Day of Disappointments

This morning, I finally got the final paperwork for submitting the rebate request through our electric co-op for the new HVAC system we got in February. Once I got onto the site though, the application link was gone and, instead, I saw this:

I called the co-op and and she didn't have any information as to when it would go live again, but it's already been 3 months since we had it installed, and the deadline is 60 days. However, we had the heat pump put in on February 13. It was listed as "pending" in the city's building code inspection unit until... they were no longer allowed to do in-home inspections anymore because of COVID19. Then once they finally got out here, PEC has closed down the program.

Granted, it was only $300 on a substantially more expensive project, but still... we were certainly expecting it.

Then later this afternoon, I was brushing Mal's hair and he was mad about it, as usual. I was doing it while he was watching videos so he'd be distracted. He decided to play LEGO Star Wars instead, and instead of choosing "Load Game," he selected "New Game," and clicked on the game slot we have been playing for six months. We have 68% of the game completed. The warning popped up, "This will delete the data for the existing game. Do you wish to proceed?" Before I could stop him, he pressed, "Yes." And it wiped out every bit of progress in the game. We had to start all over. All of the levels were locked, all of the characters locked. No coins, no accomplishments. Nothing.

There was a lot more crying involved in that than in the $300 thing, I can assure you.

It's been a few hours, and we're both coping okay. We've played a lot of computer games today, as I promised to help Mal catch back up to where we were.

In the storm, an island of peace

My life was pretty volatile in 2011. By the end of the year, I was worn out. But during the madness, there were pockets of peace and surprise blessing that reminded me that God hadn't gone anywhere and that he could be trusted.

2012 got a lot better, and after I moved to Austin, everything kind of fell into a place of contentment and rest. For a while, at least, it looks like things may be shaken up again and I appreciate everyone who's been praying. Those of you who have questions... I'm sorry, but I can't really answer those. I can't give specifics, especially not in a public forum, or in writing at all. There are people I need to respect and stories that aren't mine to tell wrapped up in all of it.

What I do want to tell you about, though, is a very cool thing that happened on Friday, amid some serious stress and concern.

Usually, I get up half an hour or so before James, make his coffee, make his lunch and breakfast... and, yes, I love it. He takes such good care of us that I relish the opportunity to take care of him. So, anyway, this time, he needed to use the restroom before I got into the shower, so I stayed in bed until he returned. Then I didn't feel very motivated to get up, so I laid there while he fell back to sleep and prayed over him.

His work has been stressful for him, and I prayed something I've never prayed before. I mean, I've prayed for him and for his work, but on this day, I actually laid my hands on him and prayed that today (Friday) would be different. That he'd know how much he's appreciated, and how much they value him.

At 1 o'clock, James texted me that he was on his way home. The only other time he's come home after half a day was when he'd lost a job. I thought, "Well, if they let him go, that's different, at least, so that's an answer."

As it turns out, his office had let everyone go home early to regroup from an intense few weeks.

So he was home by 1:30, and then all hell kind of broke loose that afternoon. Like, people were asking me, "Can someone be at your house with you?" and James was already here.

What's cool is how God not only answers prayer, but prompts us to pray for what we need even before we know we need it. Like I said, I'd never prayed, "Let today be different" before. But I did. And it was. Because God already knew, and he was already setting everything up... and he let me come along for the ride.

Now if I can just keep this in the forefront of my mind, not letting fear or anxiety take over, surfing the next few weeks shouldn't be too big of a deal.

2013 Year in Review

You can ask anyone who's known me for a while: I don't make a big to-do about New Year's Eve. I don't "do" resolutions. I'm typically at home by 7:00 PM on NYE because drunk drivers aren't my favorite. During the decade I spent in Las Vegas, I whiled away precisely one New Year's Eve on the Strip, and that thing is rife with stories, only because they were so awful and exhausting and weird.

Typically, if I make plans to attend a New Year's Eve function, unless it starts by 8:00, I'm probably going to decide at around 8:15 that I'm nice and warm and getting a little sleepy, anyway, and skip it. I had friends of friends invite my family to a really cool ranch party in Las Vegas three or four years in a row, but the party didn't start until 10:00 PM, and by then, if I haven't already started amping up, I'm winding down in a big way.

As far as resolutions, I subscribe to the philosophy that any day is a great day to start a good new habit or to ditch a bad old one. I never want to be among the full parking lot at the gym on January 2. If I ever resolve to do something, I don't want to take it so lightly. And I don't want to wait for a magic date.

For me, January 1 is the next day on the continuum after December 31. You wake up, and nothing is substantially different. So, while I like any excuse to celebrate, this isn't one of "my" holidays.

That said, this year, I am looking back over the past twelve months and am more than a little awed about everything that has happened. This time last year, I was in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend of six months; I was one month into what would be a full-on half-year battle with chronic pain; I was living in an RV, my home for nearly two years, on the east side of Austin... And there's so much more.

So, in no particular order, here's my 2013:

1. I got married! James moved to Austin in early February. He said that he wanted to be in town for at least a month to see if we could live in the same place without driving each other crazy. I might have been driven a little crazy. I was concerned that he might fall in love with downtown Austin and the lifestyle and not be in any hurry to "make it official." But at the end of February, when he'd come over for dinner, he mentioned off-handedly, "I was thinking about when we should get married, and April 1st seems like a good date." If you haven't seen our wedding video, here:



While I think this is the most raw and sincere expression of a love that leaves my man absolutely speechless, our officiant told James that he might want to write "actual" vows. He said that, no matter how "cool" I was, women want something different (maybe "normal"?) for their wedding. I'm so glad James didn't listen to him! James knows me. I knew exactly what he meant. He told me later that he knew I'd write something poignant (and, likely, verbose) and that he wasn't about to try to "compete" with that, so he went his own direction. I love his direction.

As to people who think this is just another weird Austin thing or that we're mocking marriage... Lots of people have fun at their weddings. This wedding was "us." My husband has never been married before because he never met anyone else he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was very serious. I was very serious. But we can be serious in our intent and still have a good time carrying it out. In fact, this is how we live our lives.

Photo credit Alec Hilliard

The past nine months of marriage have been like nothing I could ever have imagined. James and I love and appreciate each other. He makes my life so much brighter, and I try to employ Dr. Laura's advice constantly: "When you wake up in the morning, ask yourself, 'What can I do to make him happy that he's alive? And what can I do to make him happy that he married me?'"

My best friend lives in the same house with me. His company is a pleasure, and loving him is easy. I am blessed, and sometimes challenged, and head-over-heels in love.

2. Chronic pain defined the first half of 2013. The process of trying to treat my back pain (chiropractic, my first involvement with acupuncture, lots and lots of NSAIDS), then getting a diagnosis (thanks to the Volunteer Health Clinic) including my first (and scary!) MRI, to the hopelessness of months of only two hours of sleep at a time, to feeling very much like I was going crazy even to the point of giving my then-fiance an out... I have a much more compassionate view of people who deal with their bodies' unrelenting attack on themselves. It is honestly the worst thing that I have ever experienced, and I'm very sad that it colored so much of both of James' family's visits (for his birthday in December 2012, when it was first starting, and then our wedding weekend). I hate that my daughter woke up so many nights to my crying and felt like she needed to check on me, even though there was nothing to be done for it. But I absolutely adore my family's patience and long-suffering with me. I hope I didn't make it too awful for them; I tried not to. I felt so respected and "heard" by the entirely volunteer staff at the health clinic that it was a blessing to interact with them.

Starting in mid-June and proceeding on to the end of summer, the pain started abating. There are still ways my body tells me not to sit for a long time, but it tells me in soreness and stiffness, not shooting, searing pain. The last time I hurt myself was playing laser tag a couple of months ago, when I accidentally bent over with my left leg hyper-extended. However, a few weeks ago, when I flipped my head over to dry my hair, I noticed that my left leg didn't automatically kick out behind me or fold into my right leg. Testing, I was able to touch my toes keeping my leg mostly straight (it's a little rickety from non-use). Although my disc will always be ruptured, I consider myself "healed" from this episode right now. I am at about 90% of where I used to be, and could probably be closer to 98% if I pushed myself... but having pushed myself on the front end, trying to do push-ups and sit-ups and "bicycles" while I bawled in the floor, and probably making the problem worse... I'm not pushing myself. I'm being grateful for the slow advances in recovery. Unspeakably grateful.

3. The Nuthaus. Living this close to downtown has opened up so many opportunities. First of all, I can either walk or bike almost everywhere. If I run out of eggs or butter or just need an emergency cheap soda, they're all right up the road. If I want nice flip-flops, or fro-yo, or bubble tea, or kitschy Austin weird-wear: can walk. If I want to see what's going on at the Capitol, or enjoy one of the best Indian restaurants in Las Vegas, or have sushi or an incredible pear cider on tap: boom. Done. I can ride my bike to the library, to get the fancy cat food that we have to feed all of the cats because Aish only gets the best but she will eat garbage if that's what the other cats are eating. I rode my bike to the courthouse to file my name change request. I've ridden to book group, to church, mystery shops. We walk to meals, to sight-see, and to run errands.

But there's something else: If you've been paying attention, you know that we see a lot of super eccentric stuff around here. Beyond that, though, living this close to an urban center has given me the opportunity to get to know some of "those people" you might pass in a car and feel sorry for, but not be able to connect with. (Yes, I just ended a sentence in a preposition. To do otherwise sounded awkward.)

Yes, there are the people who have touched us and passed by, like Vanessa and Kenneth, the expecting couple James met when he first moved in. There is the guy playing guitar to whom James stopped to listen, and genuinely chat up, before offering him and his friends dinner. I have to say that in this regard, James is such an example and so convicting to me. He does not see the street people as a group of down-on-their-luck people. He sees them as individuals. People he'd probably like if he got to know them. And he's interested in them and their stories. He's concerned.

We have spent great chunks of time talking to the vendors on 23rd Street. There have been people who want to tell us their stories, even if they aren't asking for help. Our porch is a comfortable invitation, a place to rest. But there are people resting on the steps of the churches on Guadalupe, too, and they want to be heard. Just last night, Daphne and I talked to a couple who said they were in danger of homelessness. The wife had all of the work receipts that her husband had from working for a day labor service. There was one man who told me that the meal from Potbelly and the chat was worth so much more than when people just give him money.

People like that come and go, and it's incredible to get to interact with them on a minuscule level. But there are others we see more frequently.

There's "Grandpa," the man who looks barely older than my own dad, and sometimes not much rougher (though yesterday when I saw him, he had a great bruise over his left eye, as though someone had kicked him when he was sleeping). I know where he usually sleeps, and in the morning, he walks past the Nuthaus to Taco Cabana. He sits in the dining room and drinks a water, then he makes himself a lemonade. I have chatted with him once, and he is mostly "there." He just has that lost look of someone who doesn't have an anchor.

There's another man we call alternately "our neighbor" and "crazy guy," because he has two different personalities. When he's lucid, he's friendly and wishes us well. He will say, "Jesus loves you," and if you say, "Thanks," he'll usually stop and say, "Seriously. I mean it. He really does." He doesn't think we're taking it seriously enough. Other times, he's back in the alley, swearing at someone we can't see. Or at life. Who knows? Recently, he seems to have acquired a wheel-chair bound friend. Now, sometimes he'll be hollering and cursing, but still carefully pushing his friend.

And there's also a very sweet old lady who isn't homeless. She lives somewhere down the street from us, though I don't know exactly where. But she walks all the time. She has a walker, and her hair is always in a perfect bun. It might be 49 degrees outside, windy, and sprinkling, and she'll have on her shawl and plastic rain hat, walking with her walker. I officially met her about a week after James moved in, when I was working at the Nuthaus and saw her standing on the sidewalk, looking at the house. She said that she was so glad to see people living in these long-vacant properties. We haven't had a chance to chat again, but every time I see her, I feel like we're... well, neighbors.

Sometimes it's heart-breaking to see life as up-close as we get to see it living here. But I love it. I don't want to be blind. I want to know. And, if I can, I want to help. Even if that just means sitting on the curb with my arm around a girl I don't know, while she works through a panic attack. I love the Nuthaus.

4. The Pregnancy. Almost immediately after James and I got married, I got pregnant. Obviously, it didn't result in our having a baby, but I credit the pregnancy hormones with pushing forward my pain diminishing. When I found out that I was pregnant, I weaned off of the Gabapentin and Naprosyn as quickly as I felt was safe. And even though I'd found both to be a miracle for which I'd been desperate a mere two or three weeks earlier, I didn't need them anymore. When I was pregnant with Daphne, and again this time, my asthma abated. My mom has a friend whose intense rheumatoid arthritis goes away when she's carrying a baby. I am certain that I was pushed forward months of recovery time due to the brief influx of hormones.

5. Four Awesome Organizations. This year, I had the privilege of bumping up against four organizations whose work I so earnestly believe in that I'm trying to help in the small ways I have available to me. I want to share what they do with others, too, in case anyone else is moved to pitch in. These are also in no particular order:

Help One Now
James and I traveled to Haiti with Help One Now, and I can't even begin to describe what an eye- and heart-opening trip that was for us. Help One Now has been working in Uganda, Haiti, and Zimbabwe for some time, and they're just kicking off work in Ethiopia. The cool thing about Help One Now is that they don't go in and try to assert their presence or their way of "fixing" local issues. They work with established leadership, people who live in the countries, and who are already doing their part to tackle a problem that they see.

In Haiti specifically, we got to meet three such leaders. The first was Jean Alix Paul, a pastor/businessman at whose home we stayed. An orphanage, a school, a children's home, and a business incubation program are all under his supervision... and I think he probably does a lot of other stuff about which I have no idea. Also, he and his family and household graciously host visitors to Haiti. In 2014, the visiting teams will stay in a guest house closer to work sites, a project Jean Alix has also overseen.

The second was Pastor St. Cyr, who had a church and school in the urban city of Port au Prince before the 2010 earthquake. After that disaster struck, he planted a church in the biggest tent city, a place of otherwise darkness, where children were at risk for trafficking, where the was violence and desperation. He made it his goal to hold worship services every single day, to have some hope and singing and light in the makeshift neighborhood. Since then, he has build a much safer church building than the one damaged in the earthquake, and has been able to move the school there. They are very close to opening a medical clinic in the same building.

The third pastor we met was Gaetan Alcegaire. He moved back to Haiti (having come to the US with very many opportunities to work) specifically to start an orphanage on some family land. Immediately, the children came. For a long time, every day, all day, his goal was to find enough food to feed his kids. After the earthquake, things became even more desperate, and American groups would come, promise help, and disappear. Through a partnership with Help One Now, Pastor Gaetan has built dorms for his children, with whom he was sleeping outside under tarps because he explained that a shepherd doesn't leave his sheep. He has built a two-story school building that now houses 400 children, including all of the kids in his home as well as children from the surrounding area, many of whom cannot pay the $25 a year fee to attend. They are not turned away.

The children at Yahve Shemma, Pastor Gaetan's home. They had never
had pizza before and weren't sure what to do with it. Also, they are taught
not to eat with their hands, but to use utensils. Whoops! We meant well. :)

These three men all work in and around Port au Prince, Petionville, Guibert, and Kenscoff. There is a newer initiative in Ferrier, an anti-trafficking house where children who are basically caught at the border, as they're being attempted-smuggled out of the country. We sponsor a beautiful 8-year-old girl who was a house slave, and has probably lived a harder life in her 8 years than I have in my 40. It is my hope that they can find her family, and that she is able to get an education and grow up knowing the love and security that kids deserve. If you're interested in helping sponsor an orphan or at-risk child, or a teacher (remember those kids who don't have the ability to pay the fee for their schooling?) you can find out how here.

Homes 4 Vets
We first encountered Homes 4 Vets at a re-enactment event at Camp Mabry. This group seeks to provide housing and job/life training for homeless veterans. The details of the program are on their website. They have just submitted the paperwork to become a 501(c)3 charitable organization, and need $6 million to start on the rec center and infrastructure. They need $23 million to build out the whole community and to put all of the program into place.

They chose the dome shape for the single-family properties because of the durability of such structures. After the rec center and single-family domes go up, they have plans for family housing, four sets of townhouses each with a common courtyard and playground accessible only to the residents from those houses.

The residents will have two years to complete job training and life skills training, and the board plans to use their contacts to help them find employment.

It's an ambitious plan, and it's been started and is spearheaded by a retired dual-service Veteran, a young architect who caught the Veteran's dream, and the owner of a construction company. Since that time, a CPA has joined the board, and these four men are pushing forward this ambitious program. I'm excited to see what happens! If you know anyone in central Texas who has land they'd like to donate, or if you'd like to donate funds or time, let me know and I can pass your information along to them.

Rework Project

The Rework Project is also a local service to the homeless and those transitioning out of homelessness. The "Reworkers" learn wood-working skills by building and selling five awesome products: bird-houses, tree swings, huge tabletop Jenga-style games, bean-bag toss/cornhole games, and my favorite, picnic tables. They will personalize these to your specifications, and even with customization, they are incredibly affordable. Especially the picnic table!

The Reworkers learn how to and then build these products, then they are able to keep the majority of the profits for themselves. If you'd like to read one of their success stories that it near and dear to my heart, go here, and scroll down (better yet, just read it all) to the part about Anthony. Anthony isn't just the guy who lives in the same RV spot where I used to live. He's in our small group, and I consider him to be my friend. I'm so proud of Allison and of him and of this entire program.

Having lost 100% of their funding for 2014, Allison had to decide whether to pack it up or try to raise the $40k that Rework needs herself. In under a month, they've already gotten $36,000. If you can help, either in a one-time gift or a monthly contribution, go to here.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes
When I lived in the RV park, I saw Mobile Loaves and Fishes trailers. They also sponsored one community barbecue. Other than that, I didn't really know much about them until this year. They serve the street community extensively, with food, clothes, and shelter. Their most recent project here in Austin is best explained in this video.



Included in that video is a gentleman named Glenn who is familiar to me from church and Rework, too. Also, Anthony (mentioned above) has been doing a lot of work at the garden (included being stung right in the face by a bee; I guess that's part of it: beekeeping) and learning to can to use any bounty from the garden.

When James and I got married, we donated the RV to Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I hope it's going to be used in this community! Also, I did a dunder-headed thing and never got the trailer re-titled in my name, so they're having to do all of that, and they're so gracious about the whole thing.

So, basically, my life has been enriched a great deal by knowing that these four organizations exist. I mentioned Volunteer Health Clinic above, and that's one that actually benefited ME. I couldn't have afforded the MRI I got on my own. It's awesome to me to know that there are people who care, and who are out there doing the stuff, and who love and want to bring the marginalized into the circle of light most of us occupy.

I will say that being Facebook friends with some of our new Haitian friends is a little surreal. The other day when one of the pastors "liked" my post about the entire Firefly collection being on sale for $5 on Amazon.com, I felt like I needed to explain that I hadn't bought it myself... But then maybe he's a Firefly fan. I have no idea. But sometimes, it throws into stark relief the contrast between what occupies our day-to-day lives. And yet, because of Help One Now, we are friends. He can message me when he needs prayer for something. I am honored to be on the fringes of his life and the lives of others I admire. It is an inspiration to be in the orbit of these people who are serving orphans, and the homeless, and Veterans. It is an honor.

6. Life as Usual. Then there's the every day stuff, and that's just about as incredible as the extra-ordinary stuff, too.

First there's my job. Yes, I'm an insurance agent (with Hejny Insurance Agency). Yes, I find that every bit as funny as when I was a property manager. No, I don't think I'm awesome at it, but I can administrate stuff, and people seem to like to talk to me on the phone. Moses and Lisa offered me a job, and a spare office for my daughter to do school, at a time when I desperately needed an income, and was trying to figure out how to keep from sending Daphne to school (I don't think that there's anything wrong with school, and it might be an option in the future; but I didn't want my divorce and financial issues to force my hand). THEN when I wanted to move to Austin, they let me stay with them, working remotely... even though, technically, my job was, um, reception. So. I'm continually grateful for how they've accommodated my "special needs" time and again.

Then there's my daughter. As she matures, I see her becoming this young woman who both amazes and terrifies me. I think that it's probably normal to feel like you're "losing" your kid sometimes. And I am. She doesn't think what I think just because I think it and wish she did. She's becoming this person who is totally separate from me, and I am excited to see what she does with her life. She is clever and talented. She is a born leader. She is so much more secure than I was at her age. I love her with everything that I am. (And, yes, there's also an "everything" for my husband. Love is pretty awesome like that.)

And also, there is a group of  friends from church who have really lived out what it means to be community to me this year. We've had game nights, and shared meals, and evenings out, and birthday parties. We've laughed and cried together. We've shared concerns and hopes and ideas and pop culture. I've been confronted and counseled and supported and encouraged... and it's been fun and hard and purposeful. It's what this is supposed to be like.

D and I re-started BSF this year, and she's already made a new friend we're supposed to get together with this week. I'm still doing mystery shopping, and we've gotten to putt at a sports club, play laser tag, go bowling, see movies, eat at an awesome local sports bar a whole lot, and have all sorts of fun in exchange for paperwork. I'm comfortably settling back into Astro-owning. And all of the "normalcy" is pretty great.

Suffice it to say, 2013 has easily been the best year of my life. I'm eagerly looking forward to 2014. Hope you are, too.

A Better Kind of Different

There is a pretty interesting vortex of things "working" on me right now.

The first is that it's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo, for short; or NaNo, for shorter). As you know, James is participating. I am not. I was recently thinking about the NaNo M.O. of "Sorry, it has to wait until December" and mulling over the fact that I find that an excuse to be rude, and how that's not okay. Mostly, I was licking my own wounds because, this might come as a shock to you, but I have some pretty high needs (and, in James' case, expectations) in a relationship. November is always one of my favorite months. But I don't like being put off, even in good humor and even knowing it's temporary.

By the way, James won't read this post, so it's not a passive/aggressive missive to him. He won't read it because it's November. He won't read it because he doesn't read my blog, anyway, unless I tell him that there's something in there that he really needs to see. He only reads tech blogs, and as much as I want to please him, I can't even fathom that.

Go, Linux! (There. Maybe he'll see it. *shrug*)

A week ago, I went to bed on Tuesday at about 9:00 PM because I was in a snit and didn't want to get any of it on my family. I wasn't particularly tired, so I ended up getting a lot of praying in. And I felt better Wednesday morning.

It's a revelation when I don't say words I want to say that, miraculously, they can dissipate over time. They don't *have* to be said. Incredible.

This weekend, I even wrote a short letter. Which I didn't give James. I deleted it. But last night and this morning struck me the most, and that's when I started thinking about why and how I am sucking up a lot of what I'm "feeling" right now, and how that's playing out in one of the main goals of my life, which is to love James completely and perfectly (read: without self-seeking, pettiness, etc.).

First of all, Daphne and I re-started Bible Study Fellowship in September. We're studying Matthew, and particularly, for the past few weeks, the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus' healing ministry. Secondly, I just finished reading a book entitled "Jesus Feminist." I was about to say "Finally," but there's one more after this. Anyway, thirdly, Daphne and I are listening to "The Hiding Place." AND, finally, everything always at my church is about reconciliation and renewal, large scale and small.

Last year, before NaNoWriMo, when James was still living in Dallas, he warned me about his singular focus during this month. I told him that I wasn't sure I could handle an entire month of his preoccupation. He said, "You will. Because you know it's important to me."

I don't know if he meant this as a reprimand or a misplaced affirmation of faith, but I determined to make him right, When I went to bed early last Tuesday, it was with that phrase repeating over and over in my head: "You know it's important to me..."

But then last night, and this morning, my silence when I felt hurt or passed over was due to a slightly different motivation.

In Corrie ten Boom's history, long before her family's involvement in the Nazi regime, a young man after whom she had pined for most of her life showed up on her doorstep, engaged to a woman of means. Her father, rather than comforting her that there might be other loves in her life, encouraged her to ask God to help her love this young man with His love (rather than trying to stop loving him). She did this, she asked God to help her love this man as he did, to the point that she could be genuinely happy for him and his family.

And in hearing that, several things hit me at once:

1) I want to love James perfectly, and I'm absolutely unable to do it in my own strength. I am much too concerned about whether or not things are the way that I feel are "right" or whether or not I'm getting "enough" attention. The only way I'm going to be able to love James the way that I want to is through the example of Jesus and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. I'd posted a Dr. Laura quote on Facebook the other day, something to the extent of "Every morning, ask, 'What can I do to make him happy he's alive?' and 'What can I do to make him happy he's married to me?'" This is what I want for him.

2) This is a transcendent relationship. I know that being married is work, and constant attention, and refinement. But our relationship doesn't feel like swimming upstream against a torrent of white water and rain and locusts and bullets and fire bombs. It's, dare I say it, pretty comfortable and easy. I don't have to fight. I don't have to wrangle for affection or acknowledgement. James gives these things freely. Why is it still my tendency to fight? Isn't fighting for something that's already being granted (at his time and pleasure) basically inviting resentment and withholding of the very thing that is most important to my heart? Plus, it creates the opposite atmosphere of the one I want to have in our house. And so, I need to re-calibrate and stop defaulting to struggle mode.

3) It's a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes, it's difficult for me to rest in the fact that we have years and years together. Last summer, I went up to Dallas to visit James, and a really neat surprise I had for him fell through. I was bummed because he had all of these awesome stories of adventure and fun with other people in his life, and I desperately wanted some of those cool memories. A year later, we have a few. We're constantly making more. It takes time. We have time. James might come home every night this month and lose himself in his novel, but he's still sleeping by my side. He still takes every opportunity to tell me how much he appreciates me. And there's always December. And January. And 11 whole other months, every year for the next few decades. I find peace in that. I need to be able to rest in it.

4) The more I stop myself from saying what's on my mind, the easier it is. The more I fight my selfish impulses and demands, the less powerful they become. Last night, I went in to the office to tell James goodnight, and he indicated that he'd still be a while. I thought of a lot of stuff I could have said. Mostly manipulative stuff that wouldn't have made him pack it in for the night, but certainly would have been meant to take the shine off of his enjoyment at least a little bit. Instead, I kissed him, I turned around, and I went to bed.

This morning, I got his breakfast ready and he sat down to eat it. I was cleaning out the sink and asking myself why I wasn't sitting with him when what I craved most was his company. At first, I reasoned that if I sat down right now, I'd be too tempted to complain about how little I see of him right now. Then I realized that was an excuse, and I was avoiding him as a stupid baby kind of payback. So I sat with him and enjoyed him very much... until I said something that he wanted to research. He got up and disappeared into his office. He always says I'm quick-witted, but really, I'm mostly quick-tongued. With the words, "If I'd known that would make you get up and come in here, I never would have said it" in my mouth, I walked to the doorway of his office... and stopped. Why throw those darts? So I kept silent. A few moments later, James came out of his office, frustrated with a problem he was having with the computer. My words would have added to his stress. Instead, he could focus being irritated on the computer, and still think I was wonderful.

I hope it just gets easier and easier until I don't even feel those self-focused impulses anymore. It's true that I want my husband around. He's pretty awesome, and his company is my favorite. But he has given and sacrificed and changed and worked so hard for me... for us. I can give him this. I can give him this month. He deserves it. Eventually, it won't be such a struggle to "act nice" about it; I want to "feel nice" about it. I love him. He loves me. We have time. We have each other.

An Open Letter

For obvious reasons, I can't contact you. I doubt I will ever be able to, and yet I know that I owe you a debt that I cannot repay. I hope, however, that if I put this apology out there, maybe it will find you, and maybe it will mean something to you.

This is not the time to go into the "what"s and "why"s of everything. I don't think we will ever agree about what "happened." But here's something that I know is real:

I am so sorry that I hurt you. I genuinely am.

You were a bosom friend at a time when I needed one desperately. I appreciate that. I appreciate your loyalty at a difficult time in my life. I appreciate your care for my daughter, and your desire to teach her things. Your mentoring spirit and your bent to educate others was one of my favorite things about you.

You told someone once to do an internet search for some video, to which you pointed as proof that I admired you. Of course I admired you. Everyone knew that. I didn't hide it. I thought that you were a very talented person, with incredible stories, and so, so much to offer the world. I still think that.

You told me once that I was cold, remorseless, and unfeeling. You were probably right. I apologize for being cynical and hardened. I am very sorry that I pulled you into the orbit of my life at a time when my life had no center. I apologize for being self-focused to the exclusion of your feelings.

I don't think that it matters that that was never my intention.

The reality is that I hurt you. I let you down. I was in a sh*tstorm and I involved you, then once I found my way clear of the mess, I left it and you behind.

I can see how that might look intentional. I know it was callous. I empathize with your anger. I was experiencing the same anger, directed elsewhere, parallel to yours. And I have sincere sorrow about the things that I did, and the pain that I caused.

Every once in a while, I see something that I think you'd like, and I mourn a bit that I can't send it your way. I wish you all of life's happiness. I hope that you can extend grace to forgive me in your heart, but if you can't, I will understand. I really will.

You were one of the dearest people to my heart, and getting to know you, and your story, and your family's history, was a bright spot during days that didn't have much else to recommend them. I am sorry that I injured you. I am forever sorry.

Sometimes, I can be (not very em)pathetic

Watching the scene unfold from the peanut gallery, I have my opinions. Given the garbage I have managed to produce in my life, my ability to judge others' motives with impunity is astonishingly intact. Things happen that I pretty much knew would pan out that way, so surprise doesn't play into it... instead, I have a haughty sense of low expectations fulfilled.

Then it happens, as it did today: God smacks me in the back of the head with my own 2x4, and I never saw it coming. Glancing over, I watch this person slip into a moment of utter despair, and without it ever registering in my conscious brain, I am destroyed. I begin to sob, and memories flood back. Memories of being in exactly the same spot. Memories of singing praises, and genuinely meaning them, or at least wanting to mean them, but having their celebratory lyrics stand in stark contrast to the reality of the gloom I was experiencing. Knowing that I loved and trusted God, and that there was a plan for my life, but not really sure how that would parse out to the little things... like walking back out to my car. Everything seemed overwhelming. It was too big for me, and I needed God and his people... at the same time that being around his people hurt. Because what I was going through was an intensely private thing. And everyone knew. And everyone had an opinion... And now I've become "those people."

God help me.

When Daphne was little, sometimes she'd get hurt because she'd do something I'd told her not to do. As tempting as it was to lecture her, I knew better. When she was in severe pain, even though it could have been avoided, I knew that it wasn't the time for a life lesson. It was time to put my arms around her and try to help her feel better.

God help me not to care whose fault it is. Help me to put my arms around those who are hurting and even if all I can offer is comfort, to give freely, without listening to my inner Church Lady. Help me to remember how repelled I have been by people saying the right things at the wrong time. Help me to have compassion...

Even as I think this through, I wonder whether it's too soon. I have done this before: walked with someone who was going through something very traumatic, and listened to her say horrible, ugly things... things that I had also thought and said... And I was near enough to remember and extend grace, but far enough away to have my wounds scarred over.

But I also know that God never wastes a hurt, and I feel like I have some responsibility here.

If nothing else, I need to keep my heart pure. I need to remember what it feels like to be in that place I don't want to remember. And I need to be able to love, even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult.

His Grace Reaches Me

I've been struggling lately with the grand ideas of reconciliation, condemnation, forgiveness, repentance, and holiness. Sounds like fun, right?

After a hiatus of several years, I started back to Bible Study Fellowship last week, and this session, we're studying Matthew. It's one of those books that I've read over and over again, but something hit me this week that I hadn't noticed before: Salmon. I understand that it's odd that the genealogy in Matthew 1 includes women, and so when I've read that passage before, I've always focused on the women in the line. I never noticed before that Rahab's husband was named. Salmon.

I wondered about his story. According to this wonderful study of Rahab from Bible Gateway, Salmon was one of the spies sent into Jericho. That appears to be a Jewish tradition thing and I don't know whether I'd put much stock in it. Regardless of that, though, at some point, this fairly prominent Jew purposefully took a former prostitute and a former foreigner as his wife.

What hit me was that Rahab was not defined by her past, nor was she seen as a foreigner once she sided with the Jews. She was adopted into the tribe, and she was a part of them. That is huge, but the thing that overwhelmed me was just that it's one thing to have a group of people invite you into become a part of their family, but it's a whole other thing to have a single person pledge the rest of his life to you, regardless of where you've been.

When I was reading the text notes from BSF today, I cried all the way through the explanations of the five women included in the genealogy. Like Tamar, I have struggled with waiting for God to fulfill his promises; I have taken matters into my own hands, and used "sinful methods" (as the notes described Tamar's actions in deceiving her father-in-law) as a means to an end I still believe in. Like Rahab, I have heard of God's doings and have desperately wanted to be a part, even if I wasn't sure how to do it. Like "the former wife of Uriah," I have been married before. I have made sinful choices, and I have also been the subject of a LOT of calculated character defamation. I always wonder about Bathsheba: How much of a choice did she have? When the King of Israel calls for you, do you have the option of declining? Maybe she was flattered, or even attracted... But maybe she felt like the path of least resistance was the only option. Who knows. I guess we'll never know for sure, just like no one but a select few will ever know my whole story... but, dang, if people don't make opinions and label me, anyway. And, yes, I realize that a lot of this is my own fault. Hence the struggles...

For instance, I am convicted that I owe my ex-husband some apologies. And I wrestle with when and how that is appropriate. I like to think that I hold nothing against him, having forgiven him and wishing he'd forgive me, but any time I imagine an apology, it sounds an awful lot like blaming him for the wrongs I foisted upon him. So, clearly, I'm not ready for that yet.

I also live with the tension of knowing that there are people with whom I can never make amends. I can't fix things that happened, things that I did, mistakes I made, and hurts that were incurred as a part of that. I am a closure person. I like for things to be tidy and to make sense. And sometimes they don't. That whole "In as much as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone" verse? Sometimes, the only way to peace is to break fellowship, and that's the worst thing ever. It's one reason I take very personally "unfriending" on Facebook. If there's a problem, let's talk it over and fix it! Some things can't be fixed, and that's a difficult reality.

Adding to all of that is an outer condemnation. In the past, I was asked to do things to try to make circumstances right that I knew, because of my own involvement in my life, were not going to work. I know that, to others, I appeared to be rebellious, callous, cold, and stubborn. The truth is that I *am* stubborn and often rebellious. If I end a relationship, though, it is always after much trying and anxiety and attempts to reconcile, and then there is a point where I see that there is not any headway being made, and the only fix is out. When that happens, especially if you care a lot about a person, you kind of have to harden your own heart in order to separate from them. I've done that a few times in the past few years, and inevitably, I later soften... but I know that it was the right thing. Still, I wrestle with knowing that people think I'm a bad person, or a bad Christian. I know my heart, and God knows it, and we have worked through a lot of garbage in the past three years.

It was only after separating from everything and moving away that I was able to admit (at my first week of small group in Austin, no less, to a bunch of practical strangers) that I sometimes wish I'd just died when my testimony was awesome: Destroyed first marriage redeemed by later faithfulness and rich ministry through the arts. Second marriage past the point of no return turned around and enriched by God. Praise Him! He can work miracles!

And he can. And he does. But then... more happened. There were no closing credits, and things got bad... And I never doubted God's faithfulness. I certainly doubted my own. I certainly dealt with other people's guidance that I know was based on love for me and for the Scriptures but that was given without insight into the whole situation. I certainly disappointed a lot of people, and myself, and likely God...

But then this genealogy. It stands as a reminder that God takes messes and rebuilds lives into something of beauty. He's done it in my life over and over again. Standing at the end and looking back, that's the fun part. The slogging through the low times is not. It's excruciating. Especially when much of it is your own fault, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

The bloodlines of Mary and Joseph in Matthew and Luke stand as a reminder that God is in the business of doing his own will, and he uses who he wills. There might even still be a place in there for me.