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Refining Trust

Returning to the ‘what actually happened in Forty years of marriage’…I must address what consumed me for a really long time in the midst of married life.

I worked. Outside the home.

My career as a registered nurse was a huge part of who I was and what I did. So, of course, it’s part of the story.

Years. Frustration. Waiting. Tears. Life.

‘Young woman, working, going to college, studying, writing, dreaming, dancing, dwelling in the time. Yards and yards of time in front of her, sitting and staring at the sky, feet in the warm sand breathing in the ocean air surrounded by the crash of waves, she relished the season. The alone was hard but the time was not. The hardest thing was waiting to be loved. Learning to wait.’ That was BEFORE marriage.

After marriage was…

Mama. Wife. Nurse. Working nights. Sweat. Tears.

I went to school to become a nurse. I wanted to help people. I became a mama and my loyalties were divided. Stay at home and care for my babies or go to work and take care of other people’s babies. It was always a struggle inside me.

No time to dream. No time to write. Snatching a moment to read my bible. My lifeline on sanity.

I didn’t feel like I was very good at anything I did. Work all night and then, functioning on heavy doses of Diet Coke and M&M’s, trying to take care of my children; not my original idea. It was how I survived. I resented my job. I listened to the lies in my head about my failure as a mom. I hired horrible babysitters. I struggled. I waited. I prayed for a miracle that would let me stay home with my children. It didn’t come. I made it work. Learning to trust God in the midst of the ugly.

I’m not sure what my kids saw, but I didn’t feel like I was a very nice person. I was exhausted most of the time and a zombie at any family events. I hated it. And when was I a wife??

Years. Working nights. Working evenings. Working twelve hour shifts. Working days. It was all mixed up in the time. It was hard hours.

Soccer practice. Work. Games. Work. Baseball practice. Games. Work. Ballet. Drama. Music lessons. Motorcycle Races.Work. Homeschool. Work…sleep.

Sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?

Truth is…I loved it. Thrived in it. Every last bit of the adrenalin and caffeine and crazy living was in my blood. I worked in Labor and Delivery. I was a part of the beginning of chapters in thousands of families. I witnessed the arrival of new life every day and saved lives every day. The richness of what I did is not lost on me. I recognize the honor and the glory of this job… then I would go home and be a hero to my children.

I loved being a mama. I loved being with my kids. They were the coolest human beings I knew! Homeschooling was the most redeeming of time lost with them. I was learning and growing with them. It wasn’t all roses. I made mistakes. Took wrong turns. Stumbled. Fell. And got up.

In the ‘after’, I was so glad I was able to do it all. The time spent is treasure deep in my soul.

In that season, time was thin. My husband and I saw each other from across the table, every so often we held hands. A brief talk-about kids, a kiss, a shared look, always a hug. Touch our bond.

My husband always went out of his way to plan camping trips. He seemed to know just what we needed in all the other ‘stuff’. Our family outings cemented us together in what could have been scattered dust. Two parents, working full time with kids and their full-time activities equals messy…

After years of this lifestyle, always wishing I could just ‘not work’, I had a sudden revelation about my role as a nurse. This was after more than twenty years of this craziness.

“ The Lord is not slow in keeping His Promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient, not wanting anyone to perish…”
~ 2 Peter 3:9

(A slow learner, you say? Yup!)

I learned that my job was a powerful tool in God’s Hand and I was His ambassador, His Gatekeeper, His Intercessor…

Wow!! All those years of struggling disappeared in that Truth. I settled down, quit arguing, and did my job. The contentment that overwhelmed me was a beautiful thing…

I hope that THAT is what is remembered more than the bitter suffering I endured…

I do feel refined. The waiting. The working. The striving. The resting. A lovely and aged wine… the fruit of years.

Not ashes but an amazing creation!

Now…a year away from having retired…I can logically and peacefully examine every aspect of that season. Sort of…. Maybe peacefully…

When in the midst, it is impossible to be objective.

Now…. There are hours of time to stare into the past.

I was accustomed to a tight schedule of accomplishments; a day ordered by others’ needs.

Now, I sometimes get lost in the day…. It’s morning and then suddenly it’s evening…

How little we prize the hours in a day, until we cannot find them….

I do know for a fact… I never could have walked such a road, climbed such mountains, scaled such cliffs, without the covering, the guidance of my Heavenly Father and the Bible held clenched to my heart. It was only in hiding under His shadow that I felt seen and safe. Without that firm foundation I walk on shifting sand. My feet would slide out from under me were it not for the rope I held onto.

AND!! He used some beautiful people in my life to teach, to counsel, to encourage me… I am ever-grateful for those heavenly gifts in human clothing!!

“So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom.” ~Psalm 90:13

Surrendering the Vision

Forgive me dear readers for my lack these days. I am not usually one to be without words. I am writing, but haphazardly in my journal with scattered thoughts, broken sentences and lots of ellipsises (…)

I HAVE been preoccupied. I have been walking along grief’s highway. I have been in a deep, dull, cold cave for weeks. Honestly, putting one foot in front of another has been my goal each day. I lose myself in books and tea and chocolate and simply do not want to interact with the world.

I recognize the symptoms of depression but I refuse to be depressed. I also see the aftermath of sorrow. It deflates you somehow. I don’t want to be sad. I realize that my brother died a year ago, my mother died nine months ago and my uncle died two weeks ago. I will add that my dad died eleven years ago and I’m still not over that. I gather that loss can be cumulative and, well, I think it adds up to a normal response…that just caught up to my busy running feet…

In the midst of this, I am experiencing the slow steady need to surrender my pain, my fears, my worries, my need to control my world.

Surrender.

I am the kid who NEVER GIVES UP!

I literally hiked up Mt Whitney, not quite to the top, but 14,000+ feet with altitude sickness and refused to turn back. I was blind, out of my mind and dehydrated and could barely walk but I would not throw in the towel.

The stubbornness is deep in my core and any kind of ‘surrender’ looks like I wasn’t good enough, or I was lazy, or a failure.

The idea of ‘letting go’ is foreign to me. I cannot grasp it without a great deal of struggle. Like all out wrestling. Haha….

Of late, my world doesn’t look the way I thought it would at this juncture. The ‘death of a vision’??

I think I have shared before, that when my husband and I moved out to Louisiana to help my mother, I had some lofty ideas about building a house, having a little farm, growing produce and raising animals. Things didn’t exactly go as planned.

In the course of my mama’s dementia and eventual passing, hopes and dreams were dashed to pieces multiple times. As a result of this, I clung to every tangible item I could, to keep my mental health. The physical things that belonged to my parents and brother became so valuable. I clung.

Releasing my death grip on the stuff has come little by little, bit by bit. I think I looked at the same things a hundred times before I was able to let go.

A few days ago…I said goodbye to a great beautiful giant of a tree. This tree was damaged and dying from the past hurricane. It had limbs that hung precariously over our house. It was time. Still…

I watched as she fell and it was if she heaved a great breath out. It was soundless. It surprised me how quiet and still it was when she fell. I breathed out as well. And I felt freedom.

Shackles fell from my feet.

I know that perhaps it’s all symbolic and only I can see and hear like this, but truly the release of this tree, letting her go, represents the utmost of rest for my spirit as I allow the change that surely is coming. What I thought was a death of a vision is really a surrender of the old and the birth of the new…

Today, I walked in our woods, and felt the winds shifting. There was a fresh, new vision forming in my mind’s eye. I don’t know what it looks like, but each day brings a new glimpse of the big picture.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and makes them sure.”
Proverbs 16:9

I know that my Father God is near to me. His Son, Jesus, holds my hand. His Spirit guides me and fills me with strength. I lift my voice in song and raise my hands in praise as I begin to see and behold with new eyes. Open the eyes of my heart dear Lord, increase my understanding. How I love You and delight to draw near to You! Thank You for walking with me through the darkness. Thank You for wrapping me in Your arms when I cannot speak or do or even think. You are the Faithful One in whom I place all my trust!

Your words. Your way. Your time.

Walking Barefoot

I have spent a great deal of my life trying to be perfect at everything I put my hand to. I am uncertain now what the standard was that I held myself to…It is kind of a blur.

Marriage was no different. I was so concerned about HOW I looked… My weight, my hair, my clothes, my children, my house, my relationship with my husband. Everything needed to be just so. Now, never mind we had no money, lived off the kindness of our fathers and scrimped and saved and made things last…I needed to make sure everything looked perfect.

Body image was incredibly important to me. When I became pregnant with my second baby early in our marriage, I was worried about my weight. I had gained EIGHTY pounds with my first pregnancy, likely comfort or stress eating… I did not want to repeat that performance with a husband to impress. When I weighed the same as my husband at nine months pregnant, I was alarmed…140 pounds. Good grief! That was forty pounds less than the first pregnancy! But that wasn’t good enough. I was pretty hard on myself. I delivered shortly after this…and immediately lost all the pregnancy weight. All good.

When we had been married for five years, I became pregnant with baby number three. I was ecstatic. Our little family of four was thrilled. We excitedly waited for our surprise, and I happily ate my way up to 190 pounds by the time our daughter arrived.

I had a meltdown one day after climbing off the scale in our bathroom. My husband held me as I cried my heart out over my perceived obesity. He pointedly looked me in the eye and told me that no matter what I weighed, no matter what I looked like, he loved me still and this love for me had nothing to do with my weight.

An epiphany!

I realized that all the pressure I put myself under, trying to look good, was ridiculous and a complete idol in my own head. It was one of those moments when I could really see the love that my husband had for me, was unconditional, and not at all related to how I looked. All the grief of the years disappeared in that moment.

The freedom to be oneself is a gift that the Father God has given each one of us. We can delight in who He made us to be or we can be constantly trying to change us to measure up to someone or something else.

How beautiful to let go and let God, our Maker, hold. us close and whisper to us how beautiful we are. He delights in us. He rejoices over us with singing!

“The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17

What?! Who me?! Wow!!!

How many of us, as awkward teenagers, could have used such knowledge? How many of us, as young, inexperienced brides, could have blossomed under such truth? How many of us, older ones, could walk this out with a giant smile on our faces?

And it is indeed THE TRUTH!

So, at unapologetically sixty-five years old, I am delighting to be called beautiful. By my husband; by my friends; by my God.

And at the risk of sounding a little crazy, I can say out loud, I am hearing a little song of love in my ears all day long…

I am saying THANK YOU, as I go forth, barefooted, across the earth; hands uplifted; face upturned; dancing in delight at all that has gone before; all I am walking through now; and along the road forward, to what is to come…

Surprises

Expectations are funny things. The fact that they can be altered so effortlessly or that they can dash ones’ hopes to the ground in a second are something you don’t really know when you have them. Such was the case with this little prissy, know-it-all bride.

Before I ever had a groom on the horizon, I had a list of what my husband and my marriage would be; the ‘rules’ we would follow in our house and how we would conduct our lives…that alone is kind of funny now, when I think about it. All that life under the bridge changes perspective.At the time, the list was paramount to perfection.

One of the things on the list was that we would have no TV in our house, we wouldn’t let our kids consume the ‘boob tube’.

I am rolling with laughter as I write this, 40-50 years after the fact, because that couldn’t be farther from how we actually lived and raised our kids…

This little story illustrates just how my life changed as a new bride within the first years of our marriage…

Married about a year, we decided to take a trip up the coast of California. We had packed our cooler and clothes and our two kids into our VW Van and set off. Our goal was Patrick’s Point at the northern=most tip of California.

We were full of excitement and adventure as we meandered our way along the coast, staying at various campgrounds and sightseeing along the way. Never mind that traveling with two small children had its pitfalls, or a baby in carseat that needed to nurse every couple hours and was highly annoyed being contained, or a toddler that had to be entertained beyond the books and toys I had brought, also contained in a wretched carseat.. never mind that stressfulness… we were on an adventure of a lifetime and we were excited!

After a couple days travel, we arrived at a campground in Patrick’s Point. It was everything my husband had said it was. Absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. The ocean crashed up on rocks right beside the campground and you could hear it all through the night lulling us to sleep. We hiked the rocks, Dan with a large baby in a pack on his back, me holding the hand of my three-year old. It was indeed heavenly.

The evening brought a campfire stew and roasted marshmallows. The summer Olympics was happening at the same time and we lamented we were missing some of the events that we both enjoyed watching. Oh! Not a problem, says husband… I happened to bring a TV with us.

Surprise!

I had an internal crisis about how I hated TV; how I hated TV while camping; and how that was most definitely NOT on my list!

My clever, creative husband hooked a tiny little TV up to the battery of our VW bus, sat the TV on the bumper, set up our chairs and invited me to watch the Olympics with him…

How could my tight-laced list not succumb to such sweetness and fun?! I plopped myself down in front of that grainy little TV and enjoyed the blessed gift my husband gave me. Even the kids were fascinated…

The novelty alone was a delight! Who does this?!

This event is just one of the many compromises that took place in our lives as a married couple; Along this forty year road…It is such a sweet memory. One that I don’t think I will ever forget. It paved the way for our marriage to bend with the wind and flow with the rivers as we grew in love and respect for one another.

“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”
Philippians 2:4

Unlovely

Two kids from different worlds collide, grow in love and spend the rest of their days together. Fairy tale?

I hadn’t been married long before I realized how very different my husband and I were. Not just the personality thing, but the tools we brought into our lives together; where we had learned them and how.

I was a horse/bike-riding hippie girl from Northern California, who grew up thinking cars should be banned from the streets of Santa Cruz. I had a huge disdain for television and white bread and I most definitely only camped out under the stars and maybe in a tent. Slightly opinionated. NOT a princess.

My husband grew up in San Diego, riding mini/dirt bikes, camping in all kinds of vehicles and tents, and hiking. As a teen he road three-wheelers and off-road vehicles in the desert. He drove a giant 4×4 truck when I met him. Maybe some of the charm? (Love overwhelms opinions)

When we became a family, we made many trips to the mountains for the day.

Right before Jacob was born, I got introduced to the desert. I had never been, ever. We went out to Ocotillo hot springs and sat in rustic pools of warm water from the earth. I was nine months pregnant.

When Jacob was six weeks old we packed up our VW bus and headed to the desert again, to an isolated spot near the hot springs again. I had no idea what I was getting into. What WE were getting into. ‘Starry-eyed couple with three year old and six week old baby camping out of a van…’

I was in awe of the beauty in the desert. We set up a rough camp. Barbecued hot dogs and played in the dunes, danced in the wind and soaked up the sun. At dusk we discovered, in all our play, Dan had lost his wedding ring somewhere in the sand dunes. We looked fruitlessly until it was too dark. Both of us saddened we turned in for the night.The next morning we went back to the area where we were playing. There, half buried in the sand, Dan found his ring! It was a celebration!! A miracle!

Suddenly, in the midst of our revelry, the wind picked up and our carefully constructed tarp wind break couldn’t handle the gale.Clouds started blowing in. My husband knew from experience that this wasn’t good. We hurriedly took everything down and packed it all up to get on the road to get out of there, fearing flash flooding in that low desert area. All this, with two babies in tow. I think I was laughing my head off until I realized it was serious as we tried to navigate home.

Even after that, I fell in love with the desert and our crazy adventures. It was challenge for survival that I loved, making the best of awful and hard situations, and trying to make it fun for my kids. It was NOT EASY camping like that, but I had such great scorn for all those people who camped in their giant RV’s, I really thought I was ‘all that’ with my Beverly Hillbillies vehicles that we camped in for many years. We all loved it and we were happy. It was an amazing chapter in our lives.

I think I finally succumbed to the ‘establishment’ after a single miserable and disappointing trip. I was cooking two big beautiful steaks on a hibachi in the sand when my toddler daughter had to go to the bathroom. She was potty training so I quickly stopped to help her. The wind picked up and sand blew at her bare legs and bottom. The poor little thing cried and cried. I felt so bad for her as I was trying to help her squat outside. After comforting her, I turned back around to discover that my steaks were covered by sand from that same gust of wind…I sat down and cried. That was the moment we decided to start looking for a trailer, and at the very least, getting a portable-potty for little girls learning to potty train.

The biggest life-changing event that occurred for me during this season when our children were small was one I am not particularly proud of, but one that revealed a character flaw I had and one that I have never forgotten.

We as a family had gotten into off-road motorcycle riding. We made trips to the various deserts and mountains with the bikes and three-wheelers. Most always, these trips were midweek or Friday and Saturday so that we could be back for church on Sunday. I was adamant about church attendance and wouldn’t budge.

Well…as our boys got older, they wanted to ride in races, Dan too. We decided to try a motorcycle club. The first event that we were attending was being held over a Sunday. Mama wasn’t happy about it but the kids were so excited that I relented. That doesn’t mean that I had a good attitude about it at all.

Yes, I prepared all the food and clothes and packed the truck. Yes, I made sure the kids had all their riding gear…but…I went with my heels dragging, my lower lip dragging more and my arms crossed; pretty sure I had a scowl on my face too…

As we pulled up to the camp area, there was a guy directing campers. I rolled the window down as he approached us. He exhaled a puff of smoke from his cigarette, took a sip of his beer and smiled a big toothless grin, welcoming us with joy to the Training Wheels MC Club Event. Inwardly, I cringed. The picture of everything I wanted to avoid…Everything I wanted to protect my kids from. He kindly gave us directions and invited us to the campfire that evening. He was genuinely excited we were there.

As we were driving into camp, I rolled up the window. Everything inside of me was mad and disgusted and wanting to scream and cry, “turn around and go home!”, and instantly, in my ear, inside my head, I heard the words:

“I have called you to love the unlovely.“

My internal rant stilled. I could not believe what I was hearing.

“Is that YOU Lord? Are you serious right now!?”

Woah! I was put instantly in my place and I shut completely up.

Now I don’t know if my attitude was any better, but I do know that statement changed how I thought of the people we were with that weekend. They were warm and fun and interesting and we felt welcomed. We had a beautiful time together as a family. Many of those same ‘unlovely’ folks became some of our best and most faithful friends.

That was a turning point. Pride and arrogance took a backseat. ugh. I tried to kick them out of the truck all together. They were still rankled and reared their ugly heads periodically but…I was learning what to do with them.

This idea that we are to love those unlike us, less than attractive, unpleasant, loud, and smelly is just what Jesus would do.

My treatment of the homeless and begging was altered as well. No longer did I feel threatened or afraid, walking around them, avoiding eye contact. I learned to bless them any way that I could.

My care for my brother was changed as well. He too was a toothless, lost soul. One of the unlovely ones. Where before, I avoided, I came to embrace. Fear was overtaken by compassion. I am so glad that my heart changed before he passed away…

My attitude about everything changed as a result of that weekend.

Jesus came to seek and to save us. How can I identify as a Christian, a ‘little Christ’, and act so unlike Him?

Love must govern our lives. Not fear, not our comfort, not pride, not arrogance.

All the unloveliness of the people around us, our husbands, siblings, children, neighbors, coworkers does not have to be a stumbling block, but an arrow pointing to the ones who need more love, more hugs, more understanding, more prayer, more inclusion.

I still see, in my mind’s eye, the toothless face of that ragged fellow; maybe an angel sent to me that day with a message that I needed to hear?

THANKS husband, for taking me camping all these years!

And to think, I learned this on a camping trip, pulling a dreaded trailer on a Sunday!

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?..But love your enemies, do good to them.” -Luke 6:32,35

Power vs. Strength

Small curly headed two year old, arms folded, little foot stamping with insistence of having her way about something…She lives inside of me, somewhere deep.

Part of the little girl grew to be a woman who could assert her will graciously, even quietly; but that little foot-stamping tyrant still dwells within, whispering her will on occasions when the woman is being challenged or threatened…

Smart little brother, third in a line of brothers, older than his cute little sister, learned early how to get what he wanted and how to look good at everything he did. He charmed anyone who would listen to his ideas of how things should be done. Boy grew to a man carrying that quiet, willful authority.

The little girl met the little boy as they began their married lives. Their love blossomed and so did their ideas of how a family should be run.

Many nights were spent ‘discussing’ those ideas. Those willful natures clashed as they sorted out living, raising kids and staying married. Both thought they were ‘RIGHT’!!

If one of them was right, the other must be WRONG? Who is more powerful? Who is in charge? Who has the power?

Power vs. Strength…

The current ebbed and flowed. Passions ran high then settled into a lull. Life was busy. Another baby. Stressful jobs. It seemed cyclical. Smooth ocean like glass would erupt into a swirling hurricane of anger, frustration, stumbling problem solving,

This was how my married life went for almost seven years.

Somewhere in the midst of the sixth year of marriage, we decided to go to a marriage retreat offered by our church, Vineyard of El Cajon. We secured a babysitter and drove to a beautiful hotel up in LA. Our first real time away since our honeymoon.

We were both a little skeptical about the retreat. I think we thought we had it all together and no one could tell us any different. We may or may not have gone just for the ‘vacation’. In any case, we attended the sessions and obediently tried to do the exercises suggested for our alone time; Exercises designed to improve communication and understanding of our spouse. We were covered in prayer by the leaders. We prayed together. We worshipped together. We were focused on one another. No talk of kids issues, work issues, financial issues, etc. Just us.

By the end of the weekend, something profound happened in my thinking. I was transformed. I absorbed one statement from all the information that was shared.

“You are on the same team.”

That simplifies what I learned. But basically, I finally understood that Dan and I shared common goals, common desires. We both wanted to raise God fearing children, productive members of society. We both loved and cared for one other and wanted God’s Best for our marriage.

It was that simple.

Now, I cannot speak to what my husband’s take-away was, but I would wager it was similar, because after that weekend, our entire dynamic changed. Where before, I was prepared to defend my opinion and argue every decision we had to make; taking up arms against my husband to fight a battle; suddenly, I was pausing to consider his viewpoint. That phrase: ‘You are on the same team’ floated in front of my eyes. It was more about, what could I say or do to help US win the game?!

Such novel thinking!

Power vs. Strength

I was then suggesting ideas on how to handle a situation rather than demanding my ideas were the only way.

Better still, our nightly discussions became peaceful conversations, wrapped in understanding and agreement. Often we would pray over things we couldn’t resolve. Our resolve to do better, to be united, for our children, for our family was strengthened.

I am not saying those two willful little kids don’t come out to play on occasion. We are after all, still earthbound with our tendencies toward imperfection. We make mistakes and stomp on one another’s hearts. We have had many the ugly fights that have pushed one of us out the front door.

I have a tendency to put up with crap until I am a towering inferno of yuck erupting all over the ones I love most. Then, once it spills out, I want to escape, run away. Shame? Fear?

Our one foundation has been: Marriage is blood covenant that cannot be broken by man. It is one that our God established and no matter what kind of a mess we make of things, we cannot, will not, break it.

If we did not have that…. Well…look at the statistics…we’d be one; A casualty.

All of this life is a training ground. We are being prepared for the road up ahead. Every challenge, every obstacle, one to build muscles, endurance, faith. Just when I think I have mastered the course, a new more difficult course presents itself and I embark on a different lesson.

My goal for my team is to tackle every game, every ‘Ninja feat’, with joy and delight. Thanksgiving has to be my biggest weapon to defend my silly, quaking heart.

I must prepare myself with the Word of God, which is a double- edged sword of truth, able to rend asunder any foe.

Power vs. Strength

It ain’t easy!

All of it must be surrounded by LOVE. Unconditional, sacrificial, bountiful love.

Curly-headed girl, marches along behind the woman of God, learning how to hold a saber and how to hold her tongue.

STRENGTH flows in her wake.

We are powerful together. That is what marriage is. A beautiful fountain of strength.

Below, a photo of a statue that we bought while we were away, 1989. I like that it represents our unity and the refreshing that comes when we are TOGETHER. The evidence of the strength that we have as a married couple!

“How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity! It is like precious oil…”
-Psalms 133:1

Time Travel -Part Two

In the first year of my marriage, I was figuring out wifing, parenting, working and…pregnancy. That’s right. Not only did we have a toddler we were now expecting our second child…

Besides trying to figure out our relationship and who we were within this covenant, we were developing our ‘Trust’ of one another in a myriad of areas.

The first ‘test’ occurred about 6 months into our marriage. I was in that phase of feeling ugly-pregnant. Dan and his friends had planned a guys’ trip up the coast of California. I was totally okay with this, in fact, glad he was able to get away before the baby arrived. I was helping him pack for the journey when I came across a package of condoms in his suitcase.

Well…you can imagine the words that floated through my head. I was aghast! My newlywed husband was going to CHEAT on me!!!??? And premeditated cheating!!?? My heart was in my throat and was beating a mile a minute. I stuffed them back into the suitcase and slammed it shut. SURELY NOT!? Oh my!!!

But, did I say anything? Did I ask him about it?

NO!!

I bottled the fear, the worry, the accusation, the thoughts, every last bit of the horribleness of such a thing, right up…

…. Until the hour before he was to leave.

The dam broke and a tirade of screaming, hysterical crying and accusation flew out of my mouth. The look on his face was unforgettable…he was completely blindsided, stood perfectly frozen, and waited for me to stop. When I took a breath, he said he would never do anything like that and quietly asked me why I thought such a thing. I flung the package of condoms at him and said, “THIS!!!
His face was priceless. It was half laughing, half horrified. By this time, I was reduced to tears, sobbing uncontrollably in all my hormonal glory. He wrapped his arms around me and just let me cry. When I had slowed down, he said those had been in the suitcase since our honeymoon (oh. I remembered ) and were likely expired too. I realized how foolish I was …but boy did I look like a crazy woman…tears gave way to laughter, and finally a resolution to this event…

I remember this in such detail, because it was a signpost, a milestone, for me along the Trust journey. I did not, could not, would not trust him or anybody. God was calling me out. Will you trust ME? Will you trust your husband?

We both brought our issues of trust into the marriage. Both had parents that were human and let us down, both had relationships where the other person was less than what we thought, both carried the weight of past imperfections and walked right into the fairy tale romance. Our armor had a few dents in it and the crowns were definitely a little crooked.

And then there was this little issue…

I had been a single mom for two years. I was very lenient with my son and really didn’t discipline him at all. Now, in my defense, Nathan was a really easy kid. He was pleasant most all the time, ate whatever I fed him, went to sleep easily for naps and bedtime, loved people and was a ton of fun. Enter a ‘father figure’ who is bringing zero child-rearing experience into the house.

We had a huge difference of opinion about how a child was to be cared for, raised and disciplined. Right off the bat, I could see a problem and basically attempted to assume all controls of said child. I DID NOT TRUST him to know the right thing to do.

This was a huge hurdle that we dealt with for many years. It didn’t just magically disappear. Years of practice and love and patience was required on all of our parts.

I had to learn to trust my husband’s judgement and ‘allow’ him to exercise his role as a father. My lack of trust led to many a heated argument behind closed doors. I never questioned him in front of our kids but I sure did later. Sometimes the conversation went well, sometimes it did not.

I can look back now and have so much wisdom. At the time, however, there was mostly a lot of emotion, power struggle and division.Neither of us would budge, and often the arguments ended in a stalemate. (I’m right! No! I’m right!) Both of us with arms crossed and lower lips stuck out; Only to be able to ‘see’ better an hour later and come together again in unity and agreement

As I write this, I have the luxury of seeing the timeline in its entirety. I see up ahead of those events I described, to what changed and how it changed. I intend to share that, down the road, a few years ahead…

More importantly, in the midst of growing in trust…

I am so grateful that I have a God who never leaves my side in all of these times. He has held my hand and wiped my tears. He picks me up and patches my broken heart. Many of my wounds are of my own making. I can see that. He has shown me how to ask for forgiveness, receive forgiveness and how to offer it to my husband as well.

I think Grace is probably the most powerful gift we can own.

Grace is undeserved favor. Even when we don’t feel like someone DESERVES to be forgiven, we forgive. Even when someone is unloveable, we love. Unconditionally.

I LOVE YOU. No conditions.

woman wearing grey long sleeved top photography — Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

-Trust: firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something. -Oxford

–Trust: development of basic trust is the first state of psychosocial development occurring during the first two years of life. -Erik Erickson Psychoanalyst

Time Travel

“…Whither thou goest, I will go…”
Ruth 1:16-17

As I have passed the forty year mark of marriage, I have been thinking much on life; reflecting on what exactly has happened over the past forty years, as I have traveled the road of ‘being married’.

From the outside, looking into people’s lives, through day to day encounters, work acquaintance, social media, etc., we form an opinion about what goes on behind the eyes; behind the walls.

I have been guilty, more than once, of thinking things one way to only be abruptly reminded they are entirely different than what I think. I have hastily judged, labeled and wrapped up a nice neat little package of how ‘other people’s lives’ are.

It has not been any different for me. I am sure others look on and come up with their own opinions of ‘us’. The pretty anniversary picture of contented old people is worthy of an opinion…”AHHHH look at that happily married couple…they must have had a fairy tale romance and a sparkly beautiful castle to live in…”

LET’S TRAVEL BACK IN TIME.

I was six weeks pregnant when I met Dan. We were stand-up friends for our best friends’ wedding. I thought him handsome and mysterious, a sweet flirtation, but with different lives, miles apart, I never gave him another thought. I was single and pregnant, in my last semester of nursing school and trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do. He was footloose and fancy free with a string of girlfriends.

Travel forward in time two years. Fresh on the tail of a broken heart, I met Dan again at our best friends’ house in Iowa. He was still handsome and mysterious, and interested in me, WITH MY TWO-YEAR OLD SON.

We spent a week together sightseeing, talking, going to church, getting to know each other and corralling a toddler…How does one get to know someone in a week?! At the end of the week, on the banks of the Mississippi River, at a playground, Dan proposed. And I said YES!

WHAT!?

Yes m’am. Yes sir.

We got married less than a month later.

How does a marriage start out with two flawed and broken people and a child in the midst of being two, with one week of history and then go on to last FORTY years!?

GRACE!

Not ours, that’s for sure.

On my wedding night I learned my idea of marriage was not the same as his. ha! I came out of the bathroom in my pure white little teddy to find him sound asleep and snoring. Embarrassed, I went to the bathroom and sat down and cried. First ‘married’ conversation with God about rude awakenings and disappointment with much unconfined anger…

We flew to the Bahamas the next morning.

Our honeymoon was a piece of heaven we could barely afford. We had to have his dad wire money to us for all the hotel room service and scuba diving adventures and fancy dinners. I lost a diamond out of my wedding band and he nearly lost his band. We were two ridiculous kids who had no idea what we were doing but we laughed and cried and stumbled and danced our way through.

With stars in our eyes, we returned to real life to set up our house in San Diego, moving me from Louisiana to a house Dan’s dad secured for us. The house was one that belonged to a friend of his. What we didn’t know was that it still held all of the man’s belongings and several vehicles parked in the yard… If I could put an emoji in here… you could imagine my face… (Little naive bride moves into house with yellow shag carpeting and…) Ugh.

Not to be undone, we put smiles on our faces and proceeded to clean and rearrange and maneuver around the house. There wasn’t much we could do about the old cars in the yard, but we were able to move a lot of the junk to the garage and to a pile that I covered with a sheet. By the end of the week it was move-in ready and I flew out to Louisiana to get my son.

Now that I look back at that memory… I can laugh. But it was horrible. I kind of vaguely remember Dan telling me ahead of time that the guy’s things were there. I just didn’t realize they were everywhere…Haha.

In fact, when I think about it, I’m kind of like this with much of life, and particularly what my husband is saying to me. I only hear and retain what I want to hear and retain…Oi!

Then there was the money thing…Neither of us had jobs. We spent all our savings on our honeymoon. Wow! Did we really do that!? You betcha. The words to ‘Danny’s Song’ from the seventies about ‘drinking life from a paper cup’ and “in the morning when I rise everything’s gonna be alright’… drifts through my head…

So…the first lesson for marriage that I gleaned? Despite the disappointment and fractured vision….make the best of it. Laugh at it. Dance when ya feel like sitting in a puddle of tears…

And…you better have something sturdier to stand on than yourselves. We, evidently, were flying by the seats of our pants.

Fortunately, we both loved Jesus and I trusted Him to get us through anything. And He did….

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
Proverbs 3:5

Stay tuned for Part Two of Time Travel

Impact

The walking stick stands in the corner of my house now. It was a gift that I bought my brother, Robert, over ten years ago.

My mom and my other brother and his wife had picked up Robert from the nursing home where he lived and gone to the Baton Rouge Zoo. It was ‘colder than a witch’s kiss’ that day and we were bundled up like Eskimos trudging around the nearly deserted zoo. All of us, that is, but Robert. He had a light jacket on and walked like a speed walker around that zoo. I was fearful of losing my wayward brother so I tried to keep up with his whereabouts as the others lagged behind.

It was a strange trip, very unlike the ones I took with grandchildren. Robert said nothing, seemed impassive, and really acted bored of the whole thing. The rest of us were performing an act of love. Rob was the one who wanted to go to the zoo. He incessantly asked every time I spoke to him on the phone. I even bought a year pass for he and my other brother so they could go whenever he wanted. His seeming lack of interest was puzzling to me and even a disappointment.

As we were getting ready to leave (an hour after arrival), we passed through the gift shop. Robert immediately brought me this big hand-carved cane and asked if I would buy it for him. I was a little miffed and annoyed that he was so ungrateful at the expense on his behalf and demanding, like a child…But as I am a giver and a pleaser, I relented and bought the cane. I hoped to bless him and his bleak existence in some tiny way. He proudly walked out of that zoo with his $60 cane.

We often don’t have any idea about the impact that we have on those around us. We don’t see, perhaps, in this life, how we influence others or even IF we influence at all. Little acts of kindness, forgotten immediately, might make a difference for someone. Words spoken carelessly may be the undoing of some tortured soul. A touch, a look, a gift…the list can go on and on.

We walk through life so absorbed in our own ‘stuff’ and frequently think it is all about us. The world, after all, was created FOR me, right?

I know that with regards to my brother, both my little brothers, I was the BIG SISTER. I was kind of mean and bossy at times and I remember being accused, by Robert, of being a ‘know it all’. I wrestled and fought with them all the time, competing for power and control. I never once thought of myself as a mentor, a teacher, or a friend…

I don’t even remember their lives much. I only remember my life with them revolving around it. All the while, they were growing and becoming and I was impacting them in ways I did not even realize.

Last September, Robert finished the race on this earth. I had to go and pick up what few belongings he owned at the nursing home. It was likely one of the most overwhelming and saddest things I’ve had to do, ever. What remained of his life was boxes of books, a few clothes, five hats, and a cane. When I saw that cane, I burst into tears.

That cane represented a day, a sacrificial love, a relationship lost, a unique but abiding personality…

I had no idea.

I am so grateful for the years of my brother. Every damn one of them. Painful or not. He was a signpost for me. A reminder that though I think something or someone inconsequential or fearful or weird or I think they don’t need me or what I have to give…Maybe they do need me. Maybe I need them.

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:16 ESV

Word Smithing

“The tongue of the wise makes knowledge acceptable…”
Proverbs 15:2

The crazy thing about processing life with words, is that those words continually parade through your mind in an endless display of options. Each event, each object, each occurrence plays out in songs and poems. Funny stories flow out of tragic circumstances and judgement and plans are formulated and reformulated over and over before they are actually enacted. Sentences take shape and paragraphs begin over every moment of every day.

This playground for writers provides unlimited repertoires to choose from. Like choosing your favorite candy out of a whole candy shop. It takes time to pick the best for the moment. Perhaps a trip to the candy shop is in order every day? Picking and choosing wisely, tasting and savoring the sweets; getting and giving only the choicest words for that day.

This word-smithing is a lifetime in the making. From the moment we begin to think until we take the last breath, we are creating…

I am often unaware of the sheer volume within the archives of my mind until I begin to talk to someone, to share thoughts and ideas and dreams and visions. The torrent pours forth and I realize, too late, that I haven’t stopped in the release, for even a second, to let the other person respond…

So many of my loved ones are incredibly gracious with me and allow me this great grace by listening politely and thoughtfully as I meander on and on, chasing squirrels, running down rabbit holes and going around and around every tree…

Surely God has blessed me abundantly with those friends and family…

Often, there is a word on my heart that I feel I must share, yet in my busy-ness it is forgotten in favor of another ‘pressing’ word.

I must try then, to honor those moments when an important word comes to the forefront, and stop to record them.

The Giver of the Word entrusts me with it, saying,”Here. Share it!” What I do next, with that Word, is the stewarding. Will I hide it in my journal? Will it be tucked away in my cluttered memory? Will it be lost in the weeds of the field? How will I handle this valuable treasure?

Spending time down at the Potter’s House, listening, learning the feel of the clay in my hands; trying to be certain I recognize the instructions given, all must be purposeful.

I want to be a good steward of this craft. I want to allow it to flow freely as it is given freely to me.

So, the beautiful flowing stories that come out of this time spent with the Master Potter, will have worked their way through me and come forth having been purified by fire.