Brave, Anyway

Tag: divorce

  • Home

    What makes a home is very simple: love and safety.

    Safety to be your whole self and to say anything, while knowing without a shadow of a doubt that you will always be unconditionally loved by the people there.

    It’s true when you’re 5 and when you’re 75.

    Home can be a house, apartment, tent, car, aisle in Target, and even in a phone call. It’s about the space you’re in with another person or other people.

    It’s not about bricks or walls or appliances or decorations.

    If you don’t have love and safety, you are in a place called a building or a dwelling or a house – you are not in a home.

    If you don’t have love and safety, you are not home.

  • What Spills Out

    For every awful thing I can name that’s upset our world, there are at least a dozen related things for which to be thankful. For every negative way our lives have been impacted, at least a dozen positives or silver linings. For every mean girl, at least a dozen kind girls. For every disappointment, at least a dozen people or things to make us smile.

    The changes heaped on the girls were all unfair. And it’s a lot sometimes.

    A lot a lot.

    Especially on the night before a holiday, beginning a new holiday season, when the worry in little minds about how things will go is at its peak. And there’s only me to take it out on. And only me to help deal with it. Only me to help try to focus on the positives while acknowledging the not-so-positives. Only me to say “things aren’t the same but they can still be great.” Only me to try to figure out a distraction. Then only me to listen to the confusion caused by people who think everything should be ok by now. Only me to offer understanding for why it isn’t. Only me to help everyone wind down. Only me to say “you’re right, it’s not fair.”

    And only me to bite back the commentary in my head. It’ll continue to be unfair for literally the rest of your life because even twenty years from now when you’re an adult you’ll be trying to figure out how to get to four houses during Thanksgiving weekend while the people who wreaked all this havoc in your lives will still be oblivious to or not care about the impact their choices had on you and they’ll be somewhere focused on themselves, watching TV or decorating something.

    Deeeeeeeeeeeep breath.

    And yet, my relationships with the girls are stronger, I think, after navigating many tough moments together. Even the ones where we’ve all been super shouty. (Maybe especially because of the ones where we’ve all been super shouty.)

    I get to hear my children giggle with their friends at all hours of the day and night. And I get to see my children with their friends and see the whole “them,” because kids are different with their friends than they are with their parents.

    I get to enjoy impromptu after-dinner dessert creations. And then I get to listen to them argue and snap at each other, only to awaken to the alarm they set so they could get up together at 4:45 on a school day to do hair.

    I get to listen to their go-to music choices, and realize that at tough moments they both ask Alexa to play worship music. I get to see that they rely on God to help calm their storms, which makes my heart happy and also reminds me that I need to rely on Him more.

    I get to see – I am privileged to see – the good times and the bad times and the blah times and the working-through-something times, and the moments of discovery and the moments of frustration and the moments of trepidation followed by the moments of triumph and even the moments of punch-drunk silliness. In part it is simply being present in all of those situations and moments that strengthen our bonds. Sometimes it is really, really hard to be the only one present in those moments but I am so grateful to be present.

    I’m thankful for dozens and dozens of things. My Aunt is in town for Thanksgiving. My parents are all healthy and celebrating another holiday season. Home and car and food. My church. Laughter with old friends. My work family. All of our helpers. Teachers who really care. Veterinarians who work you in at the last minute. Chocolate covered raisins. Extended time off this week – time to read, time to prepare for the holidays, and time to watch an episode of The Crown. Photographs. Memes my daughters text or share. Forgiveness. Tender little hearts that want to see the best in people. Conviction. Snuggles and declarations of love when eyes are too heavy to keep open just before sleep sets in.

    My cup runneth over with things just from today.

    I saw a long post on Facebook recently about “what’s in your cup?” and it really stuck with me. Paraphrasing…If someone bumps into you while you’re holding a full cup, what’s in the cup is what spills out. Tea or coffee or hot chocolate. When life happens, what’s in our heart is what spills out of us.

    My cup runneth over…And yet what spills out in a bump is still a bit of a work-in-progress.

  • Compass or Baggage

    Compass or Baggage

    Love is never ever ever selfish.

    Love is never present when there are excuses or narratives or explanations. Love does not coexist with those things.

    Love is black and white in terms of its presence. It’s either evident or it is absent.

    If a person’s behavior is selfish, the only love involved is the individual’s love of self – not of others.

    Love is pure. And love is also honest. We cannot make something not honest and not pure into love. There either is love or there is not.

    Love is not just a feeling, it’s a commitment. Be it love with a partner or a friend or a parent or a child. And because it’s a commitment, people can sometimes learn that they cannot count on it once any commitment by that person has been broken.

    Children learn to believe in love, or not, at a very young age. They learn to trust in love, or not, at a very young age. They learn to live and love and treat others appropriately, or not, at a very young age. They learn based on the behavior of the adults in their lives, and they carry those lessons into adulthood. Those lessons are either their compass or their baggage.

    It’s our job as parents to be the absolute best example we can be. We will certainly fail at times because we’re human. But it’s our responsibility to work on those failures, to admit to our children when we’re in the wrong, and to constantly strive to be better. We’re not the parents of animals that primarily need love and care – we’re the parents of little human people who will emulate us and learn about love from us, and we need to behave like it. It’s our job as humans to be good people, and if we become parents that responsibility grows – we will be accountable for how well or how poorly we managed our human and parental responsibilities, in this life and the next.

    I can’t read 1 Corinthians 13 and say that even half of those statements apply to me. I keep a record of wrong doings. I get upset with others. I’m sometimes rude. I don’t patiently accept all things. And the truth is I’m not sure I want to work at changing all those behaviors. In some ways I want to remember wrong doings because I think it may help me make more informed decisions now. I have a lot to learn and a long way to go. I’m not the one who cheated, but that doesn’t make me a saint or any “better” at love. I didn’t sleep with my boss, but that doesn’t make me a saint or any “better” at love. I didn’t commit adultery, but that doesn’t make me a saint or any “better” at love.

    I feel the weight of the example I must constantly set. That weight is heavy some days. I worry about the example everyone in the girls’ lives sets – the messages we all send with our behavior. I fail greatly some days and that weighs on me because there’s really no second shot at many things. What my girls learn now about love and trust and commitment and honesty will be the compass or the baggage that they carry into adulthood.

    1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous, it does not brag, and it is not proud. Love is not rude, is not selfish, and does not get upset with others. Love does not count up wrongs that have been done. Love takes no pleasure in evil but rejoices over the truth. Love patiently accepts all things. It always trusts, always hopes, and always endures. Love never ends. 

  • Freedom

    Freedom

    One of the unexpected interesting things about WordPress is the analytics. The countries site visitors are from, and then being able to find and communicate with other people with similar writing styles and interests. These pages are part of my journal and I never thought analytics would be of any importance to me. And yet it’s curious how many times a day the same couple of people hit this site.

    A couple hundred times over the weekend, and more than 60 times since about 9 last night.

    Seriously, move on. Live your life. Actually enjoy it. Two little girls have cried countless tears and been to countless doctor appointments as a result of actions you took to presumably find happiness. So find it, and spend your time and energy on that. Live lives that add something positive to the universe, not lives where you have to constantly worry about what other people think. That’s when you’ll find true happiness.

    My daughters deserve nothing less than your total commitment to living lives that make you worthy of them. And you know what I deserve? I deserve to turn on my computer or open up my app to write, and not be greeted by analytics that connect me to you. I deserve freedom. I don’t care if you read what I write, and you can sign up to get the posts via email if you want. But, I deserve freedom from you.

    I deserve freedom, and frankly so do you. We’ve all been through a lot of pain to get it.

  • Closet Space

    Closet Space

    One of the best experiences in the days when your house becomes just yours is that moment when you realize that the closet belongs wholly to you. No sharing. No things hanging haphazardly and with no real organization. Tie racks become scarf organizers. Purses and shoes reside just above their corresponding clothes.

    The closet is all yours.

    All. Yours.

    You hear a little hallelujah chorus, and that chorus grows into full-on thank you, Jesus, worship.

    There’s been only one thing hanging in my closet that doesn’t belong there: my old wedding dress. Almost two years ago now, I pulled it out to throw it away only to discover that others were not quite ready for that step. Since then it’s just been hanging way in the back, taking up space.

    Over time we’ve talked more about the dress, and my firm belief that the girls should never wear it or even use the fabric. I’m a faith person, but I’m also a bit of a superstitious person – and if they ever decide to get married I want everything associated with their day and their union to have positive energy.

    Over time we’ve all become more comfortable with the idea of that dress not hanging in my closet for all of eternity. Over that same time I’ve become significantly more light-hearted, and laughed about the variety of things people do with their old dresses – everything from playing paintball in them to having a bonfire with them to mailing them to an ex’s office (now how funny would that be?).

    Until recently, I had every intention of simply throwing it in a dumpster. But I happened to catch a bit of a news story last week about brides who can’t afford gowns, and I was struck by their faces when they encountered dresses they never would have been able to get otherwise.

    And that made me think again about my dress, purchased from Karen Eagle on Laskin Road more than 20 years ago. A dress stored following exact instructions, and likely a dress in perfect condition.

    It seemed wrong to donate a dress that was worn on the first day of a marriage that was filled with lies and ended in complete disaster. It seemed like some poor girl would start off her marriage by wearing a dress that had really bad juju, and her marriage would subsequently be destined for disaster.

    And yet, what if a dress is just a dress? What if it’s just fabric, and the energy associated with it has nothing to do with its history? What if something good came from it? What if God could make something beautiful from ashes?

    My late night musings became a prayer over the dress. A prayer for the next girl who will wear it. A prayer specifically for her marriage.

    • May you decide each day to choose happy.
    • May your partner actually be your partner, with the same values and focus on family.
    • May you both keep and honor your vows, to God and one another.
    • May every I love you that you speak and hear be heartfelt and full of truth.
    • May you know deep in your heart that you are not a person in relation to someone else – you are whole and beloved and perfect all on your own, and in marriage you’re a whole person alongside another whole person.
    • May all the dreams that are good for you come true.
    • May God save you from dreams and hopes that you don’t know aren’t right for you. And then may you have the wisdom and courage to not chase that which God has saved you from.
    • When dark days come, and they inevitably will, may you and your partner always look to the Light together.
    • May your marriage last until death do you part.

    This morning on the way to work, I stopped at Goodwill and I laughed with the young man at the center about whether or not I should take the tax deduction receipt. It felt really, really good to make that donation, to get rid of that baggage, and to free up that space in my closet and in my spirit. And yet just a few minutes up the road I started to have second thoughts about whether or not a prayer for some unknown girl unknowingly wearing my cursed dress will really make everything work out okay for her.

    I know God has to be so tired of me asking for signs. I am the worst kid, always demanding: show me a sign, I just need a sign. How do I know this was the right thing?! Was this the wrong thing?

    And then I looked up as the traffic light turned green and noticed the car in front of me. It’s license tag, my sign: G Is Good.

    God is good.

    God is good, so I can trust that the girl who ends up with that dress will be just fine.

    She might be a young bride; she might be an old bride. She might be a formal wedding bride; she might be a JOP bride. She might be a first-time bride; she might be a second-time bride. Or she might just be a girl who needs a Halloween costume – and that’s a pretty fitting ending in this case, too.

    To whoever ends up with the dress, may blessings chase you down.