What I Need....

My husband has been having some serious issues with his heart the last few weeks. He goes in for a hearth cath procedure tomorrow so the doctors can determine what exactly is wrong. The last few weeks he has been pale and gray. He's had no energy. He hasn't slept well. He's had chest pains, bradycardic episodes, dizziness and shortness of breath. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital one morning because he thought he was having a heart attack. He wakes up feeling sick every morning. He can't handle much activity. We went fishing for his birthday and walking to the pier and back to the car was about all he could handle. 

He's not himself. I'm beside myself. 

At the moment, I'm stoic and numb and in survivor mode where I get shit done and handle business because there's no time for me to have a breakdown right now. 

People keep asking me what I need, and it's a hard question to respond to because I know exactly what I need, but they aren't things I can ask of anyone. Unless someone dumped a load of cash in my driveway, I wouldn't get 80% of the things on this list that I need. So what do we do when we know what we need but there's no way of getting it?

I haven't found the answer to that question. In the meantime, I've got my big girl panties pulled up and I'm trudging through one difficulty after another because life is a big shit-show. 

What I need is rest.

What I need is to catch a fucking break.

What I need is for my husband to be okay and make it through all of this terrifying cardiovascular crap and feel healthy and normal again.

What I need is a friend. A real life one that shows up and loves me in spite of my flaws and inconsistencies and knows that life is a big fat mess, just like me. And one that doesn't walk away - no matter what.

What I need is for life to stop costing so much money.

What I need is for someone to fill my pantry and my fridge with all of the food so I don't have to think about groceries or spending money on groceries. And if someone wanted to come and cook all the food for my entire giant family, that would be pretty great too.

What I need is for someone to clean and organize my entire house, because I am too exhausted and overwhelmed and my house feels like chaos which leaves me with no real place to retreat to.

What I need is just a moment to fall apart. Completely.

What I need is for someone to mow my yard and make it look pretty so I don't get ugly letters from the HOA.

What I need is for someone to come do all of the laundry in my house and then fold it, put it away and hang it up.

What I need is a sleep study and a mammogram and a trip to the gyno and the dentist and all of the things I need to do to take care of my own damn body.

What I need is more therapy.

What I need is for people to stop telling me to hang in there. 

What I need is for people to stop telling me that God is preparing me for something or He's at work making me more like Christ. Just no. Stop it. I get it and I don't necessarily disagree. BUT STOP TELLING ME THIS. Like, seriously.

What I need is someone to take all of our kids this weekend so I can recover from this week's emotional rollercoaster.

What I need is for something - anything - to go right.

What I need is money. I'm missing work. My husband is missing work. We have less money coming in and more going out. Don't even get me started on medical bills. I couldn't bring myself to even open the mail yesterday as the stack of mounting bills was an invitation to a sob fest I wasn't up for.

What I need are new shoes. New bras. New clothing. A new pillow for my bed. I haven't bought myself anything from anywhere because everyone else comes first.

What I need is a very long vacation. Preferably at the beach.

What I need is a pedicure and a massage and all of the pampering so I can feel some physical relief and comfort.

What I need is Jesus - the real, physical, flesh and blood Jesus - to come to my house and hold me while I cry until I don't have any tears left. I need Him to look at me with how I imagine His understanding Jesus eyes to be, and tell me that He still loves me and all of this neverending hardship isn't a punishment for my sins because that's what everything feels like.

Splits: Church and Marriage

*Okay, so - I had planned on continuing my "Faith, Church and MORE nonsense" post, but this came out instead and I'm rolling with it.*

The great unraveling in our marriage gained speed in 2015 when our church went through a major split. Until that point, we had the sweetest community of friends we called framily (Sprint totally stole that from me by the way). We were in ministry together, had barbecues, girls nights, accountability groups, Bible studies and we would always come together if anyone was in need, donating of our time and ourselves to love on our brothers and sisters. I remember how good it felt to belong somewhere especially when I didn't feel that way in my own marriage. 

For the churchy folks reading this, the split was caused by usual church politics garbage where deacons felt like the elders and pastor weren't being leadery enough or preaching the right/relevant things. For the non-churchy folks, some people threw a fit and decided they didn't like this place anymore and used Scripture and prayer as a way of making themselves feel better about deserting the church to go to a "better" one. Many conversations were had about church problems that we were never apart of, so we were blindsided when we heard friends were literally just up and leaving. We felt led to stay while our huge group of friends at this church felt differently and moved on.  As a result, all of the friendships that were made at this church started to fizzle out and the people that we once shared countless meals and intimate details of our lives with, had basically vanished in a matter of weeks. 

Do you know how hard it is to explain a church split to a six year old? All Tommy knew was that he didn't get to see his friends anymore and he was sad and didn't understand what had happened. It broke. My. Heart.

It was devastating to me. This hurt and loss caused a major rift in my relationship with God, and without the distraction of friendships and things to do, all that felt broken with us as a couple seemed more tangible somehow. I lived with this ache in my throat, like I could fall apart at any moment in despair. I was incredibly lonely and having a large group of friends made me feel less alone. I didn't realize how much of a crutch my friends were for sustaining our marriage as long as it did. 

As it would turn out, we ended up leaving this church about a year later after I had become "too noisy." I was being much too vocal for a woman in the church, as women are supposed to be restricted only to children's ministry and other women's things, to sit and be quiet and look pretty and to absolutely not have any kind of voice of influence with the serious and spiritual men. I still have the email from the elder who when repsonding to my thoughts and concerns about the youth group and the teens I had worked with for years, told me that things were simply going to be his way. I was to remember that he was an elder and was speaking on authority of the Pastor and that as a woman and church member, I had to submit to him and his decisions. So I said no. I actually didn't have to submit to this man in any way. So, I waved good riddance and sobbed the entire way home on our last Sunday there. I deserted a couple dozen teenagers after everyone else had left them the year before and I felt like the worst person ever. It was awful. It made me want to be done with church entirely. 

Fast forward another year and a half, the same people who disappeared in the church split, were the exact same people who crawled out of the woodwork to rebuke me for wanting to divorce my husband. Mind you, I hadn't seen or spoken to these people IN A VERY LONG TIME. They had deserted us when everything was falling apart. At the time I was very angry and I told most of them in ugly, angry ways to basically leave me the hell alone and work on their own damn marriages since they had it all figured out. Not my finest hour, but I was very not okay and I pushed everyone else who gave an actual sincere damn away from me because I wanted to feel something other than sad and miserable. I was convinced that mirrors and truth-tellers would keep me in my marital misery. 

It broke me to leave there and it ended up breaking us too. Without the community of people we had grown accustomed to doing life with, there was little left for me to hang on to. I had tried to be as godly as possible and throw myself into every Bible and church activity I could be a part of hoping that I just needed a spiritual kick in the pants to keep me committed to my marriage. The things that usually worked for me didn't work. It took us ages to find another church to call home, and even then, I felt cautious and weary to get involved with anything outside of Sunday morning service. When our marriage ended, there were only a few people that knew or noticed. Our Bible study group frantically tried to keep us together but then ultimately wrote me off because I had no interest in anything other than getting a divorce. Everyone seemed shocked that I wasn't willing to "let him work on some things," and I wasn't "giving him a chance." All I have to say to people like that is: SHUSH YOUR MOUTH. You don't know what you don't know.  

Sidebar: FYI, people going through divorces aren't okay. Realize you don't know the whole story and offer them some unconditional support and encouragement. Regardless of the circumstances, what God says in Scripture about how He hates divorce, or your personal convictions - there is so much going on that you cannot, will not and don't need to understand or know about. Just love people without judgement. And if you can't, then SAY NOTHING and go about your business. 

I went about everything all wrong when it came to my divorce and social media. Shortly after I had filed, I met Travis and we went public with our relationship before my divorce was final. Again, not my finest hour or wisest choice, but there's no going back and undoing what I did. Meeting Travis though was extraordinary and I cannot convey in any amount of words how good it felt to be HAPPY. 

Was it so wrong to want to be with someone new and feel happy after a very long time of not knowing happiness in a relationship? If you ask a churchy person, their answer would be a loud and very holy-sounding, YES. That is wrong. And for good measure, this statement would also be added: "God doesn't care about your happiness Jennifer. He only cares about your holiness." I felt like I had to make a choice between God and being free from a life-less and sad marriage. So I chose freedom.

What I didn't realize then, was that I never had to choose.

Eighteen and Thirty-Seven

Eighteen years old and at my mother's funeral, I refused to go into the sanctuary until they had closed the casket.  After watching my vibrant mother self-destruct to drugs, alcohol and depression, I had watcher her morph into another person and couldn't imagine seeing her dead body dressed up inside  a box.  I had to concentrate to muster up tears that day.  I couldn't cry.  Everyone came up to me tearful and full of sorrow, saying how sorry they were for me.  Yet, I remained stoic and numb.  Tears that ordinarily come easily for me did not come that day.

I had already mourned my mother's death in the two years prior to her passing.  Watching her change and succumb to addictions and several asshole men was a devastating thing to watch as a teenager.  I knew she was dying a little bit more with every passing day.  All of my tears had already been cried, so the day she died I almost felt relieved.  Some of my pain would stop because now my mother was dead and gone, not just avoiding me and cutting me out of her life because it was too hard to see me.

My marriage was like that.

The day I went down to the courthouse and filed for divorce, I pressed inward to search my feelings but I couldn't find sadness.  There was peace and then guilt for feeling peace.

According to some of my family and most of my friends, I should definitely not be feeling peace when I am stepping out of God's will and ending the covenant I made to my husband before God.  I was afraid to ask Him why I felt that way.  Had it come from Him or had He left me now that I had committed what some believe to be an unforgivable sin?  Does God allow us to feel His peace when we've committed the magnanimous sin of divorce?  I was scared to hear those answers.

Thirty-seven years old, no tears fell on the day I went to finalize the divorce.  Seeing the words "decree of divorce" with our names written in black and white brought more peace.  I breathed deeply and that familiar feeling of relief set in as I knew some of my pain would stop because our marriage was officially and legally over.  All that I had been holding and living with was no longer a burden I had to bear.  It felt good to let it go.

Now I hold the tension of relief and sorrow.  My ambivalent feelings of abundant happiness and dark sorrow have been difficult to navigate through.  Daily, I feel the weight of the pain and hurt I have caused my ex-husband, the boys and our family and friends.  Those are the places I easily find my tears again.  I've held both of my boys in my arms weeping with them saying I'm sorry, over and over again; giving them permission to feel whatever it is they do, even if it's anger or hurt towards me. I imagine that is something I will always carry as this was a decision that I did not come to quickly or easily.  And it was costly - just as costly as I imagined it would be.

Maybe we're all given a certain amount of tears meant to be cried over one thing or one person.  Or maybe the lack of them, or the running out of tears means our grief has moved into the phase of acceptance and something inside us moves forward with surprising ease.  Because during the really, really hard times, we felt our feelings and cried our tears and screamed our screams.  We didn't stuff or suppress them or numb them away with too much pizza or tumblers full of vodka.  We gave those feelings words and paintings, tattoos and photographs because we learned to turn pain into beauty.

Remaining present in the sad, gray moments and feeling my longings collide with reality was a daily fight for me, especially in my marriage.  But I fought, and I felt it and I know in the depth of my heart that I gave my all, my whole heart and whole effort to my marriage.

The shift came and the hard decision I wrestled with for so long was made, my soul was finally at rest.  And regardless of what anyone else thinks or believes or assumes - there is peace.

A Hallowed Heart

It was raining without clouds.  It seemed fitting somehow to drive through blue skies on the way to the cemetery, rain still managing to find us.  Gray road stretched out before me, I kept wondering how tragedies and heartaches that happened over a lifetime ago could feel this new.  I have lived with loss and know the darkness of death, but grief still takes me by surprise.

My boys were in the back seat in ties and black Sunday shoes.  This was their first time time to go to a cemetery and they wanted to dress nice.  When my Uncle died two years ago, they went to the funeral, but the family chose to wait until now to bury his ashes.  He was going to be laid to rest next to my mom and brother.  My feelings were so overwhelming I could feel them aching in my throat and surging through my legs that made me want to run.  It felt like something was trying to come out of my body and I quickly recognized the trauma tied to those physical sensations.  I closed my eyes and took breath after breath, long and deep, until I felt my core settle inside of me.

We arrived at the place.  Sacred earth housing the bones of loved ones and memories never made, I got out of the truck, holding my son's hand in my own.  Feelings began to swirl inside of me.  My brother's ten year life, how betrayal and alcohol destroyed my mother, stealing her spark and light and heartbeat.  I was feeling forgotten and missed, much like my mother's headstone in that sticker burred country cemetery.  I showed my boys where they were buried.  I could feel bellowing sobs forming in my gut as I saw Tommy touch my brother's grave, his eight year old fingers tracing the letters "The Greatest Blessing," that was etched into gray granite.  I put my hand on my mother's stone. "Child of God, Beloved Mother of AJ," it read.  I didn't remember that was what it said and the words sat heavy with me.  She was my mother too, yet those words felt true.  She was more his mother than mine and the ambivalence I feel about her was as tangible as the crunchy dead grass beneath my feet.

We laughed and cried and prayed together as my Uncle's ashes were put into the ground.  I think we all felt the finality of something, ever aware of a unique hole his absence has created inside of each one of us.  His wasn't the only hole inside of me.  I thought about AJ and my mom, Aaron - my first love, the death of dreams and the unmet longings I carry on the outside and inside of me.  It looks like a double-chin and a large belly, and feels like a watercolor mess of tragedy and indescribable joy, splattered and swirled together with darkness and light.

My face was wet with tears as we walked back through the cemetery, the living among the dead.  You can't walk on hallowed ground and not feel the gravity of death and how it has changed you.  My heart like a headstone, chiseled and marked with all of the pain, all the joy and the broken, beautiful pieces of my story that make up who I am.

The clouds were gray and pregnant with rain.  Eyes and sky both crying as my husband reached for my hand.

Circle the Wagons

My Uncle died Saturday morning.  Suddenly, shockingly and devastatingly fast.  Our family is in shock as anyone might be.  He was 52, healthy, thriving, and full of life.  And yet, here we all are, waiting to wake up from some kind of dream as deaths this sudden take some time to really settle in.

I got the call while I was out getting Tommy a haircut.  My cousin's words of "My daddy is gone, my daddy is gone," still play back vividly in my mind.  I nearly fell to my knees on the floor of Sports Clips and wailed and sobbed loudly.  Everyone there stopped and surrounded me.  Strangers hugged me and asked what they could do.  A very kind man helped me to the car, strapped Jacob in to his carseat and paid for Tommy's haircut.  I was grateful to experience the kindness of humanity that day.

We all made our way to my Aunt and Uncle's house.  One by one, family by family, we all showed up.  We spent the day huddled together.  Crying in waves, recalling memories, making logistical plans, wondering if this was all real. We talked about how we always forget how precious life is until something like this happens.  It's as if we all wake up from a daze and realize that traffic jams or your neighbor's annoying dogs or silly disagreements really don't matter at all, because if you lose your family, you've lost a piece of your heart that you can't ever get back.  And how much of our lives we waste being "busy" when all of us threw all of our plans out the window that day and came together.  Nothing else mattered but family then.

Saturday and Sunday I wanted to keep close.  To have my people near me and where I could see them.  I wanted to do nothing more than sit with all of my family - my parents, my sisters, my Grandparents and cousins and just be together, because it felt safe.  Like nothing else can happen to us if we are all joined together as one.

For the handful of people that come here to read, I covet your prayers for our family.  We rejoice, knowing that we have hope in Jesus, that we will see him again.  And someday, there will be no more pain, no more tears, no more sudden goodbyes.

For now, we've circled the wagons.  And together, we cry and grieve and ache, yet we don't despair as we look forward in faith to that very day.

Seen

Maybe it's silly to have ever thought this was possible:  I thought I could be a fun enough or awesome enough or cool enough mom for my kids to never notice this.  I thought I could make up for some huge flaw of mine by being amazing and exciting and super-loving.  Yet I've learned that I couldn't.  My child still saw me.

I knew this day was going to come.  I should have expected it.  But I was caught off guard and going through my morning routine when out of the blue, those huge words were spoken and they knocked the air out of me just like I always knew they would.

We were having normal morning conversation.  Talking about school and breakfast and the silly dream I had the night before about Ironman.  Todd was putting his shoes on in the living room and I was making my salad to take for lunch at work. 

"That Ironman suit would be too skinny for you mom."

"What?" I said, not completely hearing or understanding what he said.

"That Ironman suit would be too SKINNY for you.  I mean, you still look like you're pregnant."  

And in a matter of seconds, my heart felt like it had shattered all over the floor.  I felt embarassed and angry and so hurt.  I started crying and realizing that these tears were going to be exponential, I ran to my room and sobbed everywhere.  I could hear Todd scolding Tommy for his words.  And all I could do was cry.

I remember wondering a long time ago what it might feel like to have my own child, my own flesh and blood, say something negative about my size.  I have known that if and when it ever happened, it would devastate me which is why, just as I have my whole life, have been trying to get this whole weight thing under some kind of control.  And it continues to be an exhausting battle and a thing I can't seem to get rid of.  I am beyond frustrated and angry with myself and my body and with God about all of it I could scream - and sometimes I do. 

Most of the time I feel shamed and misunderstood and judged by others.  I feel like I have let others down because I have been a disappointment - unfixable by any help they ever tried to offer.  I have changed here - so much - yet my body doesn't reflect those changes.  I have seen a doctor about it recently and the diet I tried was the WRONG one and I haven't had the guts to seek out another doctor because I've been sitting my feelings of failure here.  Just as I have every other time I have tried anything new. 

I feel so exposed to the world.  YOU can see my struggle.  YOU can see what I hold and carry.  YOU can see that I have a problem.  And because YOU can see it, you often try to fix it or help or something. And I am really only left feeling wounded by YOU.  And the One person who I have turned to again and again and AGAIN doesn't seem to hear me.  Or help me.  Or give me whatever strength it is I need to stick to a healthy way of living.  And my stupid RA has slowed me down and ravaged my body and made exercise more than difficult. 

There is so much anger here. Mostly at myself, but perhaps equally, with God.  I am pissed at Him.  For giving this thing to me.  For letting me be set up to have it in the first place.  For not helping me overcome it when His scripture tells me that I'm more than a conqueror and I'm free and all of the things that says we don't have to live stuck in a place like this.  And I'm really pissed because of His silence.  He doesn't speak to me here. 

For the last few months, I've been ignoring Him.  Being silent back.  Because I just don't know what else to do anymore, and I don't know what to do with a God that doesn't help me with something I keep bringing to Him.  I've been discouraged in my faith because I've let this shake some of the things I believe and I feel like I've failed somehow as a Christian.

On a regular basis, I talk with Tommy about how different people are.  How some people are tall or short, big or small, different colors, or in a wheelchair, or wear black lipstick.  And how we don't want to say anything negative about people's differences because really, we are all the same.  We are all human and we have hearts and we all feel and we all desperately need Jesus.  And there is no reason to be afraid or hateful or ugly about how anyone is different than we are.  We talk about the importance of being mindful with our words so we don't hurt anyone's feelings.

Even in these conversations, I know I was trying to prevent his words from ever hitting me.  Trying to make sure that he would never point out what makes me different.  What I'm teaching him is true, but I have been trying to protect myself in the midst of it.

I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that my son wasn't trying to be negative.  He is very logical and blunt and I think he was stating something that felt like a fact to him.  It wasn't until he saw my reaction and received a talking-to from Todd that he realized what he said was "bad."

And more so, he learned that there was something "bad" about my body.

Tommy came back to my room to talk to me.  He was crying too, devastated that he had hurt my feelings and not knowing that he had.  I tried my best to cover his little heart.  I tried to say all of the things that he needed to hear.  I told him it was okay.  I told him I know he didn't mean to hurt my feelings and that I know he loves me.  I told him that the size of my belly was something that made me different, and because of it's size, it's something I don't like about myself.  I told him that when he said what he did, it reminded me how much I don't like how big my belly is and that's why it hurt my feelings.  I told him I loved him and that nothing he could ever say would change how much I loved him.  And that he was a kind boy and I knew he didn't mean to hurt me.  I grasped for all of the perfect words because I didn't want him to feel like he had to carry any of my shame or struggle or feel guilty for any of it. 

He didn't say anything that wasn't true.  I would not fit in the Ironman suit.  And the size of my stomach does make me look like I'm still pregnant.  He was right.

And sitting there crying with my almost 6 year-old, I felt so incredibly exposed and vulnerable.  Having to admit to him that there was something about myself that I don't like.  And now he knows what it is.  And my head began reeling with the thoughts of what he could be gathering from all of this.

It was hard to bounce back that day.  I still haven't completely recovered from it.  If anything, I'm only angrier.  And it's clear, that anger is getting me nowhere. 

I'd like to say that this story has a happy ending.  Or hearing these words from my son was the motivation I needed to get my ass in gear and stick to a diet program.  But, it hasn't been that. 

If I have any hope (and hoping in this place feels almost ridiculous) it is that I could grow from it.  To realize that I can't really love my boys by hiding the things from them that I don't like about myself.  That I need to be more honest and transparent and real in this place to my children.  To encourage them in healthy ways of living that I wasn't pointed to.  And to take the best care of myself that I can so I can continue to be here for them. 

As for God, I want to not be angry anymore.  I want to make peace with Him here and let go of all of the things I am blaming Him for and where I hold Him responsible.  Because maybe that's the problem.  I'm holding on to so much in this place, that there is no space left to receive anything, not even a word or His voice.  I wish I could figure out how to let it all go.

A Thrill of Hope

This December, I currently feel lost in a swirl of suffering.  Not of my own, but others around me hurting and dying and grieving.  Pain upon pain it keeps coming in waves for loved ones around me and I can't stop it or fix it or say anything or do anything to make it better.  I can't feel the hurts for them, and I can't take away cancer, and I can't put a baby inside of a womb, and I can't bring back loved ones from the dead.

I feel restless though.  Desperately wanting to do something, say something, be somewhere.  If I take a meal or clean a house or write a card or give them my face and my tears then maybe it will bring some comfort, some relief.  And though those acts are kind, I can't be what any of them are needing.  I can't be Who they are needing.

There were moments in my evening the other night that I stood over my stove making a meal for my family, all whole and healthy and present, and I found myself weeping into a pot of beef stew.  Maybe because I feel guilty for all I have when others seem to be having these same things ripped from them.

But it's more than guilt.  It's this unnameable feeling that comes when you feel what someone else is feeling.  When you are bearing one another's burdens and weeping with those who are weeping.

I wish I could somehow feel all of my Robin's pain so she could have some relief - even for a day.  She bears so much physical pain and an emotional heartache that I could never understand the depths of.  My best friend in the whole world....her mom is dying. I can hardly bear the thought of her knowing this kind of loss and I have found myself crying off and on for days, hurting not just for my friend and for my Robin - but hurting with them.

More news this week of death and hardship and break-ups and disappointments and broken relationships and deep, deep need.  Here, now in this beautiful season of Christmas and miracles and giving.  And hope.

I keep asking Him why now, why in this season, why during Christmas.  The timing seems off and all of this sorrow and suffering doesn't coincide with all of my Hallmark movies with cliche endings and cheesy story lines and how it always magically snows at the very end of the movie.

And as I finished bathing my boys and getting them tucked safely in bed, I walked past a cabinet in my living room. 

A reminder of Him.  A reminder of what God gave us.  Hope here on earth.  The answer to our suffering.  My Jesus.

A thrill of hope....the weary world rejoices.

Day 8: Advice

Today's prompt:  A piece of advice you have for others.  Anything at all.

Feel.

 

Don't be afraid to let yourself feel pain.  It's only pain and pain will pass.

 

Feel what you need to feel, when you need to feel it. 

 

Cry it out.  Scream.  Grieve.  Write something.  Talk it out. Go for a walk.  Pray.

 

But, don't wait until later.  Don't bottle it up.  Don't hold on to it.

 

Pain held inside and bottled up, almost always grows into bitterness and resentment.  It looks like burned out and weary, contempt and shame.  It leaks out in the forms of addictions and unhealthy behaviors.

 

Waiting to feel it will only make it worse.  Waiting only makes the pain more painful.

 

Waiting to feel it will cost you.  It will cost you your sanity, your happiness, your pocketbook, your relationships, maybe even your life.

 

Give yourself the space to feel.

 

 

They're just feelings.  Don't be afraid to give them some space.  Feel them.  And move on.

Sore Spots

The weather this weekend was divinely gorgeous so I spent a good chunk of it outside walking and going up and down steep inclines. As a result - MY. LEGS. ARE. SORE. My soreness is one of those pains that almost feels good though - because I'm making progress and living well and being kind to my body. It feels like a reminder of where it feels good to change and where sometimes pain, while still painful, means that something good is happening inside of you.

All of this reminded me of something my dad said that has stayed with me since I wrote about my brother a couple of weeks ago.

"I too have sore spots in my memories; almost as fresh as they were back then. But I am thankful for those sore spots and I hope that I can live the rest of my life feeling the same 'pain' because I know that A.J.'s life had and still has an impact on who I am today, and I never want to lose that."

I'm thankful for the sore spots.

I'm thankful for the pain.

I'm thankful for where pain has had an impact on me.

I see where pain has made me who I am today.

I don't want to lose the reminders of where pain changes me.

Those words came from my father. A man who has both loved me and hurt me in my story; who has walked through some of my pain and been the source of some of it too. Those words have been soul-soaking for me. There was a time that I might not have heard words like this from my dad because of where my heart was hard and angry. It feels good to see where I am soft enough to really hear them. He spoke these words from his heart and it has invited me to be curious about my own "sore spots."

The pain I feel in my legs today remind me of where I can be thankful for the sore spots in my story. Some places feel easier to feel thankful for than others, but I am recognizing where gratitude has sprung from the places that was the home for all of my hurt.

Pain has changed me and made me more than I was. I hope it continues to. I hope to always be thankful for the sore spots.

Late December

The days that follow Christmas are my least favorite days of the entire year. I find myself somber and serious. And weepy. And any disappointment feels amplified.

Maybe it's because Christmas usually feels anti-clamactic. Like all of the Christmas fun is had before the actual day itself. Then it finally arrives and it's over and life goes back to the non-Christmasy normal and suddenly I'm hating that my house feels so cluttered with ornaments and snowmen and greenery and I just want everything to feel clean and in it's place again. It's like the merrying has to stop cold-turkey and now it's just a regular Tuesday. Not a carriage-riding, cookie-baking, carol-singing Tuesday.

Yesterday, I was kind to myself and let the decorations stay and did things like laundry and toilet scrubbing instead. This Christmas season has been so wonderful and full and I didn't want my typical after-Christmas mood to spoil the beauty that was still left to be had this last week too. The decorations can remain - just one more week.

A cloud settles in over me this time every year. I should stop feeling surprised that it still comes.

Tomorrow marks twelve years that my mom died. And the day after that is eleven years that Aaron died too. Both of their deaths were so long ago, yet so much in my heart feels sad and full of grief. Even with all the time that has past, my heart still remembers them. They are hard days. There still seems to be pain to cry over. I wonder if I will always be like this. Where every late December will be tear-filled and quiet and sad. Maybe it will. And maybe that's okay - I just have to learn how to better care for my heart this time of year.

I know I need people. But it feels easier to be alone. It feels like I'm supposed to isolate and cry my tears by myself. It feels hard to invite anyone in. Maybe because it feels foolish to cry eleven and twelve year old tears.

The year is coming to an end. I find myself more introverted and closed. Reflecting on the year behind me - where it's been glorious and where it's been hard. And wondering what the next year might hold too. Like every year past, I wonder if this will finally be the year that I can break through this damn weight demon and be healthy and normal.

It's late December and I feel winter's chill and what death has taken from me. I am seeing how I've dealt with it and what it has cost me.

On loss and life

I said goodbye today to my very special and dear friend Bethany. There has been much ambivalence about her leaving. I am excited about the adventure she is starting with her family in Michigan, and I feel sadness at losing someone who knows and loves me like she does.

It's felt like a loss because it is a loss. I know in my heart our friendship isn't going anywhere. But the distance will change it, and there has been much to grieve there. I've been grateful for the places she has allowed me to vocalize how I feel.

These last few days though, I've been reflecting on how much loss I've experienced in my lifetime.

The loss of a brother. The loss of having a "normal" family. The loss of my parent's marriage. The loss of memories that never got to be made because of the divorce. The loss of my mother to alcohol. The loss of my mother in death. The loss of my dreams of singing and "making it big" in the opera world. The loss of my boyfriend to a violent murder. The loss of much money and pride to a man who quite literally robbed me and was never to be found again. The loss of heartbreak and rejection by the man I thought was supposed to be my husband. The loss of a church. The loss of relationships.

Those things feel like the "highlights" so-to-speak.

Those losses felt big because they are big. Yet I never really entered in to those things and let myself feel what was going on. Partially because I didn't know how, and partially because I just didn't want to. I've lived my life just trying to survive my losses instead of entering in to them, feeling them and grieving. And I've dealt with loss by medicating with addictions and just checking out.

Maybe it's my age or the work I've put in to therapy and counseling, or maybe it's just the grace of God. But as I've navigated through this newest loss in life and saying goodbye to a woman who is probably one of the best friends I've ever had, I've chosen to really enter in. As hard as it's been, I've pushed through and allowed myself to cry the moments that needed tears. I've voiced the times when it's hurt. I've remained present in this loss. I've fought the urges to medicate or check out.

As a result, it's felt like a light bulb has gone off for me. All of the things that were ever lost for me - I didn't do this. I never allowed myself to enter in to loss and acknowledge everything I was feeling and just get in it. It makes sense why I am where I am today - I am just now, only in the last few years, allowing myself to feel all that was lost for me. I'm crying tears that I didn't cry when I was 14, and 17, and 21 and 24.

It feels both beautiful and redeeming for this loss to be the one that I first truly entered in to as it was happening. In doing so, it allowed me to love and be present for her in a way that she needed.

Before she left, Bethany gave me an old wreath that she thought I might be able to breathe some new life into.
After we said goodbye today, I went to Hobby Lobby and bought some felt and came home to do just that. Breathe some new life into an old wreath that my friend gave to me.
New life seems to be waiting on the other side of loss. How about that...

Packing

Last night, I spent several hours at B's house helping her pack things up for the big move. Several of us gals were there to help, but I found it hard to engage with anyone. It felt weird - to pack up someone else's dishes, someone else's home - and not just someone else. A very important and a very loved someone else that it just hurts really, really bad to say goodbye to.

I cried when I put bubble wrap over a picture of her and her husband because that felt hardest of all. And even though it felt painful, I wouldn't have wanted to be in any other place doing any other thing last night. Even though it was hard, it was good to be there too. All of it feels messy, but I wanted to be in this messy place with her. Maybe when you really love someone, messy places feel less messy just because you have someone to share in it with you.

I worked until my body felt sore and then I was grateful to feel the physical pain, because it almost felt like relief for my heart to feel something else, even for a moment.

The night went late but much was accomplished. It felt sad to walk out of her home - a place where we've shared slices of pizza and cups of coffee and tears and screaming boys while trying to have real conversations. The walls are now bare and where toys took up space, there are boxes and packing paper. Cupboards are empty and the garage is full of all of our labor ready for a moving truck to haul to a whole new state.

As painful as it's been, I've fought to let myself feel here. To feel the pain of her going and what it means. It's hard, and yet it's felt good and beautiful to share such closeness before she goes too. It's been worth the fight to remain alive so that I could feel everything my heart needs to feel. I guess I've experienced a lot of loss in my life and I didn't want this loss to be one that I numbed out to. It feels too important and I love her too much to not feel it all. And maybe, just maybe, I'm learning what it actually looks like to push into loss and the feelings that come with it. She also happens to be the kind of friend that lets me have my tears and doesn't shut them down. Even if they are about bubble wrapping framed pictures of her smiling face.

I didn't take any pictures last night. Partly because it just didn't feel right and partly because I didn't feel like I would need a picture to remember where my heart was either. Sometimes, the most memorable memories don't ever need to be captured with a camera.

Even though last night was laced with pain, it was also graced with beauty, friendship and sincere love. And I will remember all of it for always.

Another Loss

Yesterday was a very sad day in our house. Our sweet dog Hunter left us and went to be with a new family. The reasons behind why we made the decision to find a new home for Hunter are ours and are personal. Simply put, we did what was best for our dog and what was hardest for us.

After doing some extensive calling around and searching, we found him a very loving and the most ideal of homes. A family who just had their old lab put down two weeks ago were grieving the loss of their old dog and when they got the call about Hunter, they knew they needed and wanted him to be a part of their family. They also have another dog so Hunter will have a playmate. They are an active family with two teenagers and have a huge yard for him to run around in. He will be very happy and very loved. And since they are here in town we may be able to even stop in on occasion and say hello.

And what was their gain and happiness is for sure our loss. As we sat there tearful and sad last night, my mind couldn't help but wandering to their family. Where they were celebrating and rejoicing and laughing and enjoying who was once ours.

After the man drove away with our beautiful brown lab yesterday evening, Todd and I hugged each other and cried like babies. Our dining room already feels emptier without his dog kennel by the door. It already feels weird to not hear his barking in the backyard or howling at airplanes flying over head. Todd was restless through the night and he said this morning it will take some time adjusting to not needing to wake up early so he can let Hunter out and feed him first thing.

This loss hits my husband much harder than me. Hunter was mostly his. His dream to have his own hunting dog, his companion and his friend. Giving Hunter away is a loss of many losses for Todd. Over the last year I have watched my husband give up or sell or sacrifice just about everything that he has held dear to him for a long time. And much of that has been for the sake of Tommy and me. I have felt helpless as I've watched thing after thing be sold or given up. While I don't know what all this is for or what God is doing in the heart of my husband, the only thing I do know is that He is at work doing something. He is moving in his heart in new ways, though it's painful to sit with him in it.

Todd's hands have been emptied of dreams and possessions that has almost defined him for years. I'm anxious to see and watch God fill them with something new. And I'm also grieved at having to sit where I am, watching, and unable to do anything but comfort and love on this man that God gave me. I hate feeling helpless and like I can't fix something for him or make him feel better. But perhaps this part of my husband's heart is only for God to come in and fill with something great.

We will miss our sweet Hunter.
We are comforted knowing that he will be well loved and attended to. And we are sad he had to go.
And I am hopeful for my husband.
I am hopeful for where God will show up in new dreams and new things and new places.

That's When

It's when I'm left alone in the silence.

It's when my little boy has gone to bed and Todd has either gone out or isn't home yet. When I don't have either of them needing something of me.

It's when the last guest of the party has left and all of the laughter that was filling the walls of your home feel hollow and empty.

It's when I've loaded all of the pictures off of my camera onto Facebook and there's nothing left to do but remember the memories that were made.

It's the remembering the memories. So fresh. So yesterday. So only hours ago.

It's when the chocolate-chocolate cupcake I ate is gone and the hurt that I am hurting inside still hurts.

It's when all of the laundry is put away and all of the dishes are done and everything feels caught up and there's nothing left to busy myself with anymore.

It's then.

It's then that I have nothing left to do but feel.

Tonight I am feeling. All of it.

Tears

I sang on worship team today and cried when we sang "It is well." It's kind of my favorite hymn ever, and because my heart felt so tender already, it felt even more meaningful than usual. And I decided it was okay that the congregation saw my tears.

The pastor spoke of hope today. I needed the words he had and I was grateful I didn't let the fact that Todd had to work today keep me from going to church alone. I cried through the last twenty minutes of his sermon.

I met Ellen in the hallway after service and more tears spilled out. The tears that I carefully contain inside of me until someone like her has the kind of eyes that when they ask how you are, you really tell them because they really want to know. "Your tears are a gift Jenn." She always tells me that. And I always appreciate the reminder.

When Paula hugged me and we made plans for coffee tomorrow, I cried because of how eager and excited she was in wanting to spend time with me.

My cousin's boyfriend said goodbye to Tommy and threw him up in the air, and it kind of felt like watching what "could be" between the two of them someday. I felt happy and sad and overwhelmed all at the same time. And I didn't want them to see me crying, so I held them back and swallowed them whole.

I got tired of crying and went for a "run" on the hill. It felt good to feel a burn in my legs and muscles rather than what had been aching in my heart all day long. But then the run was over and I cried on the drive home.

Todd and I talked about our anger tonight and how different mine looks from his. And I cried when I told him I was sorry for how nasty I could be.

Grammy and I talked on the phone tonight. I told her about how awesome church was and where I was needing prayer and encouragement. I gave her my tears even though she couldn't see them.

One of my oldest and dearest friends gave birth to their baby boy tonight - their second child. And they are fine and healthy and doing fabulously. And I cried and I'm not really sure why.

Today was the kind of day that needed a magnitude of tears.

A kiss to make it better

Tommy is at the age right now, where if he has a little fall or gets any kind of "boo-boo," that my kisses have some kind of magical power to make him feel instantly all better. I love that he comes to me with a little pout on his face showing me his latest ailment. He will say to me, "A kiss all better."

Pretty much melts my heart every single time.

So I give him a little kiss and he goes on his merry way. I love that he comes to me and asks for what he's needing. I love that he wants me to know of his pain, even as little or insignificant as it may be. I love that after I've given him a kiss, he has felt comfort and can return to playing and his little world feels okay again.

We all grow out of that at some point. I'm curious when it is we don't need mommy's kisses to make things all better anymore. I know it's a phase that most kids go through (and thankfully we grow out of it, because if my son were 13 and asking for my kisses to make his boo-boo better we would have a problem), yet I'm curious why it stops and when it stops.

And I've been curious about pain lately; what I do with it when I begin to feel it. My fleshly and almost natural reaction is to go to some kind of soother and find a way to cope with it. And this is where I have become caught up in addiction after addiction, time and again. My desire is to feel it, be alive to it, acknowledge it, and sit with it instead of trying to just cope with it. That's what I've done for years and it hasn't worked well for me.

This morning my heart is aching. Some dear friends of ours told us that they are moving away. And though we kind of knew this day was coming and there is much joy surrounding all of it too, I am still sad at the thought of one of my best friends not being here anymore.

Tiffany left. And now them. And my cousin will be gone next year. It feels like some of my closest friendships are being ripped away from me and things are changing. And I'll admit that I'm often all for change, until change costs me something like this. I'm sad at imagining life without all of these people here that I love so much. And it feels too gross to imagine or hope for what other relationships could look like yet. Because right now I just want to sit with what their absence will mean.

I guess as we grow, pain just looks different and it has to. We have to deal with it differently because pain goes beyond scrapes or scratches. Pain goes deep to the heart. It has a ripple affect on our lives and how we live and what we do when no one is looking. So for me, it means sitting with my sadness and just feeling this loss rather than running to something to help me cope. Pain continues to reveal my desperate need for God and it feels like He is all about wanting me to see that right now.

Though, I am kind of wishing there was a way a kiss could make it all better again.