Picture of My Valentine's Day Gifts

    A year or two ago, I was going through some old photographs I found.  These particular photos were ones I had taken with a camera my parents got me circa 1985.  You know the type with no flash that you could drop a hundred different ways without breaking it.  It was a treasured possession, as was the film that I rarely received for it.  I treasured that camera even more, because I could use it to take photos of my other gifts, and that's what I did.  In the small stack of photos, several were dedicated to documenting the gifts I had gotten for various holidays.  On the back of each one was scrawled (in sloppy grade school script) the date the gifts were received, from whom, and what each thing was (including the names of any stuffed animals included in the photos).  Gifts have obviously been important to me from a very young age.

     Another married Valentine's Day came and went today.  Mark and I had agreed ahead of time that "for REAL this time" we weren't going to bother with gifts for Valentine's Day, our birthdays, our anniversary, Mother's Day or Father's Day.  We had done a similar thing about Christmas gifts, but we both ended up surprising one another with a cheap gift on the actual day.  So I wasn't sure how V-Day would go.  I was thinking tonight about how drastic the difference is between the woman I used to be with regard to gift-giving/receiving holidays and the woman I've become.  My expectations have changed drastically and not because I've given up or resigned myself to the idea that those days will usually end in disappointment on one or more levels.  Rather, I've been made able to choose to truly lay down my expectations about the day, and each experience betters me at that as I learn to root out those expectations that sometimes like to lurk quietly in my subconscious. 

     So, as I sat in my bed tonight more contentedly than I ever recall being after Valentine's Day, God brought to mind all the things that would've been on my "wish list" of possible romantic gifts in past years and the priceless gifts that have so easily done away with that list.  Here's the picture of my gifts this year.

• No perfume but the fragrance of his scent as he pulls me close.  
• No flowers but the beauty of the life-giving manner in which he treats me and our children.
• No jewelry but the adornment of wearing his name and the gift of his constant work at polishing the reputation that goes with that good name.
• No chocolates but the sweetness of his presence and the taste of his kisses.
• No massage gift certificates but the tenderness of his touch.
• No trips away but his heart close to home.
• No grand gestures but the steady dependability of his character.
• No money but the gift of his generosity towards all.
• No Valentine's Day card but genuine acts of everyday love that daily form the foundation of selflessness on which all true loving sentiment is built.

     Last night we watched a documentary called Honor Flight in which there was a segment about a WWII veteran talking about the impact of his love for his wife.  He was widowed when his wife of 53 years was affected by ALS... a wasting illness in which you lose all musculoskeletal control over a period of time.  His wife battled ALS for 7 years before she succumbed to its ravages shortly after their 60th anniversary.  He displayed a book of poetry and notes he had written for his wife throughout their marriage.  He said that he had never been good with words, but that when he thought of his wife and asked God, the words just came to his pen and he wrote them all down.  He said, "Throughout the course of her illness, I never asked God to spare her life. I only asked for my life to be spared long enough for me to take care of her throughout the duration of her terminal illness." He later said, "Close to the end of her life, a hospice nurse came to check her over, and she said to me, 'How long has she been bedridden with this illness?' And I replied, 'Seven years.'  That nurse couldn't believe it was true, because her skin was in such good condition - without bedsores or dryness."  And as his voice broke and tears welled up in his eyes he said, "I was pretty proud of that."  He saw his duty to care for his wife as the greatest privilege of his life, and he took great pride in how well he did it. He attributed his genuine love for his wife and his selfless acts of care toward her to His Lord who helped him love his wife the way God Himself would love and care for her.

     Maybe you wonder why God didn't just heal her for both man and wife' sakes.  Real life isn't about cultivating good circumstances.  It's about cultivating good character.  Our season on earth isn't spent to make us happier or wealthier or more popular human DOINGS. It's spent in making us BETTER human BEINGS.  It'd be great if we could become better by focusing more on self, accumulating more goods, consuming whatever tastes good, and doing whatever feels good.  However, the unwritten laws of philosophy on this planet prove out that true happiness and contentment AND the development of good character lie not in self-pleasure, self-actualization, and self-assurance but rather on this one thing:  denying self utterly.  Graciously giving and receiving is the key to accomplishing our greatest purpose.

Don't Just Show It; Give It

John 5:44 - "How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and you do not seek the glory that is from the One and only God?"

"You do not seek the glory that is from the one and only God"? God glorifies me?  God glorifies me.  It feels wrong to ask God to glorify me.  After all, isn't it my job - not even that - my purpose on earth - to glorify Him?  Isn't that why I was made?  Then again, what glory do I even  have to give Him?  He has it all.  He doesn't need whatever paltry, terrestrial glory I can try to muster or conjure.  I had a 4.0 GPA in high school.  Does that work?  I even got to do the valedictory speech... so I've got that glory I can give Him.  Surely He needs that, right?  Um...is this thing on?  Digging deep - going way back to the back of my earthly glory room... maybe it's more of a glory closet...cabinet. Okay, you've got me.  It's a glory shoebox... that's mostly empty.  Yeah, I've got nothing.  I'm so glad He doesn't need the earthly glory I could give him.  

The fact is, He has all the glory - glory so intense and so beyond human scope and understanding that it would kill us to even look upon it.  (Exodus 33) He desires to bestow that glory on me?  That is also beyond my comprehension.  We (the church) are His "bride", after all.  That implies a consensually reciprocal type of relationship... not a symbiotic "he needs me and I need him" type of relationship but rather "He wants me, and I need Him."  Each having in mind the good reputation and character of the other, bride and groom seek to glorify one another.    Historically, in virtually ever culture known to man, that has been the position of the bride...one of helplessness - to protect herself, to provide for herself, to even survive.  Certainly that was the culture/era in which the Bible was written.  She had one thing to give her groom:  the treasure of herself... her being - heart, body, and soul - from whence come her beauty, her life-giving capacity, her personality, her skills, and her abilities. Likewise, we are helpless and have nothing but ourselves to give.  Also, historically/culturally  speaking, the groom comes into a marriage with the vast majority of the goods.  He comes with the desire and intent to bestow all his worldly goods and even his very life on his bride.  His glory will now belong to her.  He "glorifies" her by marrying her.  

Of course we should ask God to glorify us.  After all, who has all the glory to give?  I should deflect any worldly glory/accolades man might also give me to The One who has made me glorious by His sacrifice.  God does not lose any of His own glory by glorifying me any more than a groom loses his riches by bestowing them on his bride.  In fact, the groom's glory is made more obvious - enhanced - in its bestowal on his bride.  The adorning of her neck, her head, her hands and feet with precious metals and jewels and of her body with rich fabrics... all of these show those who gaze upon the bride to whom she belongs and that her groom is one of supremely noble character who is not only rich in property but also in generosity and lavish love for his bride.  By glorifying his beloved bride, he has glorified himself.  He has displayed a love for his bride that is so pure, immense, true, loyal, and steadfast that he entrusts his bride with all of his wealth and abundance.  He trusts her with abandon and holds back absolutely no good thing from her.  He entrusts her with his very name...having no fear that she would soil it.  This is the heartbeat of our God toward us - His very blessed chosen bride.  He holds back nothing from us.

He held back no part of Himself when He caused Mary to conceive Jesus.  He gave Jesus to us not to be half God and half man but rather fully both God and man.  He laid Himself bare, because He has nothing to lose.  He has never ceased to be vulnerable with mankind, and for that, we killed Him.  He chose to be glorified by a humble earthly parentage, a manger birth, a modest life, and a criminal's death.  His "glorious riches"  - the "jewels" with which He lavishes us - are His kindness, forbearance, and patience (Romans 2:4).  They are His matchless grace (Ephesians 1:7). These -- the very things mankind lacks most.  The riches that set Him apart from us and make Him so very attractive are the ones that change both giver and receiver.  

In Exodus 33, Moses tells God, "Show me your glory."  He was given the tiniest glimpse of that glory and came down off Mt. Sinai to a bunch of whining ingrates with his face positively aglow from the encounter of that glimpse.  I want to go a step further... I don't want to just see it.  I want to have it.  I've been freed up to recognize my ability to ask Him to give it to me.  The purpose of my desire being singularly this:  to radiantly display the glorious jewels of steadfastness, good character, loyalty, unfailing love, trustworthiness, kindness, patience, grace, and countless other things which have made Jesus, The Church's "groom", not only worthy of my love, respect, and worship but also trustworthy with my fragile and broken heart.

12 Things to Do When Faced with an Affair

“Ugh, this two door car!” I thought to myself as I moved the seat forward to get my 2 year old daughter and her 6 month old sister into the back of my husband’s work car.  Date night was worth it, of course.  We had just had a much-needed few hours out without children as new parents for the second time.  As I finished up with the car seat, something caught the corner of my eye - a small square of paper on the floor... a paper that would change all of our lives - forever.  Even as I type it, my heart pounds in my ears almost as loudly as it did that evening before what I remember as one of the longest nights in my life.  As I sat down in the front seat next to my husband who was backing our car down my parents’ driveway, I read this scrap of paper which happened to be a Hallmark receipt.  It had two Valentine’s Day cards listed on it... only one of which I had received.  It’s strange, now that I think about it.  The cards were listed on the receipt according to what they were.  I’ll never forget.  The itemized receipt read:  “For My Wife”, and the next line was the life-changing part... “For a New Love”.  My mind whirled, and I felt sick to my stomach.  That familiar feeling had become all-to-common a part of our relationship... I got it each time there was a new and “icky” surprise - something I had no idea about but found out by a little bit of investigation on my part or just plain carelessness on his part.

Sure, there was friction in our relationship.  I mean, a few months after the birth of our first child, my brother-in-law (who also happened to be my husband’s brother - you do the math), had found a love note with lipstick on the windshield of my husband’s car.  We were standing outside in our front yard when he spotted it and said, “Hey, Brett, there’s a note on your car.”  Brett looked panicked as he went to retrieve it and took it quickly into the house.  I stood there talking awkwardly with my brother-in-law about our landscaping with that same feeling...sick and nervous and deaf... and blind to anything but the path from my yard to the front door.  I wanted so badly to run in and tear that note out of his hands and have some more idea of why things had been so “off” between us for the past 6 months - for months during and after my pregnancy.  Turns out, his explanation of that note was that there was a creepy stalker-ish guy messing with him at work.  I was completely incredulous, and my experience has been that liars tell you just a grain of truth at a time.  They don’t want to spill it all at once.  So they spoon-feed it to you like they're nursing a sick relative.  They give you just enough truth to placate you for the time being until you finally find enough confidence to come out and say, “You’re lying.  I don’t believe you.  There’s more.  What is it?”  True to form, when I had asked to see the note he’d taken into the house, he refused to show it to me.  Then he claimed he’d thrown it away.  He let me go through trash cans until I couldn’t find it.  Then he finally admitted to having flushed it down our bathroom toilet.   So my response was,  “Um, right, and he’s so deranged that he went through the trouble of buying and applying lipstick to write you a psychotic letter with intent to ruin your marriage, and that you didn’t SEE it on the way home from work?”  That was the miracle, after all.  I had prayed for months for answers to our marital problems.  The fact he had been blind to that note on his car on his way home from work was the answer.  It was the beginning of an answer.  We stayed up virtually all night - me: trying to get to the bottom of WHO? WHAT? WHY? HOW MUCH? him: trying to convince me that I was crazy and in need of postpartum counseling for not believing him.  I was pushing him away by my suspicion and fear, after all.  What could he do but confide in someone who truly understood him?  What else could he do but lean on someone who would “really believe” him when he said he loved her?  “Do you love her??” I asked in agony.  “No...not really.”  “So I should believe you when you say you love me, like she does - even though you’re lying to her?”  Things get all twisted.  They get all messed up in the lines of communication when one or both of you are breaking your marriage vows, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg of the hideousness and humiliating ugliness that plagues the both of you.  Since that first affair, we had worked things out - kind of.  He had changed jobs to get away from his mistress...at my request.  We had gone to marriage counseling together.  The key things we hadn’t done:  forgiven one another for past hurts and worked to rebuild genuine trust.  That’s the stuff that comes later - if you commit to the hardest work you’ll ever do... rebuild a marriage that has broken down.

So - here we were... another child, 2 jobs, and a thousand more suspicions later... two people stuck in a car with our children in the back trying to talk calmly about that little square of paper.  Trying to tuck in little ones... Trying to act like a family while our family was falling apart... not even that... while we were finally realizing that the real work of marriage - the loving unconditionally, the forgiving, the resisting bitterness, the hundreds of daily things we should have done to live out the love we claimed to feel - was something we had not done.  The hundreds of daily things we should have guarded our marriage against... the lies, the temptations, the anger, the exchanging of “harmless” confidences with others, the busy-ness, the discontentment, the materialism... We just hadn’t. In reality, that scrap of paper was just the spark that lit the towering inferno of the fuel we had been building up in our marriage since it had started 7 years before.

For those of you who’ve experienced a marital affair on either end, I don’t have to explain how I felt that night.  For those who haven’t, I couldn’t explain it to you if I had the rest of my life to do it.  You know how people say your whole life passes in front of your eyes right before you die?  The same thing happens when your marriage starts to die.  You see it all... and then you see the future.  You see two kinds of futures.  Neither of them is one you would ever choose.  The first kind of future you see is one in which your joint belongings and the home you’ve loved and built together (our was literally a home we had designed and built together) become pawns in a half-and-half game played by lawyers and judges and an “ex” with a new, cute, younger wife.  Worse, your beloved children - the ones God created with a part of you and a part of your spouse but who are their own unique, special, and amazing human beings you’ve ever known - are taken from you for HALF of their lives... half of their holidays, half of their weekends, half of their vacations from school... all spent away with a new “pseudo family”.  You also picture yourself being replaced in the hearts and lives of your children as you sit at home alone eating whole meat-lovers, stuffed crust pizzas and half gallons of ice cream and not showering (not that I ever did that). :)  You imagine yourself struggling to make ends meet and trying to find a good enough job to send them to a good school, live in a decent neighborhood, and give them as much as their other parent does.  You picture trying to find quality time to console, instill your values into, and help repair your broken children.  Then there’s the other future you picture... and, if you can imagine, it’s even scarier than that first future.  It’s the one in which you choose reconciliation.  The one in which you dig DEEP, find some way to forgive and try to trust again... one in which you live in constant fear of the next breach of trust and wonder if that’ll be the one that breaks you in half or destroys your marriage or both.  I have lived through a type of both versions of these nightmarish futures.  Looking back, there are a few things I wish I could tell my then-self and my friends and family about how to deal with the immediate aftermath of the knowledge of an affair.

To back-then me:
1)  Don’t panic.  Going off the deep end emotionally will lead you to say and do rash things that will only add to the pain and problems and will most likely lead to choices and words you can’t take back but will wish you could.

2) Don’t borrow more trouble than you already have.  God will give you grace to get through each moment as you ask, but He won’t give you grace for something you may never have to face.  He doesn’t need to do that.  Don’t just take each day at a time.  Take each moment at a time.  Focus on the needs of that exact moment and nothing else.

3)  Don’t say the “D” word.  I know you want nothing more than to have a judge appear in your living room this very moment with divorce papers for you to sign - in theory, ending your pain immediately AND getting back at your spouse for being an awful human being.  Uttering the word “Divorce” opens a Pandora’s box of emotions and utterances you’ll wish you could take back at some point.  If you don’t say the word “divorce”, you can’t get one.  You don’t want one... not yet.  Wait until your emotions calm down so that you can rationally process and think through what a divorce will mean for you and your children and family relationships and even your friendships.  Everyone you know will be affected by your choices about your marriage.  This is a massive and momentous decision with repercussions that will last a lifetime and beyond.  It should not be undertaken lightly.

4)  Don’t go on the offensive.  You are hurting.  I get that.  Right now you’re thinking of a hundred types of revenge and how you could get away with pouring sugar in gas tanks, slashing tires, and/or spray painting slogans on the houses and cars of the involved parties.  You want to punch someone(s) in the face.  That’s what pillows and punching bags are for.  You want to scream at the top of your lungs. That’s what closets and secluded, heavily-wooded areas are for.  Avoid taking out your anger, hatred, and frustrations in ways that have the potential to make your life more difficult by adding fuel to an inferno.

5)  Journal.  This is a journey for you and your children.  Bad and difficult things are happening to you and them.  Those things will continue to happen.  Write it all down to keep good records, but choose to use those records only if absolutely necessary.

6)  Forgive...daily.  Keep forgiveness a priority for your sake and for the sakes of your children.  Every hurtful thing that happens to you carries a potential for you to become a bitter person.  These things are seeds that you can choose to plant and cause to grow into a root of bitterness or to give to God and let Him do with them what He will.  See Forgiveness blog linked HERE for more information on the hows and whys of forgiveness.  If you choose forgiveness, you will be able to keep your identity and emotions intact.  You will not become and ugly, twisted person bent on revenge.  You will not lose yourself in your circumstances. 

7)  Choose to love your children by loving their other parent.  Face it... your children are half of your estranged spouse.  When you run down or bad mouth your former spouse within earshot of your children, they take that very personally.  Even when you think they’re not listening, they ARE.  They are scared and will try to understand what is happening in their lives by gaging your moods and listening to your words.  Don’t let your emotions control you into saying things that will stick with your children and solidify in their minds forever the thing that they may fear the most:  that at least half of their being is evil, wrong, or bad.  I know that love is the LAST thing you feel or want to give your estrange spouse.  I’m not telling you to feel it.  I’m telling you to choose loving acts and words when you feel the opposite because a) you took your vows seriously regardless of whether or not your spouse did and b) you love your children more than yourself and the emotional volcano that wants to erupt inside of you, and c) you want good for yourself and your children and acting with integrity is the only way that you’ll bring those things about in your lives.

8)  Sleep on it.  When you get a chance, even if you have to drop off your children with a sitter or family member for a couple hours, sleep.  Rest every chance you can.  Snuggle with your child during nap time.  Catch a few winks in a church pew if you can or over lunch hour at work.  Your whole being is going through extreme trauma.  You feel it.  Don’t feel guilty about it.  

9)  Focus your limited time and resources on relationships that feed you, but do NOT get romantically involved with anyone.  You have limited time, energy, and resources - spiritually, emotionally, and physically.  Don’t invest those valuable resources in relationships that bleed you dry in any of those areas.  People will tell you they are on your side, and they may be.  Invest in relationships where that is proven out by actions on you and your children’s behalves.  Some people are just looking for more fodder for the rumor mill.  Others are takers who pounce on vulnerable people for their own purposes.  You’re going to need comfort now more than ever, and there will be no shortage of people and/or situations that promise to give it to you.  You need relationships with those who are supportive of your decisions going forward - come what may.  Draw close to people who have historically proven to have your best interest at heart.  Stand off from anyone else - especially those of the opposite sex.  You are in no position to start a new romantic relationship, and anyone who would try to coax you into doing so is selfish and certainly does not have your best interest in mind. 

10)  Get/stay involved in a local church community.  God is the only rock who was always there for me during the process of my divorce.  He was there with me when I cried myself to sleep night after night.  He provided for me in every possible way.  He was all I had much of the time.  I don't know how I would've survived this process without being able to focus my energy and prayers and hope on God.   His people, my church family, gathered around me and provided child care, auto maintenance, lawn mowing, companionship, financial and prayer support and encouragement, and a place of belonging. They loved me and my children unconditionally and were nothing but a positive asset in our brokenness.

11)  Don’t give up hope.  You have every reason to feel helpless and hopeless about what’s happening to you.  Don’t let that feeling rule you.  Don’t entertain it longer than it takes to dismiss it outright.  Unless you are in a relationship that puts you and/or your children in imminent danger, you need to give yourself the right to consider reconciliation, because even though that’s the last thing you want right now, you don’t want to be sitting on your front porch 30 years from now wondering, “If I had reconciled with my spouse, we could be sitting here together surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”  Wait for things to calm down before you make any rash decisions seeking that “d” word I mentioned earlier.  Divorce doesn’t provide more options or freedom, NOR will it give you the control of your situation that you so desperately crave right now.  It does the opposite.  It gives RULES to your relationships with your children and former spouse.  It gives control of your actions, visitation with your children, choices about their schooling and healthcare, and a thousand other things - petty and monumental - to a piece of paper enforced by your former spouse and the court system.  You will never be more helpless or out of control than when you are divorcing/divorced.  That is why you see people using their children as leverage and pawns against one another.  That’s all they have left, and it’s devastating to all involved.  Don’t go there.  There is no timeline in which this relationship has to be fixed.  You have all the time in the world to work at it and get it right.  New relationships are just as much work and even harder when exes and step and half children are involved.  Hope for something better.  Pray that God will bring it to pass.  

12)  Don’t harden your heart.  Whatever happens next, your heart MUST be soft in order for you to be open to the possibility of reconciliation until that possibility has passed.  Guard your heart as it is under extreme duress, and pray for a soft heart in your estranged spouse.

These are the things I wish I could go back and tell the me that was trembling while I held that little square of paper.  They wouldn’t have fixed my situation, but they would have made things a whole lot easier.  I would like to add that, at the time of my divorce process is 2004, Facebook was in its infancy, and social networking was hardly even a “thing”.  If I’d had access to it at the time, it wouldn’t have been a good thing.  So I’d like to add that, if possible, you should seriously consider deactivating (temporarily) or severely curtailing your social networking during separation or estrangement from a spouse.  It can easily become a source of discontentment, venting angry words, becoming gossip fodder, and finding out information you’re best not knowing.  It cannot help your relationship and it could do the opposite and, at very least, is an unproductive waste of your time, emotions, and resources.  If it’s not possible to deactivate, hide your posts from people who might use them to spy on your social activities to use them against you in any way, and hide posts from negative people or people who are openly supportive your estranged spouse’s behavior.

If you are able, try to remember that Jesus Himself was no stranger to the feelings of hurt and rejection and outright abuse that was heaped upon Him, but the Bible tells me in 1 Peter 2:23 that, "He (Jesus) did not retaliate when he was insulted, nor threaten revenge when He suffered.  He left his case in the hands of God, Who always judges fairly."  That became a daily - even moment-by-moment reminder for me.  If Jesus could wait upon God's hand of judgment, so can I.  If He could forgive and put away my great many sins, I can certainly forgive another person's.  

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.