondering, would those types of things be good enough reasons to end your commitment to your spouse?  I should hope not.  Some of those reasons are just truly petty and call for us to rearrange our expectations, pray for the leadership, and ask God to meet you where you are.  Some of those things would definitely cause the need for more dialogue, sincere communication, and understanding.  I submit to you that those are the exact times when the strongest relationships are made even stronger.  You can’t be married without having the occasional argument.  If you never argued with a spouse, that would mean that one or the other of you is stuffing your true feelings.  However, if you bring up those issues, have a conversation (talk and listen), and come to a compromise based on mutual understanding, you’ll find that you have taken your relationship to the next level.  What better example could we set for our children about relationships, perseverance, and loyalty than by working out differences and staying steadfast despite difficult times.  We all need God’s grace, and we certainly should be able to (by the power of the Holy Spirit), extend that grace to others... especially within our church family.  

I once had a friend who was a young woman whose husband had recently gotten his first assignment to a pastorate.  She was so hurt and angry and frustrated with the congregation over various issues, that she wanted to throw in the towel and try to get a different pastorate somewhere else - or even quit altogether.  I remember saying to her, “Did you marry your husband for his family?”  She responded, “No, of course not, sometimes I don’t even like them.”  The point was made - we don’t stay in a church because the people are perfect - always making us happy and saying all the right things.  In fact, sometimes we don’t even like His family.  We stay because of our love for our Bridegroom.  We work with his family... making the most of our relationships, forgiving, overlooking offenses, and renewing that commitment week by week, year after year.

Making a choice of church is a serious decision.  Committing to any body of believers shouldn't be done lightly.  However, once that commitment is made, it should be a bond.  It is a sacred covenant. "Church-hopping" seems a bit like perpetually dating a multitude of people but never actually marrying any of them.  It's understandable why some people have trust issues with churches and the people in them.  However, just like in Christian marriage, you aren't marrying someone trusting that you'll never get hurt or that the other person will never fail you.  You are marrying them trusting that God will get you through those times when you inevitably do get hurt and are failed by your spouse and that they will trust Him to do the same.  I always feel sorry for those who are stuck in a perpetual dating cycle.  It's sad to me that they haven't gotten to experience true vulnerability with another person... that they might never get to that point, because it takes many years of trust-building.  I feel the same way about people who never pick and stick with a church family.  They are in and out of churches - never quite getting to a point of true vulnerability and transparency - where they can experience true spiritual intimacy, challenge, and change.

In a few months, Mark and I will be celebrating our 9th wedding anniversary.  In another 10 years, by God’s grace, we will watch our grandchildren toddling around our house.  In that moment, I will fully realize the value of all those late night argue-until-you-get-it-fixed sessions.  I will understand the life-altering importance of all those times we extended forgiveness to one another, served one another when we didn’t feel like it, and dropped our expectations for one another... choosing love over being “right”.  We will watch the unfolding of something so beautiful that we won’t be able to imagine we had any involvement in it at all.  We will fully witness God’s grace in our family.

By God’s grace, I will be celebrating 37 years of “marriage” to my church in a few weeks.  In another 10 years, by God’s grace, I will watch my grandchildren playing with my best friends’ grandchildren in the church nursery.  In that moment, I will fully realize the value of all those times when I went to church when I was tired or busy.  I will understand the world-altering impact of all those times we extended forgiveness to one another, served one another when we didn’t feel like it, and dropped our expectations for one another... choosing love over being “right”.  I will watch the unfolding of ministries so strong and vibrant, relationships so secure and unyielding, and brotherly love so deep and so precious that I won’t be able to imagine that I was allowed to be a part of them.  I will fully witness God’s grace in His church.

Marcie "Drew" and the Mystery of the Turd in my Van

Today I found a turd in my van.  Naturally (my youngest child being five years of age and well potty trained), I was flabbergasted.  This is my story.

A few months ago I started selling Jamberry nail wraps.  Which, by the way, I only did to pay for my "habit".   My business is only two months old, and it has been amazingly successful.  That being said, I rarely do home parties, but I was invited to do a manicure night at a good friend's house.

When I got back in my van six hours later, I posted the following facebook status:

When I used to babysit as a teenager I remember parents picking me up or taking me home in the dreaded minivan.  They would have to move a car seat - leaving me to sit on cheerio crumbs, dried up french fries, undisclosed stains... and the stench... it defies explanation.  It's an overwhelmingly moist odor - like Cheese Nips, sweaty feet, and worms.  Many people say that the elderly give off an unpleasant odor.  I submit to you that children have an equally indescribable and disturbing odor that cannot be masked by store-bought air fresheners of any kind.   Thus, when there is an odor in my van, I always blame it on the kids.

This morning, a friend who works as a secretary at a local funeral home asked if I would come show her some Jamberry things.  I told her, "Yeah, I deal them out of the back of my van."  (Actually, I had just been too lazy to take them out the night before.  So I had my "paraphernaila" on hand.)  I drove to the side ramp (where she had directed me - since the parking lot was full).  This funeral home is in a residential area next to a busy street.  It's yard is immaculate and perfectly groomed.

At some point in the conversation with my friend, I set down my phone and keys in a VERY illogical place.  So, when I was getting ready to leave just a very short time later, I was distressed to not locate the keys.  I had a very short window of time to get to a baby shower.  I was dressed in a sundress and had hair and makeup done.  (Setting the stage...)  When I went back to the hatch of the van, I checked everywhere.  As I lifted up one of the Thirty-One bags I use to carry my Jamberry stuff I noticed something that I never expected to find in my van... a turd of notable size and squishiness had dropped from the bottom of my bag onto the van carpet.  Mortified/bewildered/disgusted... these words would have aptly described me at that moment.  "Who... what... when...WHY...???" These questions flashed through my mind when I had a terrible realization:  This pile of excrement of unkown origin must be dealt with.

I took out my Thirty-One bag, took it over to the grass and, without thinking, started to rub the bottom of it vigorously across the lawn to try to remove as much poo residue as possible (in an organic setting).  I started to mentally go through the ludicrous idea of me ringing the funeral home side doorbell, turd in hand, to ask if I could dispose of it.  This could not be.  (Mind you, this is the same funeral home where, just months ago, I attended the wrong funeral, because the one I had meant to attend was across the street at a different funeral home at the same time.  I didn't notice it was the wrong funeral until I was signing the guest book, but it was too late.  Because everyone asks "what'd you do next?" I signed it in scribbles, because I was too slow-whitted to think of an alias.  I gave condolences to a few family members and left.  So I have a history of humiliation with this funeral home, and today would be no exception.)

I had but two restaurant napkins in the glovebox, and I used both of them to pick up the turd... and then... the disposal.  Where, oh, where would I put this turd?  I had no choice... now beginning to run late for a baby shower... I placed it carefully in the edged crevice between the funeral home drive and the lawn.  As I looked around I imagined all the people who had watched this scene unfold (neighbors, mourners, passersby)... lady in a nice dress, wiping her bag on the grass, picking out a seeming turd from the back of her van, placing it on a well-groomed funeral home lawn.  This.is.my.life.

I spent the next four hours wracking my brain.  WHaaaa??  After the shower I had to go a town over to set up for a vendor event.  While setting up I had to remove the infamous poop bag from my van and carry it into the store.  Halfway through setting up...Lo and behold... a container of baby wipes!!  I immediately took a couple and started to scrub the bottom of my bag.  The wipes were dirty and smelly, and I asked the cashier, "Do you guys have a trash can?"  "No," she replied, "We don't... just hand it to me, and I'll throw it out."  (holding out her hand)  I stopped dead in my tracks, looked at my husband (who had joined me), and said, "Hey, honey, grab me another wipe, please?"  I tried to wrap the poop wipes up in a clean one, but I knew the stench was going to give me away, and I imagined what she would think if I handed her poopy wipes, "Where did she wipe poop from?  It's just her and her husband."  The idea of her leaving it to the imagination was too much.  So I had to tell her the whole story.

The answer to the mystery?  When I got to my friend's house the night before, I had begun to unload my stuff from the van.  As I was gone with the first load, one of their barn cats got into the van without me noticing.  When I put my stuff back in the van later, it was pitch dark.  So I didn't notice that I was setting my stuff on a pile of cat excrement.  The cat appeared (I thought from under the van) while I was putting the rest of my things in it.

This is my second poop blog.  The other one is here: Disgusting Disgustingness, and involves my children unwittingly sliding down a slide full of adult human excrement.  It seriously trumps this one, but I'm beginning to think I might be worthy of an honorary CNA.

I Am a Drug Addicted Prostitute

Today we were riding in the car to town, and my 17-year-old son heard a song on our local soft-rock radio station and turned it up.  (Yes, gasp all you like, but there is only so much KLOVE repetitiveness this person can take.  In fact, given their playlist, it would seem there are only five Christian songs written each year, and the 35 that have been recorded in the past seven years will take us well on into the next millennium.)  As usual, I digress...  The song he cranked is called “The A Team” by Ed Sheeran - you’ve probably heard it, unless of course you’ve been locked in a padded room with only KLOVE as your "positive, encouraging" companion.  Austin said, “I kind of like this song for some reason.”  As we listened to the lyrics a little bit I said, “I think this is about a drug addicted prostitute.”  He agreed.  I got to thinking about that saying, “There but for the grace of God go I.”  People don’t say it much anymore, but I think it should go back into circulation.

I had a striking thought during that ride:  I am a drug addicted prostitute.  I know the sins of which I’m capable.  I know that I am easily addicted to things.  I don’t gamble or take illicit drugs - not because I don’t want to do those things or because I’ve reached some sort of morally superior Christian high ground.  I don’t do those things because I know that if I did do those things, I wouldn’t stop doing those things...maybe until I was broke or dead or both.  The only difference between me and a prostitute who shoots meth are two things:  financial security and Jesus.  I don’t say either of those things flippantly - as if I deserve them.  God knows better than anyone that I don’t.  God provides the Holy Spirit to help me restrain my ugly flesh - the flesh being that which wants so desperately to do and say all the despicable things that pop into my mind.

Drug Addict Me

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t like the feeling of anesthesia.  From early recollections of nitrous at the dentist, to a tonsillectomy, to my recent neck surgery... counting backward from 100 and only getting to 98 before being lulled into a peaceful slumber - not a care in the world - is one of the best feelings I can imagine.  I’d gladly endure an IV (which I really hate) or two for that kind of effortless relaxation.  The last time I was under anesthesia (December 2013) I remember being in the recovery room and feeling like I couldn’t breathe.  The nurse kept saying, “Breathe... BREATHE... BREATHE!!”  Her voice getting more urgent with each plea.  I could hear her voice, and I obviously eventually managed to take a breath, but I had no fear of not breathing.  As I stabilized and was sent out of recovery, the nurse said, “That girl is hilarious.  She kept saying, ‘Thank you, substitute autonomic nervous system,' ” every time I told her to breathe.”  I actually liked the feeling of not feeling able to take my next breath.  I still do.  

I have been struggling with a prescription drug dependency since my first back injury in 2010, and it doesn’t get easier.  I say dependency, because, by God’s grace, I can go without prescription drugs when absolutely necessary, but I don’t want to go without them.  I choose not to go without them most of the time.  Chronic pain is something I’ve lived with as long as I can remember.  Consequently, getting the relief that I can get with an occasional prescription opiate is indescribably difficult to give up to God.  I don’t want you to offer suggestions.  This isn’t a cry for help.  Man-made fixes aren’t a cure for a heart that wants what it wants.  In time, like everything else, God always asks of me what He wants, and what He wants is any "fix" - any “thing” - that I depend on more than I depend on Him.  Then He enables me to give it back to Him moment-by-gut-wrenching-moment.

I remember going to a divorce recovery group once and hearing a lady who was a new Christian say, “I was told before I came to Christ that I should come as I am - sin and all, and that God didn’t ask me to change to come to Him.  Then, as soon as I became a Christian, I was immediately told all the things I needed to change.  They had no idea all the things God had already changed in me since the Holy Spirit began to work in my life.  I had quit a lifetime of swearing, drinking, and carousing.  Yet all people could talk about was my smoking... of all things.  I am confident God will take that too - in His timing.”  

I hear all of you people who think you’re open minded saying, “Those Christians! (Or those other Christians) They’re so judgmental!  What a bunch of hypocritical bigoted jerks.”  FLAG... yes you - 50 pew penalty for being a hypocrite yourself.  You just judged a bunch of Christians as hypocrites.   We are all judging every day of our lives.  It’s called decision making - exercising good judgment or bad judgment.  You must judge in order to survive.  The trick is not to make up your mind about a person and decide whether or not he or she is good or bad - according to your self-righteous, unbending standards.  You are your own little god, you know, and you want to be everyone else’s.  Do you like to judge others for being judgmental?  Stop it.  It’s ironic, and it’s annoying.

People are crippled by various enslaving lusts.  The only difference between a Christian and a non-Christian is that we have a “crutch”, as Jesse Ventura once said.  Our crutch is an "Old Rugged Cross" - blood-stained and beautiful.  We don’t always use our crutch.  There are many times we think we can get along without it, and we try - only to fall and make ourselves ridiculous to people - as though we don’t know how crippled we really are.  Sometime we don’t.  When we do use our crutch, however, we are capable of things which we were never capable (nor even desirous) of in our pre-crutch days.

Prostitute Me

I have long prostituted myself for much less than a few dollars.  I’ve prostituted myself for something so counterfeit that it isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on - the approval of others.  I have pushed myself far beyond what I should in many circumstances, and I am often undone by my desires to make others like me.  I have done (and am likely to do again) things of which I am thoroughly ashamed in exchange for counterfeit love and support.

You shouldn’t like me.  Truth be told, if we knew what was in one another’s minds, the human race would have died out a long time ago.  We would never have tolerated each other.  I am not often stunned by the ugly in humanity.  I am often stunned by the good.  Those are the things that make me cry.

Jeremiah 17:9 says what we all know to be true about ourselves, “The heart is deceitful above all else and desperately wicked.  Who can understand it?”

Paul acknowledges this truth in Romans 7 when he laments about his own struggle against the wickedness of his heart:  “O wretched man that I am!  Who will deliver me from this body of death?”  

Philippians 2:13 was an encouragement to the people of Philippi as it is for us who recognize our need for a crutch: “...for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure.”

I once heard it said that, “The worst thing a person could say is true about me is nothing compared to the worst thing I know to be true about me."  This is me saying that I won’t forget that I am a drug-addicted prostitute, but God has made me His daughter, and He daily works to weed out the ugliness that enslaves me and causes me to try to enslave others. His kind of grace is worth any sacrifice I might be called to make. 

I’m a drug-addicted prostitute.  What are you?  If you have the grace to admit who you are outside of God’s goodness bestowed on you, consider putting it in writing - comment on this blog or just write it on a post-it and keep it somewhere close.

10 Commandments for Co-Parenters

“Where are you REALLY?!” I half screamed, sobbing into the phone.  I was in the closet - losing my sanity... my control... and every ounce of composure I had ever had.  He was “working late” again, and maybe he really was, but how was I to know?  I was so desperate to be able to trust the man I had called my husband for nearly 7 years, but I just couldn’t.  We had both done plenty of things to regret in our marriage, and there was zero trust between us, and I can remember not only not feeling love for him.  I began to hate him... and it wasn’t because he was a wretch - it was because I was.  I remember not wanting to feel stupid.  That was the biggest reason I hated when he lied or when he cheated... I didn’t want to look foolish.  I didn’t want to be foolish.  It didn’t matter how many times people said, “Well, if he cheats or lies it’s on him - not on you.”  Lip service... triteness... these were not what I wanted to hear right then.  I needed one thing that I could not have:  CONTROL

A few months later, when Brett left me and our daughters (aged 3 and 9 months), he changed his telephone number and left no forwarding address... both of which I had begged him not to do.  I knew where he worked, and that was all I knew.  I didn’t know if he’d keep putting his paycheck in our bank account.  I didn’t know if he was seeing someone else.  I didn’t know if he planned to file for divorce.  It was my right to know where he was!  Wasn’t it?  I needed one thing I could not have:  CONTROL

I had no choice but to do one thing I had mostly avoided doing - pray.  I had prayed very little for awhile now, aside from some desperate pleas with God to give me my favorites back:  my husband, my marriage, my family unit. They were mine, and I was demanding them back, and I was “walking in faith” that God would restore them to me.  After all, naive Christians like to tell other Christians, “If you have enough faith, God will fix this.”  As far as God went, I went from demanding, to begging, to crying, to whining, to pleading, and back again.  In fact, as far as Brett went I did the same things.  IF ever he contacted me (which was rare), I begged, whined, played the “God put us together” card, and then started over... and he called less and less.  I talked to my friends.  I shared my woes.  I whined and complained.  I talked and I talked... until finally I was talking to my friend about Brett and something funny happened.  Instead of saying, “Brett is just destroying me,” I replaced his name with “God...” completely by accident, and with that error God showed me that I had for years put my husband in God’s place.  I had expected him to make my happiness complete.  I had expected him to love me unfailingly.  I had expected him to anticipate and meet my needs.  I had expected him not to fail me.   

With that simple verbal error, my lack of control over my situation finally swept me under:  I wept, and I broke.  I finally broke.   After a few months of not knowing where my husband was, I began to sincerely seek to love him instead of loving myself and trying to force him to love me too.  I genuinely prayed for him... for my daughters... for God to do His will in our lives for His glory - no matter how that looked for my personal happiness.    My sister and her husband (who is also Brett’s brother) offered to find out where Brett lived, if he had a mistress, etc. - a chance I would have jumped at just a few months before that moment.  I asked them not to do that, and my sister snapped, “Why not?!  You’re just burying your head in the sand and not dealing with the reality that this is really happening to you.”  The fact was that I was finally starting to learn what I had needed to learn for 7+ years of our marriage... to stop trying to control my marriage.  God had allowed my husband to cut off contact with me in order to teach me that I didn’t really have or need control over my life... that I could trust that the One in control was worthy of my faith in Him.  He taught me to trust Him in a way I would not ever have been capable of doing otherwise.

The result of that trust was that I learned Who God was... I asked that He provide for me and my girls in Brett’s absence... because He was the only “husband” I had anymore.  What followed were sheer miracles of provision - from Brett continuing to put his paychecks in our joint account up until our divorce... to his having it written into the decree that he would pay me maintenance in addition to child support - together amounting to $2,000+ per month... to cash and food donations from people in our church... to a man from church coming to mow our lawn for free each week... to another man from church providing free oil changes while my daughters and I visited with his wife and children in their home.  The list could finish go on for a good many pages.  The fact of the matter was that I never had been in control of my life.  I just hadn’t acknowledged that God was good and was in control.  In fact, His was presence was more felt and His goodness more palpable in Brett’s absence than it ever had been in his presence, and I was happy.  I sometimes cried myself to sleep at night in the arms of Jesus, but I was never more complete or fulfilled or truly peaceful and joyful than in those moments - from that day to this.  I thank God for taking away Brett... not because he wasn’t a good husband or because our marriage was not meeting my needs... but because in those moments of sheer desperation and terror I got to know God in His utter adequacy for the meeting of every need.

This past Sunday morning, my husband Mark said, “When is Brett bringing the girls home?”  I said, “I don’t know... sometime in the afternoon he said.”  “What’s he doing with them that he’s bringing them home so late?”  “I don’t know,” I said, “I didn’t ask.”  I never ask, truth be told.  Back when Brett changed his number and left us wondering what came next he had refused to tell me a single thing about his personal life and choices.  I never found out what he was up to, and it wasn’t for lack of trying.  I wanted to know the details... even if they were hurtful to me.  However, he never told me a thing.  One day... one wonderful day, I stopped asking.  I never ask him what he’s doing with our girls.  I never ask him where they’ll be.  I only ask when they’ll return if it has to do with drop-off or pick-up locations.  It’s not because I don’t care.  It’s because I am not worried.  I know God is good, and that He is fulfilling his purpose in and for my daughters, and I am certain that their dad is a part of that purpose and process.  He has been since the moment of their conception - in fact, from the moment time began.  His ability to own his relationship with his daughters is God’s gift to him, and I have no business usurping that.  I cannot fully express to you the extent of how that blesses him and, in turn, blesses the girls.  They are free to tell me about their time with their dad and step-mom, but they are not compelled.  Forgiveness has been a huge part of the process of me letting that all go, and if you don’t know how to get there from where you are, here’s a link:  Forgiveness: A Step-by-Step Guide


Brett and I recently had the following text conversation when I was leaving our daughters (ages 12 and 10) off with him at a local restaurant before they went to Florida for a vacation:

This is typical of our relationship, and it’s weird to say that we often say things to one another like, “I’m so thankful for you and for how you parent our girls.”  We are able to - in completely appropriate ways - bless one another for the sake of our girls.  Mark and I minister to single parents and divorced people, and we often see people who are in the throes of custody battles.  There are precious few incidences where true abuse is taking place on the part of either parent, but good parents can often get into battles over the children in order to hurt one another.  One of the biggest culprits is TMI.  For those of us who are not “cool” enough to know what TMI is... (yes, there’s the fact that I’m using the word “cool” instead of “sick” or “epic” which means that I’m officially not sick nor am I epic) TMI= too much information.  If you know where your former spouse is, what that person is doing, who he or she spends time with, who he or she vacations with, where that person spends his or her free time, what’s in his or her bank account, or what he or she posted on facebook ten minutes ago, etc. you know too much.  That knowledge - every blessed piece of it - corrupts your feelings.  It tears you up.  It gives you evidence to use against the other person - but moreso it gives you the motivation to use it.  It makes you look ugly, and it makes you and feel ugly.

If you want to increase your own happiness and that of your children in your joint parenting lifestyle, here are 10 commandments for co-parents who are no longer in a relationship with one another:

1. Thou shalt respect thine ex’s time with his or her children and not interrupt it for any reason aside from thine own demise (in which case someone else shall do it for you).
2. Thou shalt not be friends with thine ex on facebook neither on other social media outlets.
3. Thou shalt not follow thine ex’s blog nor his or her twitter account.
4. Thou shalt not google thine ex’s name.
5. Thou shalt not text or call thine ex unless it has to do with pick up or drop off times or medical emergencies.  (Letters or e-mails would better handle “housekeeping items” like medical bills and child support payments.)
6. Thou shalt not ask thy children about their visits with their other parent nor shalt thou ask thine ex.
7. Thou shalt not ask thy children about their other parent’s friends or romantic interests.
8. Thou shalt not send photos of thy vacation or other social exploits to thine ex.
9. Thou shalt not create drama around drop-offs and pick-ups of thy shared children.
10. Thou shalt not discuss child support issues in front of thy children ever - for any reason. period.

I need to clarify three things: 

1. I don’t like to use the word “ex”, but it just fits better than “former spouse” in a list.  
2. This list does not apply in cases of true abuse or neglect - in which case DCFS or a like department should be able to determine if that is the case.  If the court or DCFS do not make a determination of abuse, give your former spouse the benefit of the doubt... believing that they love their children like you do - until and unless there is concrete evidence to the contrary.
3. I understand their are nuances in each situation, but I guarantee that if you make the first move to start respecting your children’s other parent, that respect will be reciprocated in time.  You may find that, given some time, you will have become very content to trust that your children are happy and basically well-cared-for when they are with their other parent.

Trust God that He has all of your children’s activities, feelings, and future in His good plan, and that He cares much more for them than you do.  He gave them you as a parent.  You love them madly.  He also gave them another parent who, despite manifold imperfections (much like yourself), loves your children and makes up 50% of his or her gene pool.  That 50% belongs to a person you once loved - for their laugh, their smile, their sense of humor, their eyes, their encouraging spirit, their gentle ways, their gregarious disposition... those same sweet things you might just see in that child from time-to-time.  Respect their parenting - just like you want to be respected as a parent.

Shower Epiphany

About a year ago I stood in the shower and contemplated the blessings of my life.  I mean, I often (like you) think about all the good things that God has given me.  I, perhaps like you, live in fair comfort.  I have lived in significant want, and I have no doubt (nor do I have fear) that I might likely live in great want again in my lifetime.  However, that day... that day I was faced with one truth:  God has always been just as good as I know He is today, and I didn't even know it.  I had been completely unaware of how gracious He was to the undeserving wretch - me.  

If I have done anything right in my life, it has been rare.  I have seen in myself those who spit in the face of an anguished Savior... with no remorse.  I have been wrong so much more than I've been right.  I have hated God with my actions, and I have defamed His name carelessly.  Yet...

Yet... that was the moment when the tears came so effortlessly... so painfully... so gratefully.  I had heard tell of God's grace for sinners, but what about His grace for saved ones?  What about that grace? This was the grace that plucked me out of desperation and sin and death (yes, even when I was redeemed) and placed me in a wide open space... a green pasture - so lush and wide in its scope that I could not dare have dreamt it for fear of waking up in a dung heap again.

The deepest pain I felt at this realization that God did not take into account my past when He was planning my future was this:  I had spent 34 years being taught of God and His love for His lost and had totally missed His character toward and love for His FOUND.  Had I known, how different my life might have looked.

This morning I talked to a dear friend, and she shared with me that she had recently listened to a sermon series on grace and law.  The speaker had touched on a truth so simplistic and yet so deep that I had to go back into my mental curio cabinet and open it - just to touch that truth - just to make sure it was really mine now.  This is how it went:

The grace of which Christians so easily speak - which rolls off our tongues with great passion and fervor when we encourage the non-Christian that Jesus loves him or her lavishly (which is true but only half of the truth).  The speaker had announced that such grace (the kind of which we speak so poignantly about to the unsaved) is not truly meant for them at all yet but that it is meant for Christians - those who are "in Christ".  In turn, the law is for non-Christians.  The law is for the purpose of showing non-Christians their desperate need to be saved from their own nature for the purpose of encouraging them to become a recipient of the same grace.  After they come to know Christ's saving power then they are under the same "Amazing Grace" that we are.   We Christians tend to mix this up.  We tell the sinner, "God is gracious.  Come to Christ and He will take you as you are - no strings attached.  He loves you."  Then as soon as they come to know Christ (by His revelation at work within them) then we start to pummel them with all of their sins and give them the law (the do's and don't's), because that's how a Christian should act.  We tell them they're graced and should come to the gracious Christ, but then we sic the law on them as soon as they step foot in the church door.  We thrash other Christians for their sins... or because they still sin (gasp) even after salvation.  Where is the message of God's grace then?  Nowhere to be found.  

I submit to you that the opposite should be happening - we should be loving and living as the graced people we are - fully accepted in Christ and sure in that identity and making sure the world understands that they are subject to God's wrath as a result of their own sin (just as we once were) and that they would love being under grace - just as we do.  We should share hope.  What I see all over Facebook and all over Christian magazines and websites is Christians destroying Christians for their perceived faults.  Who in his right mind would want any part of a people that give each other NO grace... only criticizing one anothers' feeble attempts (as all of our earthly attempts are) at living out Christ's example on earth.  Half the time I want out of this whole thing myself.  We don't show the world the beautiful grace of which we are undeserving recipients, because we haven't believed it's true.  We haven't trusted God is truly good and that He truly has dowsed our paths in the richest scents of His grace - so deep that we are dripping of it.  We don't even know it... and thus we can't give it to others - Christian or non-Christian.  Well, we are under grace, because our lover (Christ) wants a bride who is lavishly loved and free to give him the same unconditional love  in return.  What a gracious God we serve.  What a blessing to be His bride, and how lovely to bask in the grace that is ours because we are in Christ and, better yet, give that hope and that grace to one another.