In October we remember Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I am reading and reflecting on both my experiences and the thoughts of others about domestic violence during this month. This action is important to me as a survivor of domestic violence.
One book I’m reading for Domestic Violence Awareness Month is “Telling the Truth: Preaching about Sexual and Domestic Violence,” which was written in 1998. In the chapter titled “The Wounds of Jesus, the Wounds of my people, M. Shawn Copeland writes the following:
Violence entails the direct or indirect exercise of “physical, biological or spiritual pressure” by one person [or group] on another. When that pressure exceeds a “Certain threshold [it] reduces or annuls [human] potential for performance, both at an individual and group level.”
M. Shawn Copeland
It’s true. I am a grateful recovering alcoholic. My life was awful when I lived in fear. It was better when I was separated from my abuser. In the past, I thought my only hope was a bottle because my life was miserable. When I heard that no one loved me, I believed it was true. The problem was that it wasn’t true.
Now my life is blest compared to my past. It’s great to live with love and see my life with hope. It’s possible because violence is not in my everyday life.
No one needs to live in fear. No one needs to live with someone else’s evil crutch. You can walk away and it can get better. It may not be easier, but it will be a lot better.
En Octubre recordamos el mes de concientización sobre la violencia doméstica. Estoy leyendo y reflexionando sobre ambas mis experiencias y los pensamientos de otra sobre violencia doméstica durante este mes. Esta acción es importante para mi como un sobreviviente de violencia doméstica.
Un libro estoy leyendo para el mes de concientización sobre la violencia doméstica es “Decir la verdad: Predicando sobre la violencia sexual y doméstica”, que fue escrito en 1998. En el capítulo titulado “Las llagas de Jesús, las llagas de mi pueblo”, M. Shawn Copeland escribió lo siguiente:
La violencia implica el ejercicio directo o inderecto do una “presión fisica, biologica o espiritual” por parte de una persona [o grupo] sobre obra. Cuando esa persión excede un “cierto umbral, reduce o anula el potencial [humano] de desempeño, tanto a nivel individual como grupal”.
M. Shawn Copeland
Es verdad. Soy un alcohólico agradecido en recuperación. Mi vida fue malisima cuando vivia en mieda. Fue mejor cuando me separaba de mi abusadora. En el pasado, pensaba que mi unica esperanza era una botella porque mi vida era misera. Cuand escuchaba que nadie me amaba, creía que era verdad. El problema es que no era verdad.
Ahora, mi vida es bendusumas en comparción con mi pasado. Es estupendo vivir con amar y ver mi vida con esperanza. Es posible porque la violecia no está en todos mis dias.
Nadie necesita vivir en miedo. Ninguna persona necesita vivir con la muleta malvada de otra persona. Puedes alejarte y puede mejorar. Tal vez no sea más fácil, pero si mucho mejor.
“He said to them, ‘Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if a wife divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.’ ”
Mark 10:11-12, Common English Bible
In October we remember Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I am reading and reflecting on both my experiences and the thoughts of others about domestic violence during this month. This action is important to me as a survivor of domestic violence.
In the past, when I thought about divorced people, I didn’t understand that a divorced person is a person who needs to be loved. I didn’t understand how much pain a person could feel when life separated them from their spouse. The pain is horrible. I didn’t understand and read Jesus’ words without compassion.
When I read Jesus’ words today, I understand that Jesus rarely spoke about life in order to teach people to help bring harsher laws into their lives. Divorced people need compassion and Jesus wanted people to avoid grief and sorrow.
When I think about these words today, I have compassion for divorced people, including myself. I needed physical, spiritual, and mental security that I didn’t have. Jesus loves me and would be glad that I chose to live when I wanted to crawl into a hole forever.
«El que se divorcia de su esposa y se casa con otra, comete adulterio contra la primera —respondió—. Y si la mujer se divorcia de su esposo y se casa con otro, comete adulterio.»
Marcos 10:11-12, Nueva Versión Internacional
En Octubre recordamos el mes de concientización sobre la violencia doméstica. Estoy leyendo y reflexionando sobre ambas mis experiencias y los pensamientos de otra sobre violencia doméstica durante este mes. Esta acción es importante para mi como un sobreviviente de violencia doméstica.
En el pasado, cuando pensaba sobre personas divorciadas, no entendí que una persona divorciada es una persona que necesita que se ame. No entendí cuánto dolor una persona podía sentirse cuando la vida lo separaba de su parido. El dolor es horrible. No entendí y leí las palabras de Jesús sin compasión.
Cuando leo las palabras de Jesús hoy, entiendo que Jesús hablaba raramente sobre la vida para enseñar a las personas a ayudar traer leyes más crueles en sus vidas. Las personas divorciadas necesitan compasión y Jesús quería que las personas evitaran el duelo y la pena.
Cuando pienso sobre estas palabras hoy, tengo compasión por la gente divorciada, incluyendo a mí. Necesitaba seguridad física, espiritual, y mental que no tenía. Jesús me ama y estaría contento de que yo elija vivir cuando fuí a querer meterme en un agujero para siempre.
“Jesus said to them, ‘All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me. All who want to save their lives will lose them. But all who lose their lives because of me and because of the good news will save them. Why would people gain the whole world but lose their lives? Whoever is ashamed of me and my words in this unfaithful and sinful generation, the Human One will be ashamed of that person when he comes in the Father’s glory with the holy angels.’ “
Mark 8:34-38, CEB
A strange thing happened the other day. My two children and I were having one last dinner before they returned to their sibling and mother in Springville when I asked an innocent question. I asked my child if they were looking forward to going back to be with their mother. My six-year-old looked me in the eye and said “I don’t want to go back to Springville. I want to live in Trumansburg with you.”
My heart raced. What do you say in that moment? Do you stop everything and record the conversation? Do you call your lawyer? Do you call the child’s lawyer? What happens in those moments defines the kind of person we are in this life. What should I do?
I told my child that her mother would be really sad if she just stayed here. I invited her to go home and tell her mother how she felt. I invited her to talk with her mother because I believed her mother would be really sad if suddenly her child weren’t a part of her daily life. I said this as an authority because that’s exactly what happened to me. I invited my child to do the kind thing and speak with her mother about how she felt instead of just violently ripping the child out of her mother’s life. I did let both my former partner and my attorney know about the exchange, but I left the matter in the hands of God.
Would I have been in the right to treat my former partner the way she showed that she wanted to be treated in her actions towards me? I honestly don’t think so. I have been trying to teach my children to treat other people like they’d like to be treated their whole lives. While Hope did express her feelings to me, I think the reality is that she needs to tell her mother. Even at six, there’s power in Hope sharing her truth with her mother.
Today I was memorizing the passage above for this weekend. I was listening to the words as I memorized and realized the simple truth that if I had ignored my spiritual training and instead done the very human thing of striking back, I wouldn’t just be wrong. I would be ashamed. What good would it be to gain the whole world (i.e., my children back into my life) if it meant that I would lose my soul? What could I possibly give back to regain my soul’s life after I did such an awful thing to another human being? It doesn’t matter that she’s done those things to me. How could I possibly make amends for that kind of sin? How could I even begin to sleep at night knowing how shamefully I had acted? How could I look anyone in the eye?
I don’t want Jesus to be ashamed of me. I’m not ashamed of his words even when they are hard to follow. I’m sometimes called to say no to myself, take up my cross, and follow even when that means I’m alone in my home with just an old dog again today. What could I possibly do differently since I know these are the very words God has brought into my life? What could I give to pay the very price for my defiance?
Memorization is not just about rote learning. Memorization helps us to learn the scriptures and then apply them to our lives. It is really very difficult to skirt past words we don’t like when they are right in front of us. I am thankful that I spent so much time in my life learning the scriptures so that when I need to know them, they’re a part of me.
“True joy is not a thing of moods, not a capricious emotion, tied to fluctuating experiences It is a state and condition of the soul. It survives through pain and sorrow and, like a subterranean spring, waters the whole life. It is intimately allied and bound up with love and goodness, and so is deeply rooted in the life of God. Joy is the most perfect and complete mark and sign of immortal wealth, because it indicates that the soul is living by love and by goodness, and is very rich in God.”
Quaker theologian Rufus Jones, “The Inner Life”, 1916
Today I returned two of my three kids to their mother after too short a visit. My ride home was marked by tears and a blessing as it was the first time in years I had not ridden alone. Upon reaching our destination I still had to wash off saline streaks from my face, but it was an improvement.
Jones wrote about joy filling our lives like a subterranean stream. Such watering keeps the soil moist even through moments where everything is dried out under the harsh light of sadness. I want to feel such joy in my life. I do feel such joy even if it feels fleeting at times.
God, grant me your joy. Even as the harsh winds howl, soak arid taproots and keep green in me the hope by which my core first sprouted.
A couple of hours ago I made a mistake through my own stupid arrogance. Okay, it wasn’t that bad, I said something stupid to the neighboring minister when stopping by her office. I said, “I feel like the end of Advent is going to be quiet. I feel like I have paid my dues with Advent drama.” I didn’t knock on wood.
Two hours later I am on the phone with the doctor’s office for my children. One child is sick and the other has a head injury. I have been trying to get information through a phone call for days. I was told repeatedly that their mother wouldn’t tell me the information because I could get it from the doctor, The doctor let me know that they’ve never been given permission to share anything with me. Shared custody or not, there’s no medical information for Dad. All I know is that my eldest has a head injury and that my middle child needs medication to breathe more fully.
Why would I need to know more than that? Isn’t that enough for me to make medical decisions? When will there be medical decisions where I actually get to make a choice or even remain informed if even head trauma isn’t enough to qualify? I should have knocked on wood. More accurately, I should have assumed the worst earlier. You would think I would have learned by now.
I have been thinking about the pain this afternoon. Even as I prepare for the Longest Night Service on Thursday, I find myself coming back to the pain within. I was ready for a drama-free Christmas. I was neither wishing ill nor inviting the Krampus to visit my former partner. I was accepting of the fact that life simply means neither seeing my eldest this season nor seeing my kids on Christmas morning. I was even accepting of the fact that buying Christmas presents for them feels more and more like buying gifts for strangers. It hurt, but it was numb. Suddenly it is as if the bandages are torn away and my soul is bleeding again. I thought about it and turned back to a book I have been reading on and off again for a few years now.
“Following the initial numbing shock of disbelief in the immediate experience of loss, pain presses itself into our souls and bodies. It is sometimes more than we think we can bear. We seek ways to anesthetize ourselves. It hurts too much to allow that gaping hole in our gut to bleed unstaunched. We want to feel anything other than that pain. We want to fill the empty hole within with something—alcohol, drugs, sex, sleep, work, easy love, TV. We are vulnerable to anyone who will offer us a moment’s respite from that unspeakable gap within our soul…
Eventually though, we begin to feel again and the pain sets in. The pain reminds us we are still alive and in need of healing. It will come and go, visiting us when we least expect it. When you can feel the pain of sadness and loneliness, know that this signals that you are growing stronger. When we are not strong, the body numbs us and we don’t feel. If we feel the pain, we are gaining strength. Pain reminds us that something significant has happened. It reminds us that to be human is to feel. Only when we can feel the deep sadness of the loss can we ever hope to feel the deep joy of new life. Feeling is central to the ability to experience the fullness of life as it is being lived.”
Dan Moseley, “Lose, Love, Live: The Spiritual GIfts of Loss and Change,” pg 41
I am really hurting today and I understand, in part, what Moseley is saying here. If I couldn’t handle the pain, then my body, soul, and spirit would surely know enough to anesthetize the wound. Even if it couldn’t heal from the wounds in the past, my soul has become very good at cauterizing internal pain through things like exercise, poetry, eating, music, and even focusing my thoughts on the pain of occasional hunger. When you have no other way to advocate for yourself and when even your attorney has gone on vacation, what choice can there be here?
I get that it hurts and I wish that it wouldn’t hurt. I wish there was something I could do to make the pain go away, but there’s no really good answer other than to embrace the pain. If there’s one thing my former partner has given me, it is the gift of pain. I can hide away from it, or I can accept the simple things it teaches me.
I’m alive to feel this pain
I’m strong enough to experience this without going into shock
I’m alive enough to make choices to reach out to people who care about me
I’m alive enough to think about things like the meaning of pain, the lack of justice, and even anticipate the Advent of Christ to stand as the only just and righteous judge who can unfailingly stand in final judgment over situations like this one.
I’m alive enough to pray and seek after the Spirit even as the world denies hypothetical rights and shatters the hope of people who have already been broken by injustice
I’m reading Lamentations 5 in worship this Thursday. Lord, I feel it…
“15Joy has left our heart; our dancing has changed into lamentation. 16The crown has fallen off our head. We are doomed because we have sinned. 17Because of all this our heart is sick; because of these things our glance is dark. 18Mount Zion, now deserted– only jackals walk on it now! 19But you, LORD, will rule forever; your throne lasts from one generation to the next. 20Why do you forget us continually; why do you abandon us for such a long time? 21Return us, LORD, to yourself. Please let us return! Give us new days, like those long ago– 22unless you have completely rejected us, or have become too angry with us.”
“Christ always shows a very slender appreciation of any act of religion or of ethics which does not reach beyond the stage of compulsion. What is done because it must be done; because the law requires it, or because society expects it, or because convention prescribes it, or because the doer of it is afraid of consequences if he omits it, may, of course, be rightly done and meritoriously done, but an act on that level is not yet quite in the region where for Christ the highest moral and religious acts have their spring.”
Quaker Theologian Rufus Jones, 1916
What does it mean to have an expectation of other people? Is expecting them to do their best an empty expectation doomed to failure? Is expecting them to live up to their principles and their vows an expectation based upon madness? Is expecting someone else to keep their word the very same as building a house on shifting sands? Do we actually expect it will stand when the rains come?
Sadly, experience tells me that trusting others is perhaps an act of folly. At the same time, while there are times when promises fall flat and it can be insanity to trust other people to do what they say, it is perhaps best to consider the fact that none of us are precisely and perfectly sane all of the time. The religious way of stating this has been that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. If we expect others to be perfect, then we are expecting a perfection that we ourselves know we are incapable of executing. While we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us, most people in the faith I truly respect understand that they are going towards perfection and are not actually absolutely perfect at the moment.
So, how do we know whether or not we should trust others? How do we know whether or not we should place our trust in someone after our heart is broken or promises tossed aside as chaff? I think that Rufus Jones had a wise thought that applies here. Jones points out in “The Inner Life” that there are people who legalistically attempt to live up to the rules of religion. In particular, he takes umbrage with those who take the passage about going the second mile too literally. Surely any religious practice that is willing to literally go another mile without going deeply into the meaning behind the request is looking only at the wrapping paper on the present of Jesus’ words.
Is it good to go the extra mile? Probably! Still, Jones points out a grievous reality within that obedience: “But there was no spontaneity in his religion, no free initiative, no enthusiastic passion, no joyous abandon, no gratuitous and uncalculating acts. He did things enough, but he did them because he had to do them, not because some mighty love possessed him and flooded him and inspired him to go not only the expected mile, but to go on without any calculation out beyond milestones altogether.”
Doing things because they’re just enough is valuable at some level, but that’s not the goal. Similarly, keeping one’s word just because one must or because a person is commanded to do so by some sort of authority is not nearly the same thing as doing something because you are motivated by spontaneous love, free choice, and the gracious life that comes from Christ. There’s a distinct difference between doing something right because one must and doing so because one’s being is expressed through those actions.
This perspective is valuable to me as I continue to question my own ability to make commitments after a past of difficulties. For neither love nor money can I convince someone from my past to give me appropriate access to my children despite their best interests. To be entirely honest, the court system seems equally impotent at showing her any sort of accountability to a standard of behavior. It is like the wild-west to be anywhere near the person from that relationship and it is safer to be out in the desert than walking down the street with all those tumbleweeds.
At one level Jones’ words seem inapplicable. There’s what Jones suggests as Christian behavior, what Jones sees as legalistic behavior, and then there’s just that level of behavior we’re dealing with where both Jesus and the Pharisees would likely shake their heads in disgust. “Go and sin no more” seems like a bit of an understatement.
At another level, consider the fact that the person I want to trust in my life has done none of the things my former partner has done. She has acted honorably, charitably, and graciously. She does things like ask me for my consent and lets me admit that I am just broken without treating me like someone from the isle of misfit toys. She’s doing all the right things and she’s doing them because it comes from the heart and not some pharasitical set of rules. At the moment, she’s the whole package: someone who I like, adore, and who would be an awesome blessing to me and someone I want my children to know.
So, how do we learn to trust? I think the only answer is the one I learned in recovery. We choose to trust one day at a time. When things don’t add up, we remember our own past and the mistakes of our past, consider our own part in things, and, whenever possible, try again. We make consensual amends when our character defects harm others and we are willing to let others make consensual amends to us. We choose to care and to try while understanding that the person we meet today or tomorrow may not be the person that we once met in the past, especially if they are literally not the same person who broke our hearts.
I went to bed humming in my heart last night. Just before I drove away from my girlfriend’s house, we posted a picture together for the first time. I had brought a delicious acorn squash pie with gingersnap crust for dessert and spent the day getting to know her family a bit better. I met her mother, sister, nephew, and niece. Her kids were a riot to be around as usual.
She’s in a different space than me in her life with grown kids, but we share a lot of things in common. She knows what it is like to go through a troubled marriage and a divorce. She knows the value of having space at the table. She let me be there with her through all the Thanksgiving stuff that every family has and even let me kindly invite her to simply be in the moment with me and her family.
In other words, I felt like I belonged yesterday. As I wake up on the sixth birthday of my littlest turkey today, I know that I won’t see her for over another month at this point. I had to ask her sibling to have her call me as the phone number I have for my child is never answered when I call. J says the tablet has power issues and barely works. I can’t help but think of the new tablet sitting on a shelf here that I bought for her months ago only to be told that the broken tablet she has is good enough even though I can’t contact my child through it. I asked her while I talked with her if she received the postcards I sent my kids while traveling. I sent six. Their mother let them see one of them. I can’t even write cards to my kids with the expectation they will receive them. Joint custody apparently means I can’t even write them…
My eldest still won’t talk to me and the answer remains: an hour a month for virtual therapy to rebuild a relationship is too much time in his busy schedule even as he applies to a foreign exchange student program. He has time to travel the world but not time for an hour a month with his father.
I’m thankful J still obviously loves their father and takes the time to talk with me on occasion, but it shouldn’t fall on a thirteen-year-old to be the adult in a family of a single mom, a fifteen-year-old, and a six-year-old. It especially shouldn’t be so when there are grandparents and other relatives around who should be able to speak reason to power. It would be wrong of me to ask J to be the conduit for conversation and J shouldn’t have to be put in that position. Unfortunately, when you can’t even write the other kids with the expectation they’ll get their mail, the option seems to be to put your child in an impossible situation or lose a relationship with all of them.
There’s a difference between what I experienced yesterday and my experience even of married life. The feeling of actually being accepted and having my girlfriend’s mother ask about my children was heartbreakingly kind. I mean, there are two Halloween gifts waiting for them on the shelf upstairs from my girlfriend’s mother who decided my kids deserved love before she even met me. They welcomed me so warmly and all I had to do to belong was just be me: someone who cared for someone at the table who also cared for me.
It is such a different experience than getting phone calls about church members being concerned that I was being yelled at in a gas station or hearing complaints about my partner arguing with PPRC members in a local restaurant when they said something she disagreed with. It is sad that it took me years to see they weren’t just complaining about someone they didn’t like: they were scared for me. In hindsight, I get it. I wish I had understood then.
People tell me to keep trying and to not give up, but that’s pretty hard advice to actually follow. Perhaps someone would understand if they were actually in my shoes. I’m exhausted and tired of pretending everything is fine. Heading down south recently on the Civil Rights pilgrimage and seeing the evidence of people who knew what was right and who were willing to get in good trouble… I wish I knew how to advocate for myself and others in the way that they did with such power, presence, and moral authority. I wish I could change things, but that’s a long journey I don’t know how to travel. It is literally easier to walk thousands of miles in a year than to know how to handle things. I can say that one from experience.
In the meantime, yeah. I baked a pie, I shared space, and I allowed my cold heart to open a little more to actually living life. Is the “cold still in my bones?” Yeah, they’re cold and brittle, but there’s also something else: that faintly glowing fire… (Yes, that’s a Five Iron Frenzy reference: “Blizzards and Bygones (All Frost and No Thaw Version)” is a gem that has been my unofficial soundtrack while walking the wintry woods over the past few years).
Original recipe: https://www.thekitchenmagpie.com/acorn-squash-pie/ Adaptations: For the filling, I used fresh ginger and grated nutmeg into slightly larger pieces than the powdered stuff. For the crust, I processed the gingersnaps through a grinder for uniformity and then melted a little more than the specified butter (2 extra TBSP) in the glass pie dish in the oven. I then poured the butter into the crumbs and brown sugar only after swirling the pie plate so that the entirety of the crust had a buttery layer to keep the crust from sticking. That process also made certain each bite had a touch of buttery goodness. I also used a dough blender to uniformly break up any buttery clumps and to make certain the brown sugar spread throughout the crust instead of being in chunks.
“There is no one exclusive ‘way’ either to the supreme realities or to the loftiest experiences of life. The ‘way’ which we individuals select and proclaim as the only highway of the soul back to its true home turns out to be a revelation of our own private selves fully as much as it is a revelation of a via sacra to the one goal of all human striving. Life is a very rich and complex affair and it forever floods over and inundates any feature which we pick out as essential or as pivotal to its consummation. God so completely overarches all that is and He is so genuinely the fulfillment of all which appears incomplete and potential that we cannot conceivably insist that there shall be only one way of approach from the multiplicity of the life which we know to the infinite Being whom we seek.”
Quaker Scholar Rufus Jones, “The Inner Life” (1916)
I took a day trip with someone very close to me yesterday to the Zoo. I shared my love of trying to eat slippery Chinese food with chopsticks on the way up to Syracuse and we enjoyed a fish fry on the way back. We had lots of time to talk, to ponder life, and to enjoy the animals. It is amazing how much fun it can be to go to the zoo even when you’re not pursuing a small child. We finished the night decorating the Christmas tree I have not put up since 2020.
Towards the end of the evening, we were talking about some of the challenges that come with trying to recover from a divorce. Both of us have had difficult circumstances in our lives and we both have things we did similarly and things we have done differently.
For me, a lot of the journey has revolved around physical ways of pursuing wellness. Recovery from the trauma that led to my divorce included a lot of physical wellness activities as I tried to respond to the stress, fears, and painful sorrows by doing the next right thing in my life. I reinforced my sobriety practices by sticking close to people who had been through difficult times in their programs, worked the twelve steps, and continued to regularly go the therapy and my doctor to make certain everything in the background was running well so I wouldn’t trip over inconsistencies within my own body and mind.
Beyond sobriety, I adopted old spiritual practices that were impractical with kids around to complicate certain activities. I’m pescatarian on Wednesdays and Fridays as a partial fast in the pattern of the Orthodox and in the pattern of early Methodists of fasting on those days. I write out my gratitudes every night and effectively do a version of the Examen blended with a tenth-step inventory. I journal every day.
Also, I walked thousands of miles and began to work my muscles by weightlifting. I dropped over 160 pounds so far! I took my sorrow and I put it in the furnace. I walked through sleet and snow burning through my anger like coal. I did everything I could to take the broken sorrowful parts and to use them as fuel for a self-improving fire to forge a new self instead of turning that anger and sorrow on anyone else, especially avoiding bringing that frustration anywhere near my former partner. There’s a reason there are giant holes in my blog and why I’m not on social media. Heck, I avoid emails in part because it is too easy to let my anger out.
I have done all of these things and I am grateful for all of them. Also, the person I spent time with yesterday did things very differently than me. They handled their sorrow for a longer time and have used their experiences to forge someone I hold dear without some of the tools I have used. Their circumstances were different but similar. As a result of some of those variations, our paths look different and honestly, there are some ways in which the other path looks great. That path looks fantastic when you see what’s beyond the surface of the cheerful things I wrote above.
My shoulders hurt constantly. My body dysmorphia makes it feel like I’m larger than I am and sometimes I reach up to my shoulders and it feels like the bones just beneath my skin shouldn’t be there. It feels like I’m more skeleton than man some days. I sometimes feel incredibly self-conscious and even my muscles aren’t enough to sometimes make me feel safe. Those great phone calls and good friendships in my life are the converse of the grief which threatened to bust down the door if I didn’t get out there and connect with others. It has not been easy.
Sitting with someone who has been through similar things yesterday I heard an invitation to not only be vulnerable but to tell the truth about the fact that my bones ache, my shoulders are sore, and my back is so tight it feels like I have two plates of armor between my shoulder blades and my hips. A lot of things hurt and sometimes it feels as if the pain will never cease.
I have worked so hard to carve my way out of my sorrows and it has been wonderful in so many ways. It also is not the only way forward. I can live a life where my bones hurt less and my shoulders ache less constantly. As a new year dawns, I can set a different goal for something gentler on my body like swimming or rowing. I am not forced to walk this one way. My friend has a different path and their way is worthy of emulating in many ways. Perhaps I need to be slow enough to see where the path diverts and runs slightly askew in the same direction.
Christmas has come and gone. I received one text saying merry Christmas and the 28 second phone call where am I child told me all she could do was say Merry Christmas and hang up. There were relatives standing by, I could hear them. They were the same ones who stood by and congratulated me at my wedding. The same ones who said they cared. Not a single message explaining: just the silence of complicity.
There’s a possibility I’ll see them this weekend, but I doubt it. There’s no visitation arranged for January or anytime soon. there is a motion to dismiss my case, because nothing has gone wrong since July. I was guaranteed visits, between six and twelve of them. I saw my two kids once or twice, but haven’t seen my oldest since July.
So I walk in the cold and write poetry, wondering if next year will be any different. I doubt it. In the meantime, the cold reminds me I’m still alive and the pain is lifted like a prayer. At least I have no more bruises than the ones I have on my heart
Twenty eight seconds and one "Merry Christmas" text: What did you expect? Contact was all you wanted so that's what she took away.
Will the court help me? Does the sun rise twice a day? That seems more likely than for a judge to enforce when the victim is father
One of the strangest things about the holidays is dealing with the expectations of other people. I say that it is a strange thing, because it can be quite surreal and odd at times. People have expectations about what it means to celebrate holidays that are often reinforced by the culture at large. Holidays are meant to be “happy.” There are expectations that people will be spending time with loved ones and friends.
Everyone has an image of what the holidays are meant to be, but on occasion they come across someone like me: a person-shaped stumbling block between them and their ideal vision of the world. People are meant to be with people they love at the holidays, but that person over there has no great plans. People are supposed to see their loved ones and families, but my only close family in state is traveling to see the rest of my family while I remain behind to work. People are going out of the way to see kids and grandkids while I am waiting for a court order to take effect that hasn’t even been filed at this point. If everything works out, I just may see some of my kids for the New Year weekend, but I’m not even bothering to assume that will happen at this point.
Some people try to fix the problem by inviting me to come and join their holidays, which is lovely, but I want to see my family for the holidays. Some people try to fix the problem by suggesting a new legal strategy or by urging me to somehow force other people to do things they are not willing to do. Some people get quite frenetic about fixing things.
They can’t fix things though. To use recovery language, there are things I can change and things I cannot change. For the people trying to help, there are things they can change and things they cannot change. I would love it if they had a solution based on the things that they can do, but the reality is that there is no solution that falls under the category of “feasible.”
As my attorney put it, there is a system of order in our country, not a system of justice. The system is biased and unfortunately it would take a truly criminal act on behalf of my former partner for me to even be heard. It doesn’t matter if my former partner is, in the words of my attorney, the least cooperative and least Christian person he has seen while working in the family court system. The system does not care and that’s not going to change today. As one person put it quite clearly: “Family courts don’t separate children from their mothers. Period. Hard stop.”
In truth, without going into the religious aspects of things, there’s only one person who could truly change any of this: my former partner. If she had some kind of Christmas Carol experience things might change, but dreams of vengeance seem to be the only dreams she has carried for most of a decade. I’m no stumbling block on the path to her happy holiday, for I am the refuse tossed by the side of the road to be discarded and forgotten by her, her children, and everyone she knows.
So, yeah, there’s no amount of turkey and stuffing that will make this a happy holiday. There’s no party or gift that will suddenly make things better. There isn’t even the possibility of cupid coming on the scene with hope for the future, for even the idea of trusting someone in those ways is beyond my grasp. Every time that idea even comes to the surface it is shot down with extreme prejudice. I simply am a stumbling block between others and their ideal vision of the world.
My holidays are different and they’re not suddenly going to get better regardless of what you do. In a few weeks I’ll get another year older, another year wiser, and thanks to circumstances, I will probably be a little more of a miser who needs to pinch every penny so he can pay for his kids to have another happy year without him as he remains out of sight and out of mind. These holidays are going to be hard and there’s no getting around that reality.
I wish you could fix my holiday too, friend. Unfortunately, the only thing I want for Christmas is something nobody can provide.
Today I found myself driving down the road towards my home when a song started playing from deep within “My Likes” in YouTube Music. Years ago I was obsessed for a time with the movie Brave. I watched it with my kids, listened to the music as I drove around with them, and acted generally as a fanboy for team Merida. Even when Anna and Elsa came on the scene, I looked down my nose at them. I had found my favorite Disney Princess and she was a raucously independent archer who had all of the confidence and self-assurance that I wished for my children.
So today, the song “Touch the Sky” began to play and I listened to the lyrics.
When the cold wind is a-calling And the sky is clear and bright Misty mountains sing and beckon Lead me out into the light
I will ride, I will fly Chase the wind and touch the sky I will fly Chase the wind and touch the sky
Where dark woods hide secret And mountains are fierce and bold Deep waters hold reflections Of times lost long ago I will hear their every story Take hold of my own dream Be as strong as the seas are stormy And proud as an eagle’s scream
The last few days I have been feeling very strange. This week I will learn if the court is going to help me see my kids before the year ends. I haven’t had the visitation the court set in place since July and I don’t have a ton of hope that suddenly the court will start to care, so I have been down in the dumps. Tack on the amount I have been working and the reality behind why I don’t feel safe conversing with my former partner even over kid issues (see any of the posts about Domestic Violence from October and they’ll paint a picture in broad strokes even if they never describe things in detail (on purpose)) and I have been really really reallydown in the dumps.
I have been trying desperately to get a hold of my feelings and my emotions to get them in check before any further bad news pushes me down further. I have been trying to understand what’s happening within as something kept feeling off.
I found myself crying as I drove in the car today because I had a moment and finally understood what was happening. Why haven’t I been hitting the punching bag as aggressively and why have I been taking more pictures of nature? Why did I choose to take my camera on my long walk today and why did I spend most of it texting another father in my fatherhood support group? Why?
As I had been walking earlier an angry song came on my phone and I reached within to connect with what has felt like an endless pit of anger for over a year. When everything else was lost, I could dip into that pit to find fuel to walk another mile, punch the bag for one more set, or even to just stew while driving. It has been so constant and a companion for many miles as I have walked. That deep sense of grief, anger, and sadness has been there for the 1,915 miles that I have walked this year (according to Fitbit). The anger has been as constant as hunger, thirst, and soreness as I have walked on and on.
I had reached in and nothing was there. The bucket hit the bottom and I had been worried that I was broken. What does it mean when you reach in to find the angry part of yourself and find nothing is there? Does it mean that you’re doomed to be unfeeling and lost?
I started crying as the words to the song to Brave came on because I recognized something in them: “When the cold wind is a-calling and the sky is clear and bright, misty mountains sing and beckon: lead me out into the light.” Do you know that there’s a growth on a tree on the Catharine Valley Trail that looks like a snail?
There’s also a ton of damage to the ash trees, likely from a combination of ash borers and woodpeckers. The sight is truly tragic, but also beautiful when you are walking around the woods and suddenly bleach white branches pop out of the woods that are so brown!
Do you know that there are green things that are neither evergreen nor willing to turn brown? Do you know that there are these weird bamboo looking things popping out of the ground in the middle of December? Do you know that the moon is almost full and it can look like fingers of bare branches are reaching into the sky to caress the moon as it rises? Do you know how amazing things are out there in the woods today on the edge of winter? Even as the sun continues to fade for a few more days, do you know how beautiful things are our there?
I cried because I reached down within me to find anger and only found the bottom of a well that hasn’t been empty for a while. I cried because I realized that I understood the lyrics to that song at last. In the midst of the cold wind, I heard the beckoning call to open my eyes and see what God had created. Legs that have walked miles have grown strong enough, skin that has known sun and darkness is thick enough, and even my own sense of fortitude has grown elastic enough that I can take time, even in grief, and see beautifully amazing things.
The song has a second verse that goes ” Where dark woods hide secret and mountains are fierce and bold, deep waters hold reflections of times lost long ago. I will hear their every story: take hold of my own dream. Be as strong as the seas are stormy and proud as an eagle’s scream.”
I’m filled with grief and sorrow, but there’s another part of me that has grown as strong as the seas are stormy. I’m frustrated I need the court’s help to even see my children, but I know what it means to walk miles and see the beauty in the depths of the woods with the endurance to decide that 6 miles into a hike is exactly the time to go wandering down a hill to get a closer look at that bleached white tree down the hill.
Even now, I want to cry because there actually is pride in the person I am becoming. I reached down for anger and found nothing, but I opened my ears and heard a reminder that I am becoming the person I once dreamed of being. Mile by mile, step by step, I am being reforged into someone that my children and I can look upon with joy and pride. I don’t have to be sorrowful today, for I am becoming exactly the kind of person I would have been proud to be when I was young.
This isn’t the road I would have chosen, but it is the road I have, and I am walking it well.
I have the kids today! The only time I can see them again between now and the end of the year is if I exchange them with their morning Sunday morning at 10:00 AM two hours by car from where I have church at 10:15 AM. That part of things is awful, but today I see two of my three kids for the only time from October through December.
So, we broke out the fancy serving dishes and made macaroni and cheese with carrots and hot dogs. It seems silly to put such a simple meal in a nice dish as I never need a serving dish when alone, but this is a good silly.
Break out the good plates: garnish with tasty extras and join your children. To eat while you're not alone is a fleeting gift these days.
I wrote this poem while thinking of the passage from Matthew 18:6-9, which says that it is better to be drown in the sea than to cause someone else to stumble. I am trying to come to a place of peace with the frustration which is continuing to take root in me despite my best efforts. I am working as hard as I can to burn off the anger through diet, exercise, and even spiritual disciplines, but there are times when things are simply wrong and more than an irritation. There are times when people do real harm to you and that pain becomes a thorn in the side that will not go away.
Even if there may be divine punishment for the person who causes another person to stumble, it still hurts deeply to be the person with broken toes, scraped knees, and a noticeable limp. I don’t doubt for a second that all that is happening is noticed and noted in the Book of Life and any equivalent book with opposite purpose. It would still be nice if there could be some relief.
Broken heart longs for them
The hugs, smiles, and dumb jokes
as joy is hard to coax
when you're alone
Prayers flow as I walk
Burn the anger with fat.
I look more and more flat
but rage lives on.
Walking, praying, fasting:
I curse this stumbling block
as on the Door I knock
and ask for help.
Even so, upon further reflection, a better passage to consider might be Romans 14:12-19 which is far more balanced in perspective. What I mean by balanced is that Paul does a decent job in Romans in balancing the concerns. Yes, it is wrong when someone else causes us harm, but Paul writes in a way that invites people to look inside before looking at one’s neighbor. It is not right for your neighbor to harm you, but first consider whether or not you will be ashamed when you give your account to God about how you lived your life and what you did, which is different from what your neighbor did to you.
So, how do I live with this pain in my side and sorrow in my heart? I see wisdom in Paul’s words in 2nd Corinthians 12:7-12. I have asked time and time again for this thorn to be removed, but it hasn’t budged. I guess that God’s strength is shown in my weakness, so I’ll keep trudging down the road while remembering the simple truth from a few verses earlier in Romans 14:7-10:
“We don’t live for ourselves and we don’t die for ourselves. If we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord. Therefore, whether we live or die, we belong to God. This is why Christ died and lived: so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living. But why do you judge your brother or sister? Or why do you look down on your brother or sister? We all will stand in front of the judgment seat of God”
Romans 14:7-10, Common English Bible
This life I live with thorn-gifted pain is the life that I have to live. My “neighbor” may look at me with disdain or judgment, keep me from my children in defiance of the court order, and teach them that it is dangerous to speak with me (since I might call Child Protective Services if something goes wrong and the kids are in danger). Even with that sorrow and pain, I am called to live, so I will live. When the day of my death comes, even if I am alone I will die in the Lord with hope in my heart that:
“We have access by faith into this grace in which we stand through him, and we boast in the hope of God’s glory. But not only that! We even take pride in our problems, because we know that trouble produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. This hope doesn’t put us to shame, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”
Romans 5:2-5, Common English Bible
Thorn in my side or not, I will live in hope and I shall not be ashamed of the Lord. I will seek hope all of my days, even with broken bones in my soul, for God loves me and will make all of this right one day. Even with broken places in my soul, I am still fearfully and wonderfully made and God loves me. I am God’s child and I trust that my Parent will hold me as close as I wish I could hold my children.
Verse 19 compares the feelings of homelessness and affliction to being poisoned to the brim with bitterness. I understood those feelings as I consider my past. I remember more than the feelings that came about in the first days after I filed for divorce. I remembered tears from a broken heart behind closed doors, sodden pillowcases, and the bitter feeling of knowing that promises made at the altar meant nothing. The shame, the guilt, the uselessness, and futility still come to mind easily even after time has begun to heal my wounds.
After all of this comes to mind, does Jeremiah give up hope? No, instead the very pain in Jeremiah’s soul transforms from a place of broken doubt to a place of stubborn waiting. The grief and loss do not translate into a faithless existence but into a spirit that will steadfastly wait for God to act. This! This is a feeling I know! “Waking” after sleepless nights, pulling on my boots, and stepping into my role as a minister with all of the confidence I could despite my own sorrow. This I know!
Helping church members say goodbye to loved ones with the compassion that comes from knowing what it is like to come home to an empty home! That was an act of faithful waiting! Sharing communion with people with the understanding that comes from knowing what it means to share a “meal” with others when you eat alone the rest of the week. That was an act of faithful waiting! Listening to the troubles of others knowing what it is like to have nobody at home to listen to my struggles. That was an act of faithful waiting!
Even now, I wait. The poem I wrote is as much a prayer for God to act as it is a piece of poetry inspired by this passage. I hope it is helpful and brings to mind the reality that brokenness does not mean that healing is beyond you.
"Homeless and poisoned in my inmost soul"
I ponder the broken and sleepless nights.
Endless tears fell into fathomless hole
as I thought of all of my stolen rights.
Future empty and present in shambles,
hopeful words called out from the ancient past
before wounds left me with frothing rambles:
that place where only ashes seem to last.
I remember the hope flickering faint.
I beheld the light that would not go out.
Even shattered, the call to be a saint,
not of perfect life, but one lived through doubt.
I remember and still I sit and wait
for the Just One to come bearing our fate.
October has been Domestic Violence Awareness month since it was first introduced by the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence in 1981. Regardless of the month, domestic violence is never okay, no matter the circumstances. If you or someone you know is in desperate need of help, contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224.
I received my booster shot yesterday. I’m trying my best to take it easy after feeling unwell while walking my dog last night. Today my arm aches and I feel more tired than usual.
When I was married I saw our vows as promising that I would care for her when she was unwell and she would care for me when I was unwell. I was naïve to think that we both understood that commitment to each other when we were twenty five.
Today I’m alone. My attorney called to give me an update about working towards finalizing my divorce yesterday. I’m grieving that loss today while remembering how it felt to believe I could rely on someone.
Nobody is here to help me feel better today, but nobody is here tearing me down either.
If I were to give someone advice in similar circumstances i would relay to them the truth that there are lonely days when seeking peace and safety. It is possible to get through them and even to thrive because of them. I would tell them to have patience with the process.
October has been Domestic Violence Awareness month since it was first introduced by the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence in 1981. Regardless of the month, domestic violence is never okay, no matter the circumstances. If you or someone you know is in desperate need of help, contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224.
I had an eye appointment in Johnson City and went to a store where I used to take my children to look for Christmas presents and winter coats. I wanted a coat as I have been losing weight. It is closing and so many places where I took my children for six years stand empty, closed, or closing. I wrote this poem
Some days I wander, walking past empty storefronts Where family walked looking for nice and warm clothes to bundle up family
Now its always cold and the memories burn low Time changes faces as old sweaters keep fraying and worn sneakers still trudge on
This has been a really rough week for me. I have had more than one wise individual in my life point out that it was likely always going to end this way. One friend with a long history in the legal profession said “If you were the mother, things would probably be very different. Nobody wants to be the judge who gets a reputation for separating kids from their mothers.”
So, I have fewer rights and will see my kids less. The system is broken and there’s nothing I can do about it but pray. What’s my consolation today?
I weep, Jesus weeps, but we’ll laugh. I feel impoverished, Jesus is sacrificing, but we’ll be rich. I am empty, Jesus is emptying himself, and we’ll be full again. I had to choose my religious profession or more visitation, Jesus faced persecution, but there’ll be blessing.
Also, those who laugh will mourn. Those who feel rich will be impoverished. Those who are full will be emptied. Those who have everyone speak well of them will go the same way as the false prophets.
In the end, it is going to be okay. Justice is in the hands of a just God who sees what has happened. My attorney tried to lighten the mood by asking if lightning bolts or karma would strike first, but that’s far above my paygrade. Another friend later chimed in that karma may make me spend the rest of my days wondering if God answers prayers, but it isn’t really about that kind of thinking for me either.
Maybe they’ll repent someday? Maybe they’ll seek forgiveness and make amends for their sins? I have no idea, but their sins are in the hands of God, not mine. I don’t need to be vengeful as God is still God. I don’t need to threaten anyone with wrath, because the wrath of the New Testament falls on people who choose to bring it into their lives. What comes out of the lips comes from the heart, regardless of whether those are words of blessings or empty accusations. In the meantime, I’ve texted my kids that I love them and now am choosing a picture.
When everything was in the hole Tuesday after a sleepless Monday night, I knew where I could go to find solace, peace, and safety. I went to church. Sometimes I go and meet with my lawyer on Grand Island, and I pull into my home church’s parking lot to just be near the place where so many holy things took place over the years. On Tuesday, I went to the church to work. As I worked, I was drawn into a world bigger than myself. By the time we had Council, we were having discussions about how the church was a blessing to us and how we can share that blessing with others. Being at the church transformed my day, my attitude, and my hope. The church truly is a a place where we can just be “here.”
Why seek victory? Peace and love; all I desire. I love my children. Their mother also loves them. We both love and we both long.
They live life halfway without ever wanting this chaos and discord. They need their roots to sink in and give them a peaceful life.
Where do we go now when all is in the wild winds? Tumbling through this life as we wait to know what’s next and each pray for an answer.
I don’t know it all. YaH, You know what should come next and I will listen, even if I hear through tears. Please watch over my children: they matter more than I do.
Perhaps you are thinking that this is a strange choice with the prompt “cared.” Well, there’s a story here that has to do with the fact that there have been few flowers in my life over the years.
One of my shortcomings as a husband over the years was my inability to remember to bring home flowers for my wife. I did my best to remember, promised to get better, and worked diligently at trying to wrap my head around the fact that it mattered to my spouse. A few months into separation I was setting up the top of my fish tank to grow herbs and was trying to decide what I should grow.
I had talked with a few people over the previous months about how I felt abandoned, lonely, and really hurt by the ways that everything has happened. It took a lot to move past sitting in sorrow when not working and losing myself in my work as often as possible. My first move was to start walking, taking pictures, and forcing myself to look through a camera lens to look at something outside of myself. There was a ton of guilt, grief, self-accusation, and woundedness that had to be acknowledged and grown through before I got to the point where I was not only willing to think of doing anything joyful beyond the bare necessities of living, much less doing something new like growing plants with my fish.
As strange as it sounds, I had to accept that I had worth before I could do more than work, engage in spiritual practices that I had previously learned, and do the minimum to survive. In time, around January after the healing story of Christmas began to take root in my soul, I had begun to move beyond looking at everything I had done wrong to acknowledging a simple fact: I had wanted flowers too. I like flowers. I enjoy the look of them, taking pictures of them, trying to grow them, celebrating their little successes, and generally being around them which makes my allergies a real pain sometimes.
While looking at the seeds at the local Agway for seeds in the middle of winter, I acknowledged that nobody had bought me flowers and nobody would buy me flowers. I acknowledged the pain of being criticized for not bringing home enough flowers when the last flower I had received from my spouse was a flower to match my wife’s bouquet on our wedding day: one flower for me, a whole bouquet for her.
I wanted flowers, so I bought flower seeds, and now there are little purple flowers bringing joy to my home. Nobody has to buy me flowers and I never asked my spouse for flowers, but now that I am on my own, there is nothing wrong with growing flowers to bring joy into my life and into my home. I now not only have those flowers, I have the joy of seeing my children enjoy the flowers whenever they visit home to be with their father. Cue the cute four year old saying, “Look Dad! There’s another flower!”
In the section of the beatitudes that we are focusing on this week, there’s a lot of weight behind the words. Luke 6 does an excellent job of saying that we should neither expect praise for following Christ nor expect that everything is going right when we receive all of the praise and accolades. In the end, my flowers have little to do with my journey with Christ other than to acknowledge that God created a good creation in me.
Will I receive blessings from God if someone thinks a man shouldn’t grow flowers or want someone to give him flowers? I somehow doubt it. I do know that my value and my worth as a person does not depend on whether I fit the typical norms of my childhood. I have lavender aftershave and deodorant; God loves me despite the fact that some might question the scent that wafts about me. I like taking pictures of flowers and enjoying the beauty of these lovely plants that I cannot grow for the life of me; God loves me despite the fact that I take pictures of other people’s flowers because I need a hydroponic/aquaponic system to grow anything more complicated than a spider plant.
I don’t believe I will receive special blessings from God after being persecuted if someone picks on me for my liking flowers. I do believe that God cares about me and will bless me through the situation anyway because of God. I don’t believe every criticism I ever receive falls under this beatitude, but I do believe that God cares about me deeply and will bless me with love (at the very least) when I accept and honor the good things God has placed in my heart.
In other words, when I actually do manage to grow flowers, I see them as a gift from God. I may never receive flowers from a spouse, but I happily receive them from God.
Thank you God! They’re lovely. I really appreciate it.
While it can be difficult to come up with a connection between the Lenten Photo-A-Day and the theme of the day, today was an easy selection for me. I know of the perfect present that has taught me about a hunger that goes deeper than just a craving for food.
I spent last Thanksgiving with my brother and his wife. For the first time in years, I did not spend Thanksgiving with my wife and it was the first time in 13 years that my eldest was not around complicating things. It was a heartbreaking experience that I know many others have experienced over the years.
After Thanksgiving, I had an opportunity to visit with my kids. In a red folder, I received a picture from my youngest. She had colored a picture of a turkey and wanted me to have it.
I practically ran to hang it up in my bathroom. When my kids are around, they see the turkey hanging there and I remind my youngest that I love it. I truthfully tell her that I say a prayer for her each time I notice it, whether it is the middle of the night or first thing in the morning.
Once upon a time, we had so many pictures come home from school that it was hard to choose. When my eldest was in second grade and my middle child was in kindergarten, our refrigerator was practically a battlefield when we had to decide what picture would go where. My refrigerator was “full” of pictures.
Now, the pictures are few and far between. I am hungry for pictures from my kids. I never realized how lucky I was to have all of those pictures filling my fridge. Like almost all parents, but not in the same way as most, I went from a full nest to an empty nest overnight. I long for the days when the kids are here in our house. I long for those moments when I could hug my kids after school and celebrate their pictures.
In the devotional, the very heart of what I am trying to get across is found at the beginning of today’s reading: “One of the greatest challenges of using the beatitudes found in the Gospel of Luke is that they use slightly different language than those found within the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel.” The hunger listed here is not qualified by a connection to righteousness like in the gospel of Matthew. As it says later today: “As we look at hunger throughout this week in Jesus’ teachings, we will notice that it relates to questions around wealth from the previous beatitude and to questions around sorrow and laughter in next week’s beatitude.”
I know that I hunger for something that is connected with both sorrow and an impoverished heart. As we go through the devotions this week, I hope everyone finds a place of connection. I also hope that they find safe spaces to express any sorrow that they feel while on this journey.
The #RethinkChurch Lenten Photo-A-Day prompt for today is “alone.” What a word for contemplation, especially for a father in the midst of working his way through a separation! “Alone” is a word that I have pondered many times over the past few months.
A phrase stands out in our devotional reading for today: “Even when put in a challenging place, Jesus responds to challenge with compassion.” If we are called to become more like Jesus during this journey towards the cross, then what does it look like when we seek to respond to our challenges with compassion?
When writing this section of the devotional, my life was in a far more different place. As I work through this devotional alongside the members of my church, it is with a sense of wonder. Who was the person who wrote these words? I remember the hours working on this devotional, but now see the passages with different eyes and definitely answer the questions differently than I would have when I wrote this devotional.
In selecting a photo for today, I wanted to think about what it means to truly be alone. At the beginning of this oddly horrifying and challenging set of circumstances, I found myself filled with grief over the quiet house, the silent bedrooms, and the challenges of cooking for fewer people. Now, I find myself often coming across beautiful and wonderful things that are bitterly sweet.
Black Diamond Trail in Trumansburg, NY
I took this photo on a cold winter’s day while walking with my dog down a nearby trail. The path was empty of anyone, although there was clearly evidence that I was not the first person to enter the woods. For the entirety of the journey, I was alone with my dog. The wind blew through the branches, the dog snuffled through snow drifts and marked the snow, but it was otherwise silent.
It was beautifully still and silent. A world of icy stillness and solitude for just my dog and me. The sunlight shone through the branches and the snow sparkled underneath golden beams. It was truly amazing that I was able to see such beauty and it felt like that moment was for me and me alone. In the beauty and quiet, I felt as if God was walking right there with me.
It was sweet to know that I still matter enough that God draws near to me in such still spaces. It was sweet to know that God loves me deeply and truly despite the challenges of the past few months. It was also bitter to realize that I might have shared such a moment with my children a year ago.
How do I respond to these challenging moments with compassion? How do I love the people who have broken my heart through either their choices or simply doing their work? These are thoughts for my journal and not my blog, but I can state that this is where the journey for me begins today.
After a week of indecision, I have decided to have Chinese today. Fourteen years ago, on Valentine’s Day, I burst into a liquor store with what felt like the stupidest question on my lips. “It is Valentine’s Day, my wife just gave birth two days ago, and we are having Chinese. What wine goes with Chinese food?” The clerk did not know what to do, what to say, and quickly suggested sake before we both remembered that was Japanese.
Fourteen years later and the marriage is over. There is nobody to share Chinese with tonight, but I still remember bringing home Chinese while exhausted. I remember both of us passing out from exhaustion on our couch as our baby slept while swaddled nearby. I don’t even think either of us even bothered drinking a glass of the wine. I remember all of these things and walking exhaustedly to try and help my wife have a nice dinner on Valentine’s Day with food we both loved.
She isn’t here. Those moments are gone, but I still remember pushing my legs to go out to the car and get dinner. I remember the adrenaline crash after getting everyone home safely after the first car ride with a used car seat and then heading out to find my wife the closest thing I could find to a romantic dinner. I do not want to lose the memory, do not want to lose the feeling of “bringing home the bacon” to a family for the first time, and I remember being proud of myself for something that was so simple. I do not want to forget how my child changed my life on that Valentine’s Day or how I found something far more wonderful than diamonds to give to my wife. I’ll have Chinese anyway and I will remember the most beautiful Valentine’s Day I ever experienced, even if I remember through tears.
"What goes with egg rolls?"
The stunned clerk was quite flummoxed
but did a good job
At least, I think that she did
I do not remember now
Distracted Pastor Ramblings 