Of Roots and Wings

Today is not a good day.

For the first time in over two months, I have nothing to do. No new pile of work sitting in my inbox waiting for my attention. No urgent e-mails. Nothing. And it's driving me crazy.

Kame never has any trouble finding something to do.
There's always something good on television...

I've gotten used to being a working woman, to waking up every morning to a job that needs to be done. Not having that... leaves me rudderless.Oh, there's plenty I could be doing. I could clean (yuck). I could write... if I could pick up the thread of the story I haven't looked at in 2 months. I could paint... but that would mean dragging out all my materials and finding something I want to do...

I could paint my peonies that just opened...

I could blow the entire day, chatting with friends and hanging out on Facebook. I could write letters. I could do so many things... that I'm paralyzed by the sheer number of possibilities.I should, perhaps, go outside and enjoy the plethora of flowers that are finally coming into bloom. My yard smells amazing... but the forecast calls for rain, and all I want to do is go back to bed and wait for this day to be over so I can return to my normal routine.

The back yard is full of forget-me-nots.
Not having a working lawn mower has its advantages.

This year, my lilacs burst into flower. The plant has been growing into the foundation of this house since we moved in. We tried, once or twice, in the early years, to remove it, but it always grew back, just a little green puff of leaves. When Ken was building the porch, I knew that would cover the foundation, finally depriving the tenacious little tree of light and water. I decided that, since it had worked so hard to eek out a living from between the stones, I couldn't let the plant die such an undignified death. I found a sprout that had grown into the earth, and dug as much of the root as I could from between the crevices. I planted the 8 inch tall tree in the front lawn.

That was almost 5 years ago. So much has changed since then.

My lilacs, blooming for the first time in over 17 years.

I feel as if... I should be happy. Things are going relatively well. I'm working, and making more now than our income when we first married. In less than a year, I've become financially self-sufficient, to the point that the kids and I are living entirely on my income. I still need to build a solid cushion of savings for times, like this, when I'm not getting enough (or any) work, but on the whole, we're doing fairly well.

So why do I feel so... stretched thin, tired out, sad? Is this the lingering grief? I know I'm not the first person to ask, "why can't I just get over it?" But the pain bites fresh every time... and I don't know how to stop being surprised by it.  There are times I miss my own dad so deep I can hardly breathe. He comes to mind more and more often these days, and I just want to talk to him, to get his advice... I want to hear him say things will be ok. I want to know if I'm doing the right thing. I want to know if he'd be proud of me, even though I let my marriage fall apart. I want, so much, just to hear his voice.

My dad rocked. Yes, that's a chipmunk on my lap.
Dad had been sitting on the bench, feeding him peanuts all morning.
When I came out, he had me sit down and gave me a peanut. This is
one of my happiest memories, despite those insane longjohn type
pajamas. What was up with that?? Sometimes I wonder about my
parents' fashion sense. :-p

 I miss him, so much. And my mom, too, since she moved to Florida this spring. I'm happy for her, because I know she has more help, living adjacent to my sister and her family, and my step-father is nearing the point where a nursing home was a distinct possibility. Mom can't take care of him by herself anymore. The inevitable has been delayed, at least for now, and she has the support she needs to help him make the transition if and when it becomes necessary. Since I came along so late in Mom and Dad's lives, I'm used to being on my own for many of life's big transitions. Growing up, they were immersed in my elder sibling's lives and problems. The year I graduated high school, my dad was dying of cancer. Going off to college, Mom was dealing with his passing.

One of very few pictures I have of Mom and Dad.
They looked so young here, at least to me.
This was taken about 8 years before dad passed.

Mom has been able to be there for much of my kid's early childhoods, and she has been an absolute rock throughout the end of my marriage. She loaned me a substantial amount to have my house re-sided and insulated, which made going forward possible. I am now closer to being eligible for a home equity loan, which would allow me to finish the renovations this place needs, if I decide to sell in the future. Without the siding, that would not have been possible. I'm trying hard to make good use of the chance she's given me, by making sound financial decisions, and thinking about the future.


I think that, from all of this, the lesson is that I just have to keep on getting up, every single day, and moving forward. Mom and Dad gave me life. They weren't perfect, (are any parents perfect?) but they tried. They taught me right from wrong. They loved me. They were usually good about acknowledging my accomplishments. Dad let me follow him around when I was little and thought my Daddy was the best thing since the space shuttle. Mom has supported me and loved me through some of the most difficult times in my life. They laid the foundations, and now, when everything else is shaking apart... those foundations are holding strong.

 I hope I'm building strong foundations for my kids, in my turn. I love them. I'm working to build discipline into our routines, something that I struggle with. I try to remember to praise often and scold gently. I try to tell them, every single day, that I love them.

My beautiful, amazing kids, as we sit down to a meal on the porch.
Arek cooked on the grill. Jessi helped me set the table.

I can only hope that I've done right by them. I can't make up for everything that's gone wrong. I can't make up for my mistakes, or the loss of their parent's relationship, any more than my Mom fill the hole left by my dad's passing, though I know any parent, if they could spare their child pain by taking it into themselves, would do so without a second thought. If I could relieve them of the hurt they've suffered from the divorce, I would live through it 10 times over. All I can do is keep moving forward, and keep laying those foundations. I hope my kids can see the bricks being laid, one by one, and that one day, they'll know what to do for their own kids, in their turn.

Even Kame struggles to move forward at times.
When obstacles block his path, he just
goes over them, and moves on.

We'll keep on keeping on. Sometimes, that's the best you can do. Something tells me that the best is yet to come.

God bless.
-Mary
*~*~*

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."
~Psalm 46:1-3 NIV

Stuck

Did you ever just have one of "those" days?

Kame seems to have a penchant for hiding. And sometimes, getting into his favorite hiding spots proves challenging. Sometimes, he even gets stuck, while seeking a place of safety and refuge.
On this particular day, I had to rescue my little friend from where he was wedged between a laundry basket and the mini-fridge that was in our bedroom. The silly turtle was determined to get into that dark space and explore, but his shell just wouldn't let him fit.

I get stuck at times, too, especially when I'm determined to hide from the world. I spend hours, even days, sitting at my computer, cloistered in my little corner of my bedroom where I've set myself up with a makeshift office. Not long ago, I was well and thoroughly stuck. The loss of a marriage is a grieving process, one that I have been reluctant to share, here or anywhere else. I've felt a strong need to prove myself worthy and strong, to prove to my ex-husband and to everyone else that I don't "need" him, or any man in my life to be a complete person. The women in my family have a habit of holding on to unhealthy relationships. I am determined that my children will not pay for my mistakes.

Reading back through unposted drafts, I came across one I wrote soon after Ken made his departure official:

 

"This is the last picture I painted for Ken. I had been painting a picture for Christmas every so often. I had other paintings planned, but then life changed.

Since he left, I haven't picked up a paintbrush. In fact, I haven't written much... As evidenced by my neglect of this blog. I have been taking a day at a time, focusing on work and school and just getting through each day. By most counts... I'm doing pretty well."

 ~*~*~

"Doing pretty well" was a lie and I knew it... That's why this post went into the archives until now, along with the penciled outlines of the other paintings I had begun, tucked away in a folder. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to write, I didn't want to paint, I didn't want to talk to anyone or do anything. I was stuck. I was hiding. I was in too much pain to do anything more than get through each day.

When a marriage breaks, it's like any injury the body sustains. A broken bone doesn't heal immediately. The sudden, shocking pain doesn't last, but the lingering ache does, even after the bone is set and in a cast. The healing process can't, and shouldn't be, rushed. Rest and care are necessary. Protection of the healing wound is critical. You don't break a leg, and go out and run a marathon the next day.

Lately, I've been wondering if I should be dating, or at least seeking out friendships with men. I miss the companionship of having someone to go out to dinner with, or to see a movie with. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that came with being married. I know that my ex hoped we could remain friends, but the betrayal was too deep. I am too angry, and too deeply hurt to see him as a friend. Perhaps, in time, we might achieve a lukewarm affection, but I doubt I will ever trust him enough again to call him a friend.

I even went so far as to join a Christian online dating club, taking the free trial membership to see if there might be someone out there like me, lonely, but not anxious to dive into another serious relationship, but I never made it out of the glancing-at-pictures from behind the safety of a free membership stage. The free membership doesn't allow for communication, so it's difficult to actually "meet" anyone without paying the monthly fee, a step that would bring the vulnerability of exposure I just don't feel ready for.

I know that, sometime soon, it will be time for the cast to come off. Healing is a balancing act. Left unused and protected for too long, the limb begins to atrophy. Once the bone heals, the cast needs to come off so that the work of rebuilding lost muscle can begin. I'm often frustrated in this stage of my life. Like an itchy cast, the protective shell I've built around my heart can be galling at times. I want to be out there, running in the sunshine, meeting someone new, taking new risks and building a new life... but I'm not ready.

I'm no longer stuck. I'm healing. I'm not ready, yet, to get up off the couch and come out into the sun, but I know that spring is coming and, like Kame, I will come out of hibernation, in time.



Until next time...
~Mary

~*~*~

 “And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.”
-Anne Lamott (Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year)

The LORD is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread?
-Psalm 27: 1

Of Love and Loss and Moving On

My notes in church are often less.... lyrical, than you might think.

 Kame has once again slipped into hibernation mode. His torpor means that he disappears for days at a time, emerging only occasionally to explore the offerings of fresh raspberries and take a short dip in his bathing tub, before disappearing beneath the mulch once again. He deals with winter by avoiding it entirely, passing it half-asleep and hidden.

Not for the first time, I find myself envying my shelled friend's ability to sleep through the less pleasant months of the season. I, too, have been hibernating, in a way. I've been avoiding speaking out about many of the emotions rolling through my days as I move forward, because so many of them have to do with other people, and I have vowed that this blog will be about my own life, and not a clearinghouse of gossip about others.
It might not be possible for me to blog without mentioning what's going on in my ex's world, or in my children's, but I'm trying not to air anyone's laundry but my own.

So much has happened since I last wrote. October brought with it a shocking blow with the loss of a very old and dear friend. Laura Kim Eisele Curtis was one of the best friends I've had. She put up with my ramblings, my oddities, my failures and my quirks. She made me laugh. She made me less ashamed of my PTSD symptoms and helped me see it as a condition to be managed, rather than a weakness. She stood beside me as I walked through some of the most difficult times in my life, and she allowed me to be a part of her life as she dealt with her own losses, blows and failures. Her passing was devastating, and a loss to the world, though most will never know what they missed by not knowing her.

My beautiful friend Laura, with her dad, Don, being a goof in the background. She had a quirky sense of humor that she came by honestly.

There are many things that Laura shared with me that I will take to my grave, but I can tell you a few things about my dear friend. She was a great singer and an amazing mom. I will forever hear her voice singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her daughter over the phone at bed time on the occasions she stayed at my home. There is surely no sound more beautiful in the world. She was a good friend. I can't count the times she listened to me and let me run on. She gave me good advice. She was the one who encouraged *cough*dragged*cough* me into seeking out a college degree. She has been my friend, my support, and my confidant for well over ten years... and now she's gone. Just like that, in one dark night, she left this world and traveled beyond the veil.
And even now, she is with me.

I could hear her beside me, snickering, at her final service, as the Pastor's voice rose in song. He had a lovely voice, but Laura often attended my son's guitar lessons with me, and we had sat, barely containing school-girl giggles, through many voice-student's renditions of "New York, New York". Since her parents live near the Big City, and my favorite fictional heroes are rumored to occupy its sewer system, the song made us giggle all the more. I could feel her arms around my shoulders, even as I cried. I could hear her voice in my dreams, in the wretched days after her passing, laughing and exclaiming, "but Mary, I'm here with MacKenzie! I'm dancing... I don't hurt anymore..."

Her baby daughter who succumbed to SIDS was waiting for her, I know. And although she has left two other beautiful young women behind, I know the joy of that reunion will be complete when we all come together in Eternity's time. Laura knows no grief now, no pain. She has stepped out of time, and into the place where there are no more tears, no more sorrows. It is only those of us who are left behind who grieve for the parting. I could feel her presence again, more faintly, when I achieved my first college degree. I could hear her voice, quietly telling me "I'm proud of you, Friend. You did it."

Laura has moved on, and although I was not ready, could never be ready, to lose my friend, I know that this parting is a part of life. Death's pain is the echo of the separation Man took from God in the Garden, and it is eased by the knowledge that the gap has been closed by His son, that this world is healing. Death is a scar in the eternal tapestry, nothing more.

And now, it is time for me to move on, to move forward in my own life. I can not hold on to the hurts and worries and grief of the past year. I can not hold on to the man who was once my husband, or allow his choices to guide my emotions any longer. I must come to a place where I can see him building a new life of his own, and be able to smile and wish him well. I have not yet reached that place. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know that the only way for healing to begin is to remove the splinter of bitterness and anger.

A painting from my college Illustration class, with a quote that I hope, will define the new year.

Someone very wise once said that revenge is like a splinter. It festers and poisons the mind. The only way to heal is to let it go.

The river is moving on... and I must step into it once again, and find a new way.

-Mary
~*~*~

"Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, "It will be happier..." - Alfred Tennyson

Full

Introducing Akai. That's a saucer beside him, not a dinner plate.

We do seem to have a habit of acquiring pets around here. They're like potato chips... we can't stop at just one. Today, I'd like to introduce Akai. (Ah-kye). "Akai" is Japanese for "red", and although you can't see it in this picture, this little guy's sides and bottom are marked with bright scarlet. He's a painted turtle, a common species where we live. My friend found him on the road. Ordinarily, the right thing to do would have been to admire this beautiful little guy and move him off the road, but if you look closely, you can see the cracked shell above his tail.

A crack like this one is an invitation for infection, not to mention a serious structural weakness that could threaten Akai's safety if he were attacked by a predator. My friend thought it best for Akai to seek refuge for him with Kame, and I agreed. Akai is a bit smaller than Kame. His shell is about 5 inches from front to back. The crack takes up an inch and a half, making it a significant injury. He may have been clipped by a car.

Although Kame is nearly twice Akai's size, he was... somewhat ambivalent at first, about his new roommate. Once he discovered Akai would not hog his food, he accepted him readily. Turtles, unlike humans, are not especially territorial.

Kame: "Dude, who is this turtle and what's he doin' on my rock??"

 

.

 

 

 

 

I... am having more trouble sharing my space. Memories keep intruding, staying like guests who just can't take a hint. Emotions are also crowding me. Grief, anger, disappointment, loss... and anger keeps bubbling up in the most unexpected ways. Anger motivated me to re-paint my upstairs bathroom, adding color where Ken preferred white walls. Anger makes me want to remove every trace of my husband from this house... to assert my own sense of style I so often set aside in favor of his taste and feelings.

Even if I would give in to the urge, it wouldn't be possible. He and I have been remodeling for almost ten years. Our sweat, our blood, and our tears are nailed, spackled, and painted into these walls. I can no more remove his presence from this house than I can remove my emotions. And, when I think of my kids, I know I don't want to. Whatever my feelings are, he is still their father, and my job, first and foremost, is to love and support them through this transition. I will paint, and pretend it's just to make our home nicer for them. Passive-aggressive? Maybe, but at least I am doing no harm to my children's psyches this way.

My kids... They are the reason my friends keep telling me I'm dealing better with this entire situation than they would. They would get a jackal of a lawyer. They would take him for everything they could. They would toss his things in the yard, burn them. They would not stack his things on the porch. They would not wait patiently for him to create space in his new home (there's a big anger spike right there!- when I think of the work THIS house needs... OUR house, and that he is doing so much in another place...). They would not tolerate his nonsense! And I just smile and shake my head, because although I have anger, I can't imagine doing those things. I don't want to... not for more than a moment when I'm frustrated, anyway. There's simply no point. Being destructive would not make me feel any better. Inflicting hurt to "punish" him for hurting me, lashing out... Those are all the things I learned in counseling and parenting classes, years ago, to  avoid. The counseling that has helped me control and direct my emotion into positive action has left me unable to throw the temper tantrums I sometimes feel like having. The urge comes on me... and the voice of my counselor in my memory asks "Will it help? Will you feel better afterward, or worse?"... and the anger fades before the fire can be stoked out of control.

And so, I stack his things on the porch. I try to be reasonable. I don't e-mail HER and say "Are you happy now?" I try not to dwell on what's gone by, because time is a river... and you can't stop the flow. It moves on, inevitable, and fighting it will only leave you waterlogged, exhausted and drowned.  

I may not be dealing with this the "right" way. I may be too tolerant. I may, as some have told me, be "letting him get away with" too much. But, I'm keeping my head above water. Besides, in the end, who will be happier? Who, when this is over, will have "won"? Who, in the end, is walking away with more?

I look at my kids, and I know the answer.
With or without him here, my life is full, and I am blessed.

~*~*~

"Not leaving: an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children”
~Markus Zusak

 “Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.”
  ~Garrison Keillor

Dignity

"Dignity" isn't a word often associated with my home. "Chaos" is more suitable most days. The above picture  is a of a portion of our latest chaos. The Thursday before Easter, we were blessed with an unplanned (but not completely unexpected- Mom looked as if she'd swallowed a cantaloupe) surprise.  Eleven squirming bundles of puppy-warmth came into the world that night. Unfortunately, not all of them were strong enough to navigate this world. Four passed within a few days.

The remaining seven are five weeks old today. Rambunctious, playful and increasingly messy, Mr. Moo, Arrow, Smudge, Star, Diamond, Sleepy and Streak come together to form the very definition of chaos. I love each of them. I love Mr. Moo's block-headed stubborn sheer boyish puppy-ness. I love Streak's habit of pouncing into the center of any brawl, even though he's considerably smaller than his brother, Smudge, who's usually in the center between Moo and Diamond. I especially love little Diamond's tenacious personality- she's not afraid to mix it up with the boys. I love Star's sweet face. I love Arrow's calm dignity as he sits beside my feet looking up as if to say 'what's up with them?'. Sleepy's elfin looks and habit of sidling up for a surreptitious nibble on my shoe make me smile. I love them all... And I will be glad when they go to the homes we've carefully chosen for each of them and my house subsides to a lesser chaos once more.

Although this litter was unplanned, and... honestly, unwanted, each of these lives have brought joy, and each of these unwanted puppies will go to a home where they will be cherished for the rest of their lives. Because, after all, isn't that how life is supposed to work? We're supposed to be chosen, in delight. We're supposed to be loved as we mature, as we learn and grow. We're supposed to reach our full potential within a relationship...

But people are not puppies. Life doesn't always work out the way we planned. Sometimes, things go awry. Sometimes, people's hearts change. Sometimes they change their minds.

"People change, and forget to tell each other." -Lilian Hellman. 

And yet, somehow, life goes on.

I am still wrapping my mind around the idea of a forever without Ken by my side. I had dreams... dreams of the days when our kids were grown, finding their own way in the world. Of course, I knew they'd wander home now and then, but I hoped we'd equip them with the skills they need to seek out gainful employment and the desire to begin building lives of their own, separate from Mom and Dad. I looked forward to a future in which we would build the little A-frame cabin in the woods we'd talked about, where I would write and he would hunt and pursue his hobbies. I dreamed of getting old together.


The dream has changed. Ken has made his escape, moving into a new home, building a new space for himself, moving away, separating. To say it has been a painful process would be to say a tsunami is an ocean wave. Our lives have been broken apart, shattered. This separation isn't the natural growth I look forward to in my kids, the breaking off of a seed that drops away from the tree to set its roots into the soil and begin its own journey toward the sun. This was an unnatural break, the loss of a limb... and the scar will take time to heal.

In those first few days, as my kids clung like little burs to my side, a much-younger reaction than I expected, but natural considering the way their security had just been snatched away, I wondered if I'd ever be happy again. I wondered if I'd ever find love again, and if I do, if I'll be able to trust in it, if I'll ever dream of the future the way I once did. I see family and friends who have lived through this building new relationships, wearing them like an artificial limb, but there is something that rings false in many of those relationships. There is friendship. There is affection. There is companionship, all the things a human being needs to thrive, but there is something... something vital and precious that is missing. The sparkle when they look at one another is not there. The longing, the deep affection, the feeling that this one, this person and no other, can fill the space in them that needs filling, is lacking somehow.

That's not to say they're unhappy, or that they shouldn't seek out what they obviously find fulfilling. I have always known I'm a different breed. I expect too much, and too little. I'm too wild and too quiet, too lazy, too determined, too frenetic, too happy, too sad. I know I set myself apart, and now I know that it's a mistake to be anything different than who I am, or to try to settle. I know that by rejecting the idea of a casual romance, I may be creating a future in which I am alone... and I am ok with that. I have learned that I would rather be alone than change who I am. One day, perhaps someone will come along who looks at me and says

"This one. This is the one I want. This is the one who can fill that space in me that needs filling, this one, and no other."

One day, perhaps, I will be chosen and I will choose. One day. But for now, I will simply try to live my life with dignity, and look forward to whatever dreams this new future brings.

~*~*~

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.”
~Mary Ann Shaffer

“Be strong. Live honorably and with dignity. When you don't think you can, hold on.”
~James Frey

Out of Limbo

I'd like to introduce the newest member of our family. His name is "Squirt" (via my kids, and after the little turtle in the movie, Finding Nemo).

Meet Squirt.

Squirt is an Eastern Mud Turtle. He is the victim of the "Aww, it's so cute, let's take it home!" syndrome. A friend works in a local pet shop, and someone came in the store with Squirt, explaining that relatives had returned from a trip to Georgia bearing this adorable, but unfortunately unwanted, little gift. Since my pet-shop friend is already overburdened with her own pets (many are cast-offs, abandoned by careless owners), she allowed Squirt to come and join our family. Squirt is undoubtedly unhappy about this change in his circumstances, but since reversing time is not a talent I possess, we will attempt to give him the best life possible within his new reality.


The thing about life is, it never stops changing. If it stopped changing, that would mean that growth had stopped. That all was still and silent and... cold. Life that stops changing is no longer life. And here, in our little corner of the world, life is changing again. 

Tomorrow, Ken will explain to our kids about the house he's been renovating. He'll explain that this is more than a job, that the work he's put into the place has been not for pay, but for himself. He'll tell our kids that he's moving out.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid they're going to be shattered by this news. I'm afraid of the way the monumental shift in our family is going to effect them. I'm afraid I won't be enough for them, that I won't be able to comfort away this kind of hurt. I'm afraid they will suffer life-long scars. Until now, we've been able to shield the kids, to take the body-blows into ourselves and absorb the impact. The kids felt the repercussions, of course,  but were not devastated. This time, there is no way to soften the hurt.

I'm hurting too, as he is, I know. This isn't going to be easy, for any of us. This isn't what we signed on for. This isn't how it's supposed to be and it's not fair. It's not fair. I'm going to be hearing those words a lot, I think, in coming months... and they will ring with truth. This isn't fair.

I'm masking my own pain for now. Out with Jessica yesterday, alone with my daughter, the secret we have not yet revealed to them hung between us, unspoken. She sensed its presence. I could tell by the way she waited for me to speak. She knows the disaster's coming. She just doesn't know yet that it's coming for her and her brother as well as for her dad and I.

I'm avoiding talking about my own feelings, I know. I'm focusing on my kids because they need me. There is no time for me to cry for my own loss... I have two kids whose lives are about to be irretrievably altered.They need me to keep it together, to support them while they grieve. As a mother, their pain hurts me more deeply than my own.

This morning, I read a blog by the parents of a little girl, Avery. She has an incurable genetic disease that will take her from this world too soon, and her parents are doing their best to fulfill Avery's bucket list, to see that she experiences the fullness of life in the short time she has on earth. They were faced with a parent's worst nightmare, and instead of letting it devour them, they have climbed atop the dragon's back with their daughter, and are allowing it to carry them as it flies. I hope I can learn from Avery's parents. They have found hope in a hopeless situation.

Two years ago, I followed a path. I made a choice. It has led us through some difficult places, some dark ones, but there has also been joy. There was, for a time, a sense of reconciliation... but all that time, his path was leading him further from us, into places we cannot follow. This has been a time of transition, of changes, of growing up. We have come to another crossroads, but this time it is my husband, not I, who must choose. For better or worse, he has chosen the road I turned away from, and this is one path I cannot walk with him.

I can only walk on, and look toward whatever the future may bring. 

*~*~*

My prayer for us, for my kids, for myself, and for my husband, whatever these changes bring:

"The LORD will guide you continually,

And satisfy your soul in drought,

And strengthen your bones:

You shall be like a watered garden,

And like a spring of water,

Whose waters do not fail."

Isaiah 58:11

Am I an Idiot?

Wow. Just ... wow. I didn't realize just how grumpy I've been lately until today, when I got into an argument on Facebook with a mouse.
Yeah... I know how crazy that sounds.... Let's just say that role-players are interesting people.

But I digress. My mood has been horrid lately, even though life, in general, has been good. We've had our ups and downs... but when do we not?

Our daughter is struggling to finish her first year of high school. Our son is having some trouble with homeschooling- the curriculum we began the year with is not working, at all, and we need to change our approach radically.

I can see that I will be strongly challenged next year, to keep him interested and consistent in his work. This year, I've allowed my instincts to direct us, allowing him perhaps too much leeway, but giving him the room he needs to heal and mature past his frustrations from the past couple of years.

This week, I was offered an opportunity to work on retainer for a client, a big step for a freelance writer. This... is good news. A regular paycheck is a positive move for me, giving me the independence and freedom I need, as well as the means to better support us and to perhaps begin building a savings account. So, why am I so grumpy?

I wish I knew. I have several theories. A lack of sleep. The nightmares that plague me. The feeling of being slowly buried under an avalanche as I try to dig myself out with a spoon. College, work, home-school... all with the deadening pressure of uncertainty, is crushing me.
I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of feeling as if there's a hole in my life, a missing piece. I'm tired of feeling alone, even though I'm surrounded by family and friends who have been my rock throughout these past two years of turmoil.

Do these feelings mean it's time for me to make a decision? Do they mean I should move forward? Does this mean I should end my marriage?

I wish I knew. I have said, in the past, that I will not be the one to file for divorce. I have said that I will not be the one to walk away. I will not be the one to destroy us... to take that final step. I pray that I am doing the right thing. I felt, when this started happening, that God was asking me to stand firm, to keep my place, no matter what my husband chooses. I have not felt as if that has changed.

Recently, I read a book a friend has written. I read as a copy-editor, to help her prepare the final manuscript for publication. As I searched the text for misspellings, inconsistencies and typos, I found more in the pages than excellent writing. I found truth. I found advice that I wish I'd received years ago. I found truth, hope and humor from someone who has "been there and done that". I found more insight into what is "off" in my marriage that I have never before been able to put my finger on... and I found reminders about personal responsibility, accountability, loyalty and commitment. I found strength to carry on a bit longer, in hopes that God might use this particular "idiot" to His glory.

I don't know where this journey will end. I do know that I chose the more difficult path, when I made the decision to stay in my marriage. I know that it's possible I'm being stubborn, even pig-headed, about this decision. I know that by staying I am relinquishing "what might be". But... I made a promise, and it is one I intend to keep.

No matter where this road leads us, Elaine Miller's book, We All Married Idiots, has become a part of the journey I'll cherish.

Dream sweet, friends. Dreams are powerful things, the stuff hope is made of.
-Mary

~*~*~

"Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;
Strike the bell and bide the danger,
Or wonder, till it drives you mad,
What would have followed if you had."

~c.s. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew

Limbo

Limbo... It's not just a dance. According to "TheFreeDictionary.com", Limbo is:

1. Roman Catholic Church The abode of unbaptized but innocent or righteous souls, as those of infants or virtuous individuals who lived before the coming of Christ.
2. A region or condition of oblivion or neglect: Management kept her promotion in limbo for months.
3. A state or place of confinement.
4. An intermediate place or state.

We've had an unusually warm winter, with very little snow. Kame couldn't seem to make up his mind whether or not he would hibernate. He would disappear under his mulch for a few days at a time, then come out, looking for food and water. He's been in limbo... and so, it seems, have I.

A further explanation of Limbo describes it in the Catholic tradition as "the edge of hell", where unbaptized but righteous souls go to await the final judgement day. Will they be welcomed into the Kingdom of God, or cast forever into the darkness where there will be "wailing and gnashing of teeth"?

The edge of hell... That sounds familiar.

I've been walking a new path lately, one that's dim and difficult to see at times. It's narrow... rather like walking a tightrope. And I am juggling everything as I walk along, and must keep my eyes up, or risk dropping things and tumbling... with no promise of a net below.

College, home-school, freelance writing work... and my friends and family sometimes toss in other random items, like performers in a circus act. Before I know it, I'm juggling an afternoon out for coffee, kids' computers needing expensive repairs, the payment that's due for a class trip, like yesterday, the upcoming home school convention where I hope to find curriculum to better fit Arek's needs next year... and somewhere in there are editing jobs, as well as my own writing, which often seems to get lost in the mix.

I've been quiet these past three months because I am lost, stuck somewhere in Limbo. I keep moving forward... what choice do I have? But for the first time in a very long time... I don't know where I'm going. I don't have a plan. There is no light at the end of this tunnel. I feel as if I have two choices- Move forward with pursuing a divorce and destroy this family. Hurt my kids, hurt him, hurt me... all in the pursuit of a freedom that may or may not be worth it.
Or... Forgive all. Move on, as if none of it ever happened. As if the D-word never resonated like a quiet earthquake through our bedroom, opening a chasm between us that I don't know how to bridge or cross. Pretend it's not there... and risk falling in.

I don't know which way to go. The crossroads is before me, and I don't know which path to take. I'm lost, confused, hurting. I'm angry, so angry some days it feels as if I'll boil over. And I do... with tears. I know that closing my eyes to the chasm would prove disastrous, but I don't want to admit defeat, either.

The truth is, I don't want a divorce. I want my family. I want my husband. I want the man I married to be the man I need him to be. I want him to be faithful to me. To adore me. To think I'm the best thing that ever happened to him... to feel the way I felt about him before I knew about her... the way I think I could feel again, if I could believe he sincerely regretted the damage that's been inflicted.

I don't know if he can be that man. And if he can't... there really is only one choice. I just don't want to be the one to make it... and so I continue on for a little longer, here in Limbo.

~*~*~*~

"People change and forget to tell each other."
~Lillian Hellman

"Then He arose and rebuked the wind, And said to the sea, "Peace, be still!"
And the wind ceased and there was a great calm."
~Mark 4:39

Giving thanks in the rain

Kame and I have a new friend. Her name is CreamsiclePumpkinPiePancakes. Pumpkin for short.

Kame isn't sure what to make of this orange-and-white tornado who has invaded his space. She climbs on his enclosure, watching as he eats, reaches through the panels to swat at him, and generally makes a nuisance of herself. The poor turtle can't even enjoy his bathing pool. She watches too cannily as he climbs up to the end, slides down his plastic ramp into the water, and climbs up to bask on the rocks. Although Pumpkin weighs little more than Kame himself, she makes him nervous and uncomfortable. He and I are a lot alike. Neither of us are fond of change.

Changes, however, are a part of life.

"Without change, there would be no butterflies."

It's the day before Thanksgiving as I write this. Ken got up this morning, fixed me breakfast, and went off to work... We spent a quiet morning together, talking about the plans for the holiday, like normal people do. We were civil and affectionate, carefully acting like everything wasn't falling apart. Like we're not quietly dismantling everything we've spent sixteen years building. Like we're not planning to divorce. Someone looking at our quiet little scene would've thought we were just another happily married couple... And once upon a time, we were.

I used to love holidays... These quiet mornings when I felt closest to my husband. When we spent time planning for spending time with the family, looking forward to relaxing and laughing together, good food and good times...
Those things are not going to go away when things change for us, but there is a sense of profound loss all the same. The holidays will still be a time of love and laughter and smiles. I believe that on my good days. But with the change looming large in front of us, moving quietly through the undercurrents of our family like a fault opening up under a neighborhood, preparing to collapse and swallow it whole... Change does not look to me like a positive thing.

I know it will be. I know, when little resentments rise up, and are quieted by knowing this state of flux is temporary, when I look toward a future in which we can be friends, and we can each live our lives without expectations, without suspicion and resentment and hurt, I know that the changes are necessary and good for our family. I know our kids will understand, one day. I know that this will get better, that it will be better.

It's raining out today. It's cold and wet and threatening to turn into sleet, sticking to the road and making everything treacherous. Soon there will be snow falling, thick and heavy and cold. I know these things must come, as they do in their season. I know also that Spring will come, in its time. With the rain falling cold and slick outside, the sun is only behind the clouds, and it will return to warm us again.

I know that the changes coming will be difficult. I know there will be tears raining, hurt feelings and cold... I know the kids won't understand, at least not at first. I know there will be pain, and I dread it. If I could live forever in this limbo, this disconnect between what is real and what they believe, and keep them happily cocooned forever, I would. I would sacrifice my own soul, bleed out a drop at a time, anything, to spare them the pain that change will bring...

But I know that butterflies left in a cocoon wither and die. I know that they must break free, they must spread their wings, they must fly. Even the struggle is a necessary part of the butterfly's emerging. If the cocoon is cut open, and they are freed too soon, the insect will perish. The fight to escape the cocoon forces the fluids in the creature's body into its wings, expanding and growing them, stretching them out to dry in the sun... until it is ready to relinquish the cocoon, and fly.

Knowing all this... I will do all I can to make this transition easier for them. I will forgive and heal and allow myself to maintain the love I had for the man who is their father. I will fight back against bitterness and anger. I will not justify wrongs, but neither will I carry the weight of grudges. For their sake, I will do what I can to be kind, to be strong, to be faithful to my God and my family, even when I feel like throwing myself down and having a colossal tantrum at the unfairness of it all. I will choose to give thanks, even now, in the rain, and I will remember the words of a very wise Sensei:

"Change is good."

~Hamato Splinter

~*~*~

Falling Away

Friends....

I wrote this post about six weeks ago. I chose, at that time, not to put it up, because my children are not aware of the decision their father and I had made.

Six weeks later, I find myself very confused. A series of events has led Ken to change his mind... And has left me standing, once again, at a crossroads.

Going back is not an option. Turning away from the path, shrugging and saying "Oh, ok, so we decided not to go this way..."

It leaves too many questions unresolved, too many steps untaken. Yet... Does moving forward mean biting the bit and running headlong into an uncertain future? I don't think so. I believe we still have a choice... Paths are still laid out before us... and we must still decide. We have no choice but to move forward... but in what direction? I don't know yet.

I am posting this because... it feels dishonest not to, and holding it back this long has caused me nothing but anxiety, self doubt and pain.

*~*~*

In the fall, the warm days can seem as if the chill will never come.

The leaves know better, though. They start to turn colors long before the first icy frost touches their edges, leaving a misty white lace and changing the landscape from the rich, vibrant greens of summer to the quieter, more sedate browns and golds of fall.

Fall brings change.

Death, decay, sleep, hibernation... the changes Fall brings can seem like an ending. For much of nature, it is an ending, the end of a life cycle for many insects and even animals, the end of a season. The leaves will die and fall away, tumbling to the ground in one grand leap of faith, dancing on the autumn breeze, free of their tether for the first... and last, time. It is an explosion of beauty and color and defiance, because the leaves know. They know winter is coming with its heavy snow. They know they are soon to be buried under the weight of frozen beauty. They know the trees will groan in their sleep as the snow lays heavy on their branches. They know, and so they dance one last time.

Knowing winter is upon them, they choose to dance.

When this journey began, this season of my life, I believed it could last. We grew through the spring, held on through the early storms, and grew rich and green in summer. There was rain, there was wind, there was sun... and we held on through it all. We grew together, and I was certain our tether would never be broken. I was sure we would grow old and brown together, there on our tree.

I was wrong.

Yesterday, Ken told me that he loves me, he respects me, but he can't be married any more. What does that mean? Can't be married anymore? You're married one moment, and then you're just... not? Does it really mean that marriage has become so stifling that he just has to break free, has to run, has to find a new way of living before he suffocates under the weight of frozen beauty? Or does it mean that the season has been spent, that our time together is just... over? The metaphor can only carry so far. Lives are meant to be shared, through many seasons, not just one, or a few. And I am no innocent. Marriage is a "we". Not a "me" and a "you". Sometime, some where, things went wrong. There wasn't enough. There was too much. The sap that nourished us has run dry and the leaves have changed color... and, it seems, the time has come to let go.

I wish I understood. I'm trying.

There is still much to decide, discussions that must take place, a life that must be divided once again into two. Grief, fear, anger... it all threatens to overwhelm me. The thought of my kids, who don't even know yet (and are the reason I can not publish this entry until things are more settled), is breaking me. Their tree is still young and green and their leaves are not ready to fall. It is their parents who have made the mistakes, not them, and we will shield them as much as we can, but I know winter will come.

I wish things were different. I wish we could have worked this out. I wish he hadn't changed his mind. I wish he still loved me. I wish... but the colors have changed, and autumn has come... and so I will let go...

And I will dance.

~*~*~

Perspective

My pictures of Kame don't always come out in perfect focus. He moves, or the camera jiggles, or the lighting simply isn't right, and sometimes the picture is just a little... off.

Did you know that a turtle whose shell is severely damaged will probably not survive? Shell cracks are as serious an injury to a turtle as a broken neck or back are to us.

Kame sports several small puncture wounds on either side of his shell. The veterinarian was alarmed when he first discovered them, but upon further examination decided he'd probably been living with them for a long time. The wounds are old, and while disturbing, are not hindering Kame's life. The vet speculated that a dog or coyote may have tried to make a meal of my little friend, and rather than finding a soft creamy center, the animal discovered it had bitten off more than it could chew.

Life is like that sometimes. When we're young, we think there's nothing we can't handle. We think we can take on the world, we'll never make a mistake or a wrong turn. We think we understand how things work... and sometimes we try to make something ours that is out of our reach, even though it's right in front of us. A slow-moving turtle must have looked like an easy target for a young coyote... Until he got a mouthful of that shell.

Experience is a harsh teacher, but it is an honest one. As painful as learning can be, I am grateful for the lessons I'm learning each day. The coyote learned that turtles are not tasty treats. I may not know yet, where all this learning is leading me, but I do know one thing: Life has only one direction, and I can only choose to stand still... or to keep going on. The only way to reach the top of a mountain is to climb... and so I will.

*~*~*

You are responsible for your life.
You can't keep blaming somebody else for your dysfunction.
Life is really about moving on.
- Oprah Winfrey

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.
- Albert Einstein

Counting down to a memory: the 10 things I learned from knowing Shirley, part 1

Kame is always stretching, always climbing, always reaching to greater heights. It is, I think, how we grow. Staying still means atrophy. We can only continue to live by moving.

While Kame was in hibernation this winter, he nearly stopped growing, stopped changing. He slipped into a long period of quiet and rest, hardly moving except when I'd dig him out of his mulch to weigh him and dip him in his pan for a drink, a process he resented. He made his displeasure known with hisses and tucking himself into his shell...

Much the same way I wanted to tuck myself up in a shell and hide over these past two years. Life, however, has a way of moving on and we must grow... or atrophy.

Three summers ago, I lost a dear friend. I've mentioned her here before. Shirley was more than a friend to me, she was a mentor, someone I looked up to, and sometimes someone I went to for guidance and advice. She was an incredible lady, and I was blessed to know her.

Remembering her, however, without learning and growing from what she offered through her life and the work she did as a teacher would do her memory a disservice. Good people are remembered fondly. Great people leave a legacy. Shirley was one of the greats... and so, Saturday Night Live style, I'd like to share the ten most important things I learned from knowing her. I learned many more things, of course, but while I was at Montrose last week, sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, and contemplating our time together, these are the first that bubbled to the surface.

This is the top ten things I learned from knowing Shirley, part one:

10) Always smile. Your smile is what people will remember when you're gone, so use it often, so that it is etched clearly in their memory.

9) When something's funny, laugh. Laugh until your belly hurts, until tears are running down your face, until you can't breathe. Laugh with your friends, and share their joy.

8) Listen. Really listen. Your story isn't nearly as important for others to hear as theirs is for them to tell. Often, if someone's telling you their story, it's because they need to tell it to themselves, to begin to understand it. Listening can be the most beautiful gift you can share with another human being.
(Shirley was an expert listener, a skill for which I will always be grateful.)

7) Be transparent. When the time is appropriate, share the parts of your story you own, the parts you've already come to understanding and peace with, the parts that can uplift and heal someone else. Don't try to make it pretty. People need honesty, need to know they're not the only ones who've been where they are.

6) Take care of yourself and know your limits. Rest when you need to rest. Take time away to pray and to be alone with God. Even Jesus withdrew from the crowds sometimes, to rest and meditate.

That's it for today, folks. I'll give you the top five in the next post. For now, I have other work to do, and miles to go before I sleep.

Safe travels.
Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Stopping by woods on a snowy evening"
-Robert Frost

New horizons

It seems, lately, as if all I've written about has been sadness and reflection. I've been in that place of going along, watching the ground in front of my feet, for so long, I haven't looked up in quite a while.... And there are so many beautiful things to see.

This week, Kame is at home with a friend coming in to be sure his dish is always filled with fresh greens and berries and a bit of egg, all his favorite foods. I am on our yearly camping trip with the family, taking a moment to breathe... and a moment to look back upon where we've been... and forward to where we are going.

The healing process, it seems, is a slow one. Each time I feel as if I've come to a place where a certain name will never cross my mind again, something reminds me and takes me back to that earth-shattering phone call, and the sick, lost feeling of dreaming you're falling and never hitting the bottom. I remember the betrayal, and I am angry all over again.

Those moments are painful for my husband as well. Just when he thinks we've gotten past all that, when he thinks it might be safe to move forward, to grasp the happiness we once shared, I turn on him. Oh, I don't shout or rant or bring it up and pick a fight... It can be something as little as a look, a turning away, a frown, but he knows, almost always, what's in my mind. I hate the flash of regret for what should not have been. I hate the hurt and what I fear will soon turn to resentment if we cannot resolve this rift between us.

I hate knowing my churned up emotions are the cause, when the scab is torn off yet again and we are left to bleed, each in our own ways. Regardless of who inflicted the wound in the first place, we must work together to heal it. If trust can't be rebuilt in a marriage, what will be left? I fear some days that we will end as very good friends... but nothing more. When I think of what is at stake... I can not stomach the thought.


My fears, though, are fading, slowly, painfully. This week, we've been out kayaking...
























And having fun together...


And hanging around the campfire, watching bats flit overhead. (by the way, we got the funky colors by tossing in a couple packets of stuff they sell at the camp store.)


Yet, I found myself acting out of jealousy and insecurity, pushing myself too hard physically to keep up with the activities my family wanted to engage in, pushing myself emotionally to be "upbeat" and social, unconsciously pushing my husband away and withdrawing when I felt he wasn't paying enough attention to me. In short, I found myself sabotaging what I needed most: A few days of simple interaction with my family.

For several months now, I have been working long hours, trying to establish myself as a freelance writer and editor. I've been throwing myself into this job... and trying at the same time to avoid neglecting my family and friends. I've been trying to succeed without losing that vital part of myself that makes me who I am. It hasn't been easy. There has been frustration and resentment on all sides as my family adjusts to Mom working. I had hoped this week away would help re-cement my commitment to my family; to show them that I am still available to them, and have not been swallowed up in chasing my long-held dream of finishing college and writing full time.

The extra work has made my life more stressful than before, and, I'm learning, makes it more difficult to stay connected, to stay in the moment, to work at a marriage that still needs attention and nurturing if it is to survive.

This week away has taught me that if we are to rebuild what is broken, we will have to recommit every single day, to remember what it is, exactly, that we're fighting for. We will need to go through these moments, the happy and the painful ones, and we will have to learn to set aside our day to day rush sometimes, and just be.

There is hope. It burns bright, just beyond the bend. All we can do is keep walking, keep striving, keep working together every single day. It's the only way to win the quest, to live the adventure, to find our own happy ending.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

"I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song."

-Roy Croft

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.”

-Erica Jong

Going on

Kame seems determined to explore the wider world beyond his enclosure. He's not content with the confines, knowing there is more, somewhere, if he could just get free.

I wonder, sometimes, just what it is he's searching for, if he's looking for something he remembers deep in the recesses of his turtle brain. I wonder if he recalls that there's green grass and juicy slugs outdoors, where I've taken him on warm summer days, and he's trying to get back to that turtle paradise. I wonder if even he really knows what it is he's searching for.

Some days I find his antics amusing... and others, I know exactly how he feels.

As much as Kame enjoys his little excursions, either in the yard or just around my office, he's always grateful to return to his home. We have a lot in common, he and I. Most of the time, like me, I think he's happiest in his safe, familiar surroundings.

Still, all of us, now and then, need an adventure. All of us need a chance to get outside ourselves and see what lies beyond our door step. All of us need a chance to explore... all of us need a chance to grow. I think we all have that need to see what's beyond our own front doors.

This morning I wrote an note to a friend who I am no longer in contact with. I wrote it, read it over, and decided not to send it... because the person has moved on and there is no point in going back over paths already traveled. Re-reading, I realized I really had nothing to say, because what I'm searching for isn't in the past. To find where I'm going, the only way to travel is forward.

Life is like that sometimes. Things change. People grow... and sometimes they leave. Sometimes it's painful... Sometimes it feels as if you weren't ready to move on.

In three week's time, I will be returning to Montrose Christian Writer's Conference in Montrose, PA. It is a glorious week of writing, laughter, fellowship and learning, a week of recharging, of getting in touch with myself as a writer, a week of networking, of renewing old friendships and building new ones.

It is also a week full of memories...
My friend and mentor Shirley Brinkerhoff was an amazing woman. She left her mark on my heart, as she did, I think, on all who were privileged to know her. Her legacy lives on in a scholarship fund, and in a beautiful painting by another friend that hangs in the classroom she taught in.

Since her passing two years ago, I haven't been able to bring myself to take classes taught in that room. I may never be able to sit around the table again without hearing her laughter and seeing the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. She was contagious, and we never got through a class without fits of giggles.

Montrose is sacred ground for me. It was a life-changing experience, attending that first year, and I never come away the same as when I arrived. Every year there is something new to learn, something new to take away. These past few years, with so much turmoil in my life, it has been my sanctuary.

Last year, I didn't even attend the classes... I was emotionally injured, and in a good deal of pain last year when I went to Montrose. I was worried about things at home, I was confused and lost and sick at heart. Mostly I sat out on the porch, holding a friend's baby, and remembering happier times. I also went kayaking. It was, perhaps, not what conference is meant to be... but for me, it was good. It was healing. It was what I needed during a very dark and confusing time.

This year, I go back, changed again. I've had new experiences this year. I have new things to share... I hope I will make new connections and learn new concepts and ideas that will strengthen my writing. I am going this year, determined to attend classes and make connections and soak in all the professional wisdom available. I am less in need of the healing warmth, but no less grateful that it is there to embrace my heart.

This year, I am stronger. I have begun to heal. I will always, perhaps grieve for the past, but I have come far enough to be able to look toward a brighter future. I will go and sit in Shirley's room... it will always be Shirley's room to me... and I will remember her, hear her laughter, and smile.

Then, I will get up and go out into the conference and embrace and absorb everything God has in store for me this year.

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."
-Robert Frost.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~
"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: This is the morning"
And as he spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before."

-c.s. Lewis, The Last Battle

To those who have gone before me on into Aslan's Country... happy reading, my friends.

Though I look forward to the great reunion one day, for now, I am content, knowing I am at the right place in the journey, and that it continues on, upward and onward, always.

Until we meet again, tsune ni oboete okimasu.

Vengeance

Kame enjoyed those last few days of warmth in the fall so much... digging around in the leaves and searching out slugs, his favorite gourmet treat (and before you say "EEEWWWW", remember that humans gladly eat escargot.

Summer is coming again, and he is already excited, more active, ready to leave winter's icy grip behind and step out into the sun. He's ready to come awake. he's ready to live.

It feels as if I've written a lot about death recently. I had hoped to write more light-heartedly today... So much is happening, college has started and a new puppy has joined our family...

And yet I find myself pulled back one more time, checked for a moment, stopped by events that cannot be ignored.

I don't watch the news. Haven't in ten years, since airplanes came crashing into New York City's twin towers, and my generation's sense of security, the sense that an act of war could not touch us, indeed had not touched American soil since Pearl Harbor, came down with the buildings. It wasn't so much the towers falling that sickened me, as the video reports in the days afterward, of radicals and crazies dancing, celebrating the attack, celebrating death, horror and despair.

Watching the footage, I felt physically ill.

This morning, news broke out across the USA. Osama bin Laden is dead, killed by US troops in Pakistan. I wouldn't have known, except for people's announcements on Facebook. I woke up to celebration, wondered why... And felt sick all over again.

Now, before you peg me as a terrorist sympathizer, let me just say that I believe he deserved no less. The man caused devastation wherever he went, inflicted pain and suffering upon at least two nations. He was personally, if not directly, responsible for the 343 brave firemen and women who gave their lives to save others in September 11, 2001. His name has come to be synonymous with horror and depravity. Our troops should hold their heads high today. They have done their duty, and done it well.

Death... vengeance... I have mixed feelings about those words. Surely death must happen. Surely there are times it is justified. Surely, evil must die, good prevail, for there to be peace. And yet... there is a sort of sadness in it, a regret, that cannot be assuaged, even by justice.

I can't help but wondering, what right do we have to celebrate, as if we had done something good? What right do we have to dance on this man, or any man's, grave? What right do we have to celebrate death?

And yet...

A dear sister in Christ shared a tale of her recurring nightmare on her blog today.

Her dream begins with memories of horror inflicted upon her person, her family's apparent indifference and helplessness to stop it, and ends with revenge being violently carried out against the man who deserves it, if anyone in this life does.
It took incredible courage for her to share her story, because vengeance is not pretty. She is angry. She has every right to be angry.

I've seen the pain he inflicted first hand. I've felt it vibrating across the wires in conversations with her. The damage he inflicted has touched nearly every aspect of her life. He took something precious from her, her sense of security. Her sense of freedom. Her sense of being the beautiful woman that she is.

I can't feel anything but support and empathy when she expresses a desire for revenge. If I were to hear of this man's death, would I celebrate? Would I join others who care about her, in dancing on his grave? I'd like to say no... but that feels like a betrayal. Her pain demands payment. Her blood, like Abel's, cries out from the ground, and demands justice.

Vengeance. It implies justice being done, doesn't it? It implies a sense of right. It implies that the one facing it deserves what they got. Anger can be destructive, but sometimes it's righteous. Sometimes vengeance is justified. Sometimes death has a purpose, when it stops more evil from being carried out...

I just can't figure out how I feel about the celebration.

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"I am in such a good place in my life right now, and am striving to be happy. I know I will never "get over it" but I sure as Hell am getting through it."

-Christy Spurlin, one of the bravest women I know.

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"Regarding the celebration of Osama bin Laden's death:
“Do you think that I like to see wicked people die?" says the Sovereign Lord. "Of course not! I want them to turn from their wicked ways and live" (Ezekiel 18:23)."

-James Watkins