Brave, Anyway

Tag: life after divorce

  • 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. 

  • Grief and Growth

    Grief and Growth

    Grief, according to Psychology Today, is the acute pain that accompanies loss. I’ve always thought of grief as a period of time following an event, but the older I get, or perhaps the more life experiences I have, I realize that grief is actually a lifelong process. Grief is not something people feel or experience within a finite period of time. And it’s also not something that hits you only when you’re in a slump or already sad about something else. In fact the opposite is true, and it very often hits when you least expect it – at a time of happiness.

    My grandparents died many years ago now but occasionally one of the girls will do something and I’ll think things like Uncle Dale would just love that ornery-ness in Audrey or Mama would not like this music but she would be tickled pink to see Ella sing in church. Sometimes those thoughts make me smile and sometimes they bring tears to my eyes, and I think that’s because I’m still sad that they aren’t here with us.

    Grief is not just about mourning a person, but it’s also about mourning the loss of a thing – a job, a child’s favorite stuffed animal, a home when you move. And it can even be about unmet expectations, including expectations you may not have even known you had.

    Children have expectations about their life that grow and mature as they get older, as their world gets bigger, and as they reach milestones. A young person who never had parents may still mourn the absence of parents on a prom night or a wedding day or even a dark day like one of a diagnosis. A child who used to live with two parents may suddenly notice a traditional family at a restaurant or even on TV and then be overwhelmed with feelings such as I only have one parent here.

    I don’t think I believe in the old adage time heals all wounds. I think our wounds *can* heal with time, but when that happens it’s because we’ve used our time and energy to think about all that’s happened and we’ve bravely faced all we did or did not see, all the choices we made, or all that we could not control.

    For children this is especially tough because they really don’t control a lot that happens in their early life. And one of the complexities tied to their grief and their moving on from something is that it can seem like their ability to accept a situation is a validation of poor decisions others have made. What is simply an acceptance of the adult, and a willingness to love the adult anyway, can be a very large leap for wounded hearts to make.

    A child’s ability to move on with their life or accept a situation is also not the end of grief. The sad truth hidden within acceptance is that standards have changed. With acceptance, expectations are often lowered – of people, of life, and even of God.

    Acceptance is supposedly the last stage of grief, but I think maybe the stages don’t always go in order. Or maybe they happen in order initially but it’s not just one cycle. Because what’s clear to me is that there are still days and moments of anger or sadness long after the days of acceptance.

    One of the hardest things to do as a parent is to watch your child grieve. Tears, anger, tummy aches, sleeplessness and yet constant tiredness. Perhaps the next hardest thing is allowing your child to grieve in their own way and their own time, all while not adding your feelings to their burden, rushing them, or trying to save them from it.

    I came across an old word a while back: nepenthe. If I’d paid more attention during Shakespeare lessons I wouldn’t have had to look it up. It’s something that makes you forget grief or suffering. Alcohol, people, work. Even good things can become unhealthy addictions as we search for a nepenthe. I think maybe the bravest thing we can do when we’re grieving is to forego nepenthe. The bravest thing we can do is avoid all the things that could make us temporarily feel better and focus all our effort on working through our loss and our feelings.

    I found that Shakespeare even nicely summed up all the thoughts I’ve been trying to wrap my head around: Tears water our growth.

    Some time ago, I read Max Lucado’s Facing Your Giants. It’s about the life and choices of David, and about facing the giants in our lives. Grief is a giant. It often doesn’t reveal itself as obviously as Goliath did, so we have to be on the lookout. And when we recognize it, we have to bravely face it each time.

    Last week at a work event, our leadership team painted stones with messages that are important to us. I used three colors to write the word brave – a color for me and each of my girls. Brave is my battle cry and my encouragement. It’s also my reminder that David defeated Goliath with just a small smooth stone.

  • 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.

  • There Is Only One Me

    There Is Only One Me

    There is only one me.

    I say it all the time in my head when there’s just too much. I occasionally say it out loud when multiple people are talking to me at the same time.

    There is only one me. I can only be in one meeting at a time, in one place at a time, in one conversation at a time, at one kid activity at a time.

    There is only one me to process the plans and ideas and tests needed from the orthodontist and the dentists and the pediatricians and the special doctors and the guidance counselors and the therapists and the gymnastics coaches and the teachers and the tutors.

    There is only one me to make sure there’s breakfast and lunch and dinner and bread and milk and granola bars and yogurt and chips and brownies.

    There is only one me to monitor friends and social media usage and potential bad influences and Cadbury Egg intake and dresses that have gotten too short. Only one me to make sure the chorus outfit is clean on the right day.

    There is only one me to navigate the that’s unfair and the that’s mine accusations that all siblings of all ages for all time have shouted. There is only one me to say stop touching her or you didn’t ask permission to be in her room. There is only one me to set my jaw and say do not make me pull this car over.

    There is only one me to talk through bad dreams at 2 am. Only one me to provide reassurance, going to the bathroom with the door open and the light on so a kiddo having a hard day doesn’t feel like I’m too far away or not still listening to a detailed story.

    There is only one me to answer hard questions in the moment.

    There is only one me to pick up the pieces after the selfishness of others. Only one me to help them navigate all their emotions. Only one me to be the daily consistent force that cannot let them down. Only one me to be the one they can take everything out on, because I’m the safe one, and they can do that without fear of loss.

    There is only one me to put them first, in every way and in all things.

    There is only one me to kiss booboos and bandage scrapes. Only one me to hold hands while nurses do blood draws and scary new doctors do exams.

    There is only one me to check that everyone made it on the right bus at the right time, and made it home at the right time, or to a program or an activity or a game at the right time.

    There is only one me to make sure backpacks and binders have all the right papers signed and all the right homework in them.

    There is only one me to show them how to set boundaries and that sometimes decisions come with consequences.

    There is only one me to see the moments when they really need a boost of confidence and the encouragement to believe in themselves. Only one me to make sure I see it and they get it.

    There is only one me to talk to them about God and take them to church and show them the benefits and difficulties of a life lived based on core principles.

    There is only one me to teach them and show them that true happiness is found when we can live in such a way that we can be proud of ourselves, knowing we have integrity when no one is looking.

    There is only one me who can show them that when people let us down, which is inevitable, we can still be happy and have lives that we love.

    There is only one me after they go to sleep, working hard to reign in my horror and frustration that people drink, play, laugh, post selfies and talk about love and happiness while children spent the week at doctor appointments. When children see that hypocrisy and selfishness for themselves, there’s only one me to say I don’t have an explanation and it’s tone-deaf and it’s wrong.

    There is only one me to teach them that forgiveness benefits us, even if others don’t deserve it and even if it benefits them and their narrative.

    There is only one me responsible if I make the wrong call about everything from their health care to shirts that show midriff. Only one me to fret at the end of long days that I’m not doing a very good job at all.

    There is only one me. Only one me who sometimes gets stuck in a pity party. Only one me who sometimes gets caught up in a panic about getting it all done and the weight of it all.

    There is only one me who can give them a happy, healthy Momma.

    There is only one me, constantly thankful for Papa Ted and Grammy and Papa. Constantly thankful for my sister. Constantly thankful for my neighbors and friends who love my girls and have hugs and encouragement for them and me at just the right time.

    There is only one me thankful every day that I get to be the Mom of Ella and Audrey. Thankful even for days of extreme ups and downs with everything from doctor appointments to strawberry picking to silly shoe shopping to arguments in the car to cartwheels in Sams Club.

    The truth is, there has always been only one me. There is only one me, and I am more than enough. There is only one me, and I am human and make mistakes. There is only one me, and I will apologize and fix it when I do. There is only one me, and I got this.

    There is only one me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.