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

A Christmas Gift

Christmas... What a beautiful word. It brings to mind mistletoe and tinsel, sparkling lights and nativity scenes... like the one my mom gave me on Ken and my first Christmas together. I'd seen the nativity set in a Home Interiors catalog, and oh, how I coveted those beautiful figures!

I didn't think I would ever own them, however. Like for many newly married couples, money was tight... but Mom somehow knew how much I loved the Greatest Stories Ever Told figures I'd been collecting, and this set was the crown jewel of the collection. When I opened the gift at our family's Christmas celebration... I cried.

Sixteen years later, as I set the figures into our china closet (they're far to precious to me to risk displaying them out in the open with a new kitten in the house and three rambunctious dogs), I cried again.

Christmas is about so many things. First and foremost, it's about Family. The first Family was broken when Eve reached up, plucking a fruit that would lead to destruction. (And how many families have been destroyed since then, when Satan whispered a lie and a hand reached out to take a "forbidden fruit"?)
Then a new Family told the next part of the story, when a humble babe was born in Bethlehem, some 2000 plus years ago, and hope once again shone in the world.

Friends are part of the story as well. Wise men and shepherds came to celebrate the birth, bringing gifts to the new family and sharing in their joy. Connections happened. I wonder what those wise men and those shepherds talked about, as they stood around that manger. Can't you imagine the conversation?
Shepherd: "Well. He's a wrinkly little thing, isn't he?"
Wise man: "I sure hope you read your star charts right! We better not have traveled all this way and taken a wrong turn at Nazareth!"

It is friends I want to write about just now. Friends who have come along side in my most difficult times, friends who know me better than anyone else. Friends who have laughed together, and cried together. Friends who've shared their troubles, their joys, and their hearts.

Over this past week leading up to Christmas, several packages and letters have arrived in the mail, gifts from friends who live far away. I sent out some packages of my own, praying they'd find their way to their destinations on time, smiling as I thought of the recipients. I still have letters to write, because that is how I do Christmas... with a lick and a promise, and rarely on time.

One of the things I enjoy most about Christmas is choosing those gifts. They are never expensive or elaborate, but the time I spend choosing them, and in some cases designing or creating them, is like time spent with the friends who will receive them. And when I receive a package, as I did today, I know the friend who put it together has done the same thing... and for a moment, we have shared time together, even if we have never met in person.

The time leading up to Christmas has been difficult for me this year, for several reasons, but when I come online and see my instant-messenger flashing, or the phone rings and a familiar number shows up on the display, my heart is soothed and I smile. When a package or letter arrives, when I open a card, I am blessed. In a world filled with the rush of Christmas, with children begging for Iphones and spouses exchanging diamonds and cars... I open a box with a few simple gifts tucked inside, and the tears come, because I am so blessed.

This entry is for my friends, for my family, for the ones who are loving me through every step of the way. I couldn't do it without you. May God bless and keep you during this most blessed, beautiful and peaceful Christmas Season, and all through the year.

Christmas is tomorrow. What are you hoping to find under your tree?

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary
~*~*~

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."

Isaiah 9:6

"¹ In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. ² (This was the first census that took place while^[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) ³ And everyone went to their own town to register.

⁴ So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. ⁵ He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, ⁷ and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

⁸ And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. ⁹ An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

¹³ Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

Luke 2: 1-20

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: 10 Things I Learned from Shirley, Part II

If you missed the first part of this post, Part I can be found here.

I love the pet-loving community. A few weeks ago, I mentioned on Facebook that Kame's nails were getting too long, and I might have to resort to a vet visit to have them trimmed.

A fellow animal lover commented that her friend's daughter had worked with turtles and might be able to assist me... A few e-mails, phone calls and private messages later, a young lady came to my door with her mom and her bag of turtle-trimming equipment.

Kame was not impressed with his first manicure. He fussed and squirmed and protested this imposition on his dignity, but his nails are now a bit shorter and I'm certain he's more comfortable. (and no, in spite of several suggestions, we did NOT add color to the poor boy's nails) He's somewhat over the trauma this morning. He finally dug his way out from his mulch-covered hiding spot and even ate a bit of breakfast. (Lexi, you were right, he does like strawberries!)

Kame is an old soul. He rarely gets flustered or truly upset by much of anything that happens. He takes life as it comes, one slow step at a time, keeping alert for change, but facing it unafraid. I often think humans could learn a lot from turtles, from their tenacity, determination and calm, deliberate approach to life.

In a blog a few weeks ago, I mentioned a dear lady, Shirley Brinkerhoff, who I was blessed to meet at the Montrose Christian Writer's Conference. While Kame is an old soul... Shirley was eternally young. I rarely saw her without her favorite accessory: a smile. She seemed to be lit up from the inside with an unquenchable joy. In the few, too-short years I knew her, I learned so much... but for now, I will list the remaining five of the "top ten". Perhaps in future blogs I may share more, because the only way to keep a candle's flame burning is to pass it on.

Now, without further ado, here is Part II of what I learned from knowing Shirley:

5) God has not brought tragedy into your life for the benefit of others.
I remember the conversation so clearly, as if she is right here with me... Discussing personal tragedy, Shirley looked at me, for once unsmiling, and explained, He is in the business of using broken things, however, he does not break them for His use. "God does not allow tragedy so he can use your story."

Writers make use of every experience. We are always telling and shaping stories... but God is in the business of shaping lives. Thanks for the perspective, Shirley. It changed my paradigm, and my life.

4) Seek out the good in others. Shirley was a master at seeing people in their best light, at looking for Jesus in the sea of faces, and finding Him in each one.

3) Respect others' stories. Don't try to interpret what God is saying to and through them... He can speak for Himself.
This talent goes along with listening. Shirley's example and wisdom came as often in silence as it did with words.

2) Cut three. This... was a running joke in our little writer's group. She once asked us to cut three words from each sentence of our manuscript pages, telling us that good editing means accepting that "sometimes good stuff ends up on the cutting room floor". In life, I've learned to "cut three" from my schedule. Trimming the less-significant tasks leaves so much more room for what's truly important.

1) And the number one thing I learned from Shirley... Fly with a good flock. A Duck alone is a sitting... target, for predators. Life is a group sport. Participate.

~*~*~

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

-Longfellow