The Here and Now

  I have often marveled at how it seems God puts people together for a reason.  It's that mysterious sovereignty of His we can't quite understand!  Even though we are the choosers of every decision we make, He somehow reaches back before the beginning of time and pulls out an "I knew you were going to do that" meaning for everything we do in the present.  In marriages that are blessed by God, the spouses are like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly if they will only learn from each other.
   Remember working a puzzle as a child and trying to force a piece to fit where it didn't belong?  Some marriages are like that.  Those rarely last.  But remember having to force a piece in where it actually did belong, while other reasons kept it from going in easily?  Maybe the piece was too new and stiff, or maybe part of it was broken?  Perhaps other pieces were crowding it, or there were still pieces missing somewhere else that misaligned the space you were working on?  Many marriages are like that, too.  Some puzzles have only a small number of pieces and they go together quickly.  But some have many pieces and take a very long time to work, don't they?  Until both spouses are willing to yield that space God is trying to fill in them through a quality their spouse possesses (either naturally or by learning), that marriage will struggle.  It is a sad, sad time in a marriage when one spouse is willing, even desirous, and the other is not.  Eventually, even a marriage blessed, perhaps even intended by God, often ends in divorce.
   The aftermath and destruction caused by a divorce is often catastrophic and traumatic.  Not all divorces are shocking or unwanted, but I have been astounded at how many of them are just that.  Mine was both, and the effects, for me, were devastating.  I have talked to and heard about many women (and men), who feel their entire lives were blown apart, and they felt completely powerless.  In my marriage, at times it felt like we were trying to squeeze the puzzle piece where it belonged, while other reasons kept it from going in easily, but I always knew it would work eventually. After all, despite a few specific issues, we both wanted the same thing.  We may have had trouble with a piece or two, as all couples do, but we both always wanted to see the finished picture we worked so hard to create.  And so many other pieces were already in place.  In fact, after 40+ years together, our puzzle was almost complete.  And when I stood back and looked at the whole picture, it was beautiful.  But one day, he decided he didn't want to work on our puzzle anymore, and he quit.  What am I suppose to do with this almost finished picture now?  If I take out the pieces I put in, it's only half a picture, and I can't see how all these random pieces could ever fit together to become something on their own.  And what happens to the years we worked on it together?
   In the months that followed, I felt abandoned and so alone.  Even though I was fortunate to have our girls around me, the one person I went through everything with was gone.  The person I shared every good thing with, the person I endured every difficult thing with, and the person who was always there for comfort and wisdom for every terrible thing was gone.  Not only gone, but left.  Gone on purpose.  The pain of that was, and is, overwhelming and unbearable.  The smallest child in me came out, and I felt helpless and hopeless, abandoned and discarded.  I was hurting, I was shocked, I was sad, I was afraid, and I was all those things over and over again every time I went to bed and every time I awoke.
   Early in this place of pain and hopelessness, I heard Oprah interview Dr. William Petit, the physician whose home was burned after his wife and two daughters were brutally murdered in their own home in Connecticut in 2007.  In those few short hours Dr. Petit lost everything he ever had in this life, save extended family members.
   While no one could compare a divorce to such unspeakable evil, something he said caught my attention.  He said that when you marry, you find a partner for life; someone you can navigate the open waters with and who will co-captain your ship.  You don't expect that person not to be there someday.  I related to that fundamental assumption on which I, too, had based my whole adult life.
   In his horrific loss, however, people often told him to try and live in the moment, the Here and Now.  Meaning well, they wanted him to find meaning and purpose and perhaps even beauty and joy.  People going through a divorce are often given the same advice.  In those early days, after Doug's leaving "was not up for reconsideration", Dr. Petit's response to living in the here and now was exactly how I felt.  He said, "[Living in the moment], is OK for people who have a past they can touch and a future they can dream for.  But when you feel like a lot of your past is gone and there's no future, the present loses some meaning."  I wept because while it seemed those words were not strong enough for what he had lost, they described perfectly what I was feeling.  In that moment, I felt like the amazing past we had built together had all crumbled, and with it, every hope for the future.
   As shocking as a divorce was to me then, equally shocking is that it has been a year and a half since Doug left.  I am still hurt and sad.  The shock is beginning to go away, and while I am still afraid at times, the reasons for the fears change as time goes on. Most of the early fears like being alone in the house at night have been replaced with fears of "What if I don't have enough money to pay the bills?"  But the smallest child in me has been tucked into bed, and in her place, the woman I know I am is learning to do life on her own.  I don't like it, and I don' t know if I will ever get use to it.  I loved being married, and I loved the one I was married to.  But I am doing it.  I know I can and I know I will.  I won't jump in right away and hope another person will rescue me.  I have to figure this out for myself and by myself.  Of course God is helping me.  His mysterious sovereignty is at work again, and somehow, though it was based on someone's choice,  it was no surprise to Him.  He knew Doug would choose what he did.  I've had to work through how I feel about that.
   One bright spot is I am definitely clinging to God, The One who will never walk away, never throw me away, never say I'm not necessary or good enough.  Often when I was tired of always feeling so crummy, I would ask God to interrupt my sorrow and surprise me with joy.  He has done that many times recently, and as I dwell on those snippets of joy (usually involving my grandkids), I know I will begin to live in the Here and Now, and maybe even enjoy it!

Peeking Out

It's been almost 10 months since I last wrote anything in my blog, and it has been so bittersweet for me to sit and read the last several posts I had written.  I felt all the warmth of family in everything I wrote.  That was the sweet part.  The bitter part was knowing what has happened since my last post that has chilled the warmth of family I so treasured and worked so hard to nurture.  Our family is breaking apart, and along with it, my heart.

As I read through previous posts, a couple things jumped out at me that prompted me to begin peeking out of my isolation and coming to terms publicly with what has happened in my life. (Seems safe enough, since it doesn't appear many read this blog anyway, which is OK right now.) The first thing that stirred my heart was in my post about the Cancer Walk back in October of last year.  I edified sisterhood as being the blessing of having another version of yourself to verify without judgment whatever you were going through, no matter how mammoth or trivial.  I even lamented out loud that I felt badly for not being able to fully "get" the dark place my sister had been in during the months of her cancer experience.  Did God somehow take that as a prayer?

Just two months after I wrote those words, my world would be shattered beyond anything I could have ever imagined would happen to me. And I plummeted into darkness. Since then my sister and I have discussed in such reverent depth all of the God questions we both struggled to understand, and she and my other sister have truly been other versions of myself, showing me love and support like I never knew.  They (and my parents), hurt with me as if what was happening to me was happening to them.  There are no words for what it feels like to be loved like that, especially when you thought you were loved like that, but he just couldn't come through.

The second thing that stirred in me was something God has been showing me through this whole ordeal of my marriage coming apart.  God has been reminding me of all the prayers I have prayed in the past - the ones I prayed earnestly and fervently... you know, the ones that "availeth much"?  He has shown me that He does, indeed, hear those prayers, and just because we may stop praying them or move on to other needs and requests, He keeps a record of our hearts' cries, and continues to bring about answers.

So when I prayed a gazillion times for my husband to find the courage to be a Godly man and be totally surrendered to God, somehow God is answering that prayer. Perhaps God is using the breakup of my marriage to answer it.  Perhaps Doug is not the one who will be that courageous, surrendered Godly man, though he is my heart's deepest desire.  But ultimately, perhaps God  is giving me an even deeper desire I cannot know right now.  Other prayers I have prayed have crossed my mind in my struggle with God as well.  I actually devoted an entire year once to understanding what the Bible meant by "knowing Him in His suffering and the power of His resurrection."  I actually told God I wanted to understand what that meant!  "Bingo, here you go, sister!"  Believe me, I get the suffering part now... I'm ready for the power part, thank you very much!
So when I read the Oct 6th post about India titled, "So Here's the Thing - We're Non-Begging Beggars", I was again stopped and quieted.  The last paragraph says this, "So I have begun praying for God to show me where I am desperate for Him.  "Where do I need you most, God, and don't even know it?"  Where is it that my soul hungers and thirsts for you?"  "Where am I filling myself with busyness or pride or folly or food or apathy instead of coming to you and letting you fill me?"  Wow, we should really be careful what we pray for.  Honestly, some of these prayers I'm not sure I would pray again, though I think where He is leading me is to that sacred, deeply grateful place where we are actually wistful about our trials, knowing the closeness with Him is worth it all.  

Sometime I'll have to write about that desperation.  I have found exactly where I'm desperate for Him, but that will have to wait for another post.  Maybe I'll see if anyone is reading first!

My Girls

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am already becoming consumed with the preparations.  Each year I ready the house to receive as many as 30 people, who come and leave at different times throughout the week.  I cook and bake ahead as much as possible, and I fret ahead of time over how my feet will hurt so at the end of that day.  But I also remain mindful each day leading up to the big day of all the many blessings in my life.  God is so incredibly good.

In thinking about all the preparations yet to be made this morning on my walk, I rounded the corner onto my street and envisioned all our family members pulling into the drive anticipating this most-loved holiday in our family.  I wondered about the other houses on my street.  Do they celebrate Thanksgiving?  Do they travel, or do they have family that comes?  Is theirs a peaceful weekend, or is there strife?  I pictured our houses without roofs, where the inside reality was visible to everyone.  I wished everyone could see and participate in the grace and support and love and true gratitude our family shows every year as we stand in our huge circle before the feast.  We pass the communion bread and cup and each tell what we are thankful for about the person standing to our right.  Sometimes we cry as we recall an especially difficult year for that person, and sometimes we laugh hysterically at a memorable moment.  We are always touched as the little ones take part and learn how to affirm each other and give thanks for our amazing family.

We aren't perfect, of course.  And we aren't always happy, or even nice, for that matter.  But we are close, and we love each other and we are doing the best we can.  So it's at this time of year that I begin to feel that warm swelling that rises up when we think of certain people.  I feel it at different times for different people, but I feel it for my immediate family ALL the time.  And especially for my girls.

I have loved, loved, loved being a mom, and now that my girls are moms, I can't sit them on my lap or braid their hair, or tuck them in at night.  (Thank God for memories!)  But I do love them now as friends.  Each of our friendships is different, just as our relationships were when they were growing up.  I have taken what I learned as we raised them and still apply it to our friendships today.  I know not to pry or ask too many questions to the one, and I actually remind myself not to talk so much at all.  Rather, I still just show up and listen, and eventually she will share what she wants to.  To the other I can give subtle suggestions, then allow her to grow them as her own, passing along full credit for even the hint of the idea.  And to yet another, I am most free to agree or disagree without ever giving a thought to any fatal damage, knowing we always come back around to meet again in the middle admiring the other's strength and ultimate wisdom.  

My girls are truly like three facets of myself, only in most perfect forms.  None of them are exactly like me, yet all of them have characteristics that are amazingly like me!  They are quiet, thoughtful, fun-loving, passionate, intense, wise, and creative.  They love God, and are raising their children to be kind, faithful and responsible.  They are much less legalistic than I was, and a million times more witty and wise.  They don't worry about the temporal and aren't the least bit shaken by what others think (usually).  They are funny beyond funny and caring beyond caring.  They are pragmatic and loyal and trustworthy, and they have a healthy respect for all things Southern (which pleases me to no end, as I wasn't born there, but got there as soon as I could!).  And finally, they each have given birth to seven of the most beautiful, intelligent and adorable angels that God has ever sent to earth.

So this Thanksgiving, I may not be standing next to any of my girls, but in my heart I will be most grateful to God for allowing me to mother three of the most amazing young women on the planet!
I love you, Shannah!
I love you, Jocelyn!
I love you, Lauren!
(Next post needs to be about my loveable hubby, huh?  ha.) 

Beyond Precious

Even though our grandkids all live within just a few minutes of us, we get to enjoy them overnight every now and then when their parents are out of town or have a late night planned.  Such was the occasion the night we kept Lauren's girls.  One of the highlights is always getting to hear all about what they are learning in school, even though the first answer is usually, "Uhh, I dunno." 

This night, however, Simone was very excited to recite her Bible verse for the week, because it happened to be the same one her big sister, Savannah, was also memorizing.  What made it so exciting for her was she had memorized not only the same verse, but the verse following, which of course made her much smarter then all the second graders.  Especially since she is only in Junior Kindergarten! 

I was thrilled when she proudly recited it for me to record, since Simone always has a mind of her own, and you never know when she'll cross her arms in resolute refusal, or when she'll be perfectly delighted to perform.  This time, she was perfectly delighted to perform.  So, may I present Miss Simone!

WORLD SERIES CHAMPS! PART 2

Tsk - tsk.  A week has gone by and no World Series Part 2 post until now.  I have been busy with a most awesome excuse, however.  Our friend, Izella, had her baby this week!  Izella found herself on our doorstep about nine years ago, new to America from Mexico, and moved into our hearts and our home.  She moved out after seven years, married two years ago, and had baby Juliana Sophia this week!  I have been busy being her stand-in Mom, and preparing my house for her sister and niece and nephew to come visit for two months!  They will stay with Izella and Dominic part of that time, but we are happy, happy to have them here again!  So that's my excuse, perhaps I will share more about them and the new baby later, but now on to the "Rest of the Story".


I began my last post by imagining being a 10 year-old boy in a World Series-winning city.  I could not have been more excited for the Cardinals to be in the World Series, so I couldn't guess who might be more excited than me... Grayson or his Papaw.  I told you about Doug's obsession with baseball, and he is obviously thrilled to have a grandson to pass his obsession on to, but mostly to share it with.  (He also has Xavier coming up through the ranks, but Xave's dad is also a baseball fan... the CUBS, of all things, so you can imagine the rivalry. Poor Xavier will be caught in the middle his whole life! ha)


I will shrink the World Series down to the final game (even though Game six was the one to remember!), and tell you that I was happy to go with Doug to the first game.  After that, I was hoping and praying that the series went to seven games, because I knew the plan was for Doug to take Gray to the final game if they made it that far.  Win or lose, Papaw and his little buddy would be there to witness baseball history. 


I pictured Gray in his 10 year-old mind seeing all things World Series bigger than they actually are, if that's possible.  Or maybe that's the awesome part... it would actually BE every bit as big as a 10 year-old could create it to be.  The players, the legends, the grass on the freshly-cut field, the crowds, the lights, the autumn night air, and of course, the hot dogs and pop, all boyhood wonder to be called forth night after night in his memory until Gray is an old man, and his Papaw a dear, faint memory. 


If you knew the relationship between Doug and Grayson you would get all of this.  This is more than just any 10 year-old boy's experience of the Cards going to the World Series.  And maybe even more than any 10 year-old boy's experience of getting to GO to the World Series. And quite possibly even more than any 10 year-old boy's experience of getting to go to the World Series with his Grandpa (although that's special, I don't care who you are).  This relationship is tight.  Doug and Gray revere each other.  Theirs is a bond so inseparable, so sweet.  When you know about this relationship, you know it was divine in the making; providential, and truly a gift from God.


Any little guy who finds himself without a father at the critical age of five is a lost little guy.  That's typically about the time boys really begin identifying with a male figure.  And Gray was the perfect little boy for a Daddy.  (see May 2009 post.)  He was inquisitive, loyal and tender-hearted.  And Doug, who had no sons, was beyond blessed to have his first granchild be a boy, Grayson Douglas.  Moreover, he got to live within five minutes of his little namesake who was now fatherless.  And so began this hand-in-glove thing between them that no one could come between.  More than once Doug held him when he melted down, as his ill-equipped, juvenile behavior tried to make sense of his loss.  He reinforced his mother's ettiquette lessons, and rough-housed with him on the living room floor.  He spent hours in our basement letting Gray ride his Harley Big Wheel tricycle around and around, and lovingly pretended the 100th round of "Speed the Road" was just as exciting as the very first time Gray created the game.  He celebrated with him the first ball he caught, and was there when he took off on his first real bike.  I have seen Doug weep over Gray, pray over him, discipline him, play with him, encourage him, wrestle with him, praise him, teach him, coach him, and laugh hysterically with him.  And now I was blessed to watch them share everything the game of Baseball represents to fathers and sons and grandfathers and grandsons all over this country.  I don't know who God's favorite team is (gasp!), but I do know that as He is the giver of all good things, He surely loves baseball, and at the very least, stood up with tears in his eyes, and cheered at the final game of this World Series 2011.  Not because of which team won, but because He is a God who lavishes on us blessings upon blessings (John 1:16), and He thought about and planned for this special relationship long before Gray needed a trustworthy man in his life and before Doug would try his hand at influencing a boy who would one day be a man. 


Of course Doug was also taking in how special it was for him to share that night with his best buddy.  He was taking in the moment when the last out was made, and the crowd went wild, and the fireworks were booming overhead, and the confetti was raining down all around them, and the players were in hopping heaps on the field, and no one was leaving the stadium.  Knowing how he would have felt as a boy, it was surely a time Doug could fully appreciate and ponder in his heart.  But evidently Gray was also fully appreciating and doing some pondering of his own.  As they were walking away from the stadium Gray looked up at Doug and said, "Hey Papaw, just think... you and me were here together for the first pitch Opening Day, and we were here tonight for the last pitch of the last game of the World Series."       
Baseball Buds forever.  Man, I love those guys.

WORLD SERIES CHAMPS!! Part One.

I need to back up a few days to the World Series celebrations here in St. Louis.  GO CARDS!  What a thrill for our grandson, AND his Papaw!  Let me just say that having no brothers or sons, I can only imagine what it would be like to be a 10-year old boy (who loves baseball!), growing up in a baseball town when your hometown team makes it to the World Series!  It's the stuff Mom and apple pie (and apparently Chevy trucks), are made of, so I hear.

I grew up in Cincinnati, and have fond memories of my dad sitting in a lawn chair in the backyard listening to the Reds' on the radio go long into the ninth inning.  I still know exactly how Marty Brennaman and Joe Nuxhall sounded announcing the play-by-play.  Their voices are burned in my memory as they brass through that distant AM radio white noise while the crack of the bat and the faint cheer of the crowd play the backdrop.  That's the sound of baseball to me.  Occasionally Woody Gleason, from across the street, would bring by a bucket of leftover chicken the nights he worked the closing shift at the new Kentucky Fried Chicken.  When we got to stay up late and eat chicken outside in our shortie pajamas while Dad listened to the game... that was summertime heaven.  So, while I had no brothers or sons, I sure have an appreciation for America's favorite past time.

Fast-forward years later when I dated a kid that lived three blocks from me who use to sit with his Dad on their front porch and listen to the same games on the same nights. The only difference was they ate fried bologna sandwiches while we were eating Woody Gleason's leftover chicken.  Doug grew up obsessed with the game, and went with his Dad as often as they could get the "company seats".  In fact, our first official date was to a Red's game at the brand new Riverfront Stadium. We sat in the blue section in those "company seats" of The Ohio Knife Company, where his dad was an executive, and that, my friends, was a BIG deal!   By the time we married, baseball was as much a part of who we were as our own DNA. 

In our newlywed years Doug and his college roommates were hooked on this baseball boardgame where they managed their teams for hours while I was employed as non-paid "ground crew", which basically meant I was the concession stand (and eventual babysitter!).  I did, however, learn who all the old valuable players were.  Of course I had heard of Babe Ruth, Dizzy Dean and Hank Aaron, but I also became quite familiar with guys like Honus Wagoner, Ernie Banks, Tris Speaker, Carl Hubbell and Rogers Hornsby.  They practically shared our little one bedroom married student apartment on Hart Street in Nashville, Tennessee, and moved with us to our next 2 places. 

The next 15 years, or so, of our marriage I lost my husband once a year to a week-long pilgrimage with his "buds" to see every National League team play in a week... no trite scheduling talent.  Later, the tradition morphed into a quest to see every MLB stadium in the country.  In addition to the yearly baseball treks, they also practically started the Fantasy Baseball craze. Our phone rang all hours of the day and night during the trading season, and this was before cell phones.  More than once passers-by did double takes to see if they were in the presence of somebody important when hearing strange and spirited conversations over a restaurant table.  "No way.  I'm keeping Nolan Ryan, but I might be willing to let Enos Cabell go for two outfielders.  The team could use a couple o' good outfielders, and you're sittin' there with more money than you know what to do with!"  More talk of rookies, protected players and trade deadlines had everyone within earshot listening. 

Such talk continued and became even more lively when the draft rolled around.  The draft was held every fall at a chalet in Gatlinburg, and conveniently for the married men, wives were cordially invited.  We bailed on being ground crew by this point, however, and opted instead for hours of mountain craft shopping, as the draft drug on round after round after round. 

So, for being a non-athletic girly-girl, I'm surprised how much baseball is in my blood (and my marriage.)   By the way, I bought those four "company seats" for Doug when they closed Riverfront in 2002, and they're in our basement today, symbols of the the love of the game. 

A Moving Walk for Cancer

This past weekend was a fast, fun and emotional few days for our family.  Some of the girl cousins decided the females in our family should all walk in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk in St Louis.  We made shirts and plans, and the Cincinnati gals caravanned over Friday night.  We met at Starbucks at 6:45am the morning of the walk and headed over to Forest Park to join thousands of other participants who had all donated their money, time and bodies to help wipe out cancer.


Cancer is a formidable opponent.  I lost one sister to cancer, and am SO grateful another sister is now cancer-free after a hugely courageous battle.  I felt so proud of her when all of us walked through the finish line arm-in-arm, symbolic of her own finish line just weeks before.  It was bittersweet to be sad and angry that she had to go through the shock, fear, surgery, chemo, radiation, pain, more fear, anger, and eventual submission and resolve, but at the same time, I felt happy that she made it through and at least had the chance to fight it.  Gloria never had that chance. 


Walking up the final hill with Janet was one of the most special sister memories for me.  She tried her best to tell me about her new perspective on life and what it felt like to have had so much support by so many people throughout her journey this past year.  We both knew I couldn't fully appreciate exactly how she was feeling, and that made me sad too.  For me, one of the very best things about having sisters is that deep understanding that they get you.  Whether you're crabbing about your husband, your kids, the IRS or the lines at Walmart, or telling about a deeply spiritual experience you've had, or just describing the sunset, you know that your sister is really listening and gets what you're saying at the same deep place of practically being there herself... like another version of yourself to share it with.  Exponential empathy.  Some times you just need someone to verify you. 

And in that moment on that hill, here she was, my little sister, my forever sidekick, the one who always waited for me to pave the way, to go first, to make it safe for her.. here she was telling me about the hardest, most scary and painful part of her life, and I couldn't fully get her.  I couldn't be at that same deep place of practically being there myself.  I couldn't verify her.  I could only be honored that she dared to speak of it with me.  And we cried.

And later that day when she took off her hat and I saw her six-month old hair growing in again at 54, I had one of those moments when life stops and everything freezes except your thoughts.  And I took it all in.  I went back to all of our growing up years, our college years, our mothering years, and now our grandmothering years.  I went back to so many laughs, and the blissful, contented hours we spend each year on our boat watching the sunset or rocking to the oldies at the beach house.  I took in once more her silent strength and her backstage wit she seems to have passed on to my middle daughter.  And I thought of all the ages and stages that have been her, that were all together present in her during her struggle with cancer.  And I was thankful she had the chance to have the new perspective she spoke of.  And I was grateful for her gratitude.  And I was mindful she, for once, had paved the way for me.. she had gone first and made it safe for me.  And I am certain that someday if I need her, she will verify me. 
I love you, Sis.  You are a hero to me.