Christmas Vengeance

These days I have been thinking a lot about vengeance.  We all, it seems, have something(s?) that has happened to us for which we would like recompense.  We want to see those who have seriously wronged us to be punished in a way befitting the crime committed against ourselves.  Their body, mind, preferably eternal soul, ought to suffer at least as much as we perceive we have at their hand.

I have been allowing my mind to drift ever so slowly to the other side of this argument.  And peaking around that corner I found someone who was hoping and praying for the same thing.  Vengeance.

Christians like to satiate the murderous desire for revenge by clinging to the verse in the bible that says "'vengeance is mine, I will repay' saith the Lord."  Imagining a wrathful God pouring famine, pestilence and eternal damnation upon our offenders' heads.

But what if what is meant by this is that He is both the avenger (I will repay) and the recipient of that revenge (vengeance is MINE).  What if what Christ did on Calvary was to receive all the vengeance for all the wrongs done as the Father trampled Him in His wrath.  What if God only metes out his vengeance to also receive it.  What if this is the image of vengeance and redemption: that they are one, two sides of the same coin, two characteristics of the same person-the ultimate, infinite image of grace.

Isaiah 63 says:

Who is this coming from Edom, 
    from Bozrah, with his garments stained crimson? 
Who is this, robed in splendor,
    striding forward in the greatness of his strength?

“It is I, proclaiming victory,
    mighty to save.”

² Why are your garments red,
    like those of one treading the winepress?

³ “I have trodden the winepress alone;
    from the nations no one was with me.
I trampled them in my anger
    and trod them down in my wrath; 
their blood spattered my garments, 
    and I stained all my clothing.
⁴ It was for me the day of vengeance; 
    the year for me to redeem had come.
⁵ I looked, but there was no one to help,
    I was appalled that no one gave support;
so my own arm achieved salvation for me,
    and my own wrath sustained me. 
⁶ I trampled the nations in my anger;
    in my wrath I made them drunk 
    and poured their blood on the ground.”'

 he who has ears to hear...What if receiving the vengeance of the Father is exactly what the Son was born in this world to do.  So that there is no vengeance to be taken on murderers, mass or singular. So that there is no recompense for the rapist and the abuser.

What if ALL is Grace?  What if God is truly Love... For all?  Can you bear it?  Because, I am sure that is the God I have come to know; Jesus paid it all.  ALL.  all. unfathomable.  

If only could...

Make a deal with God, and get him to swap our places...

I think of this as the beginning of the dark ages-somewhere in the not quite middle of November.

My brother Ben, youngest of 9 born to my parents, ostensible bearer of a 3rd chromosome 21, was born on this day.  November 18th, 1983.  He'd be 29, if one can imagine that being a possibility. He died, suddenly, dramatically, insanely, just over a month after his 6th birthday.

I love writing.  I think I first started loving writing (and  loving writing for the reason of having a place to put my constant inner monologue, in particular) in response to his death.  I kept notes in a three subject spiral binder with a red cover about him and my feelings in relation to his death in the immediate years following.  So it seems only write, that i would right (yes i meant to misappropriate the spelling of the words that way) about all that on this day...23 years (almost) later.

There are moments that define your life so clearly, that no amount of time or distance or degradation of memory will ever put any distance between yourself and those moments.  The moment I knew my brother was dead, is just such a moment.

He was sweet, and adorable.  He had white blonde hair, and a beer belly and crazy dark blue eyes.  His fingers were short and pudgy and he was about 3 years behind the learning curve.  And he was sweet without equal, could work a VCR better than my mom, was up at dawn in his swimsuit/inner-tube and in the pool regardless of the ambient temperature.  He had you wrapped around his sweet, fat, wrinkle-less finger before you knew what was happening.

Each of my sons has reminded me of him, in their own way, at different times.  The subtle ways that nature can win out over nurture (or lack thereof, because certainly my ability to nurture is a shade compared to my mother-and her skills in this area may have been called into question by certain observers).

Happy Birthday to one who would be 29 this year, but is forever young in a way no mind of man can imagine.

Surprise

At my place of work there is a holiday tradition much like the one at your place of work: Secret Santa.  Last year, I chose not to participate.  Blame it on being new, or poor, or completely antisocial due to the mound of personal stress under which I was smothering.  Blame it on the Rain (lip-synched, of course).  This year, I have thrown my elf hat into the ring, and am singing loud for all to hear whilst spreading some serious Christmas cheer (even though it is not yet Thanksgiving).  Let's be honest, it only makes sense for me to participate, because if we're reducing ourselves to the oversimplimplified, somewhat dogmatic, love languages as set forth by the love guru and taken as gospel by most of the western christian church, you can keep your platitudinous terms of endearment and leave me to myself and most Certainly do not touch me... What I really LOVE are gifts and acts of service.  Enter: Secret Santa.

I was discussing Secret Santa last week with my planning period partner in grading and crime and mother/teacher/badass-hood.  We agreed that the best gift secret santa could bring us was a maid to deep clean our humble abodes. Just thinking about it, was sort of heavenly.  Hours later, I went home to my filthy house, ran my kids to 3 hours of soccer practice and woke up the next morning to a sink full of rotten dishes and thought, "yep, I would kill for a house cleaning service right about now."

Fast forward to this Tuesday.  I got a call from preschool telling me my 2.5 year old was sick, he had to picked up ASAP.  He was running a 102.7 fever and had puked all over one of the extended day teachers.  He would not be able to return to preschool until he was symptom free for at least 24 hours...and even tonight, 5 days later, he has the same fever.  Unable to immediately secure a sub, and too exhausted to dig deeper and find the names of other subs I didn't' have right at my fingertips, I turned to my friend Sarah (mother of 4) to see if she wouldn't mind watching one more.  She didn't (because that's just the kind of friend she is) but her in-laws were in town and she didn't want to expose them to whatever the little puker had.  So she asked if it would be OK by me if she watched little Liam at my place.  Of course it was!  I was just thrilled to have solved this problem so easily.

Wednesday, I left Sarah with Liam, in a pretty filthy apartment-dishes from breakfast on the table, pans from last night's dinner "soaking" in the sink, toys and clothes strewn about, I could go on, but you get the picture.  The (almost) ex picked Liam up from my apartment in the afternoon and three hours later I returned home.

I unlocked the door and walked in, turned the lights on and saw a vase full of flowers on the counter in the kitchen. A split second later, it registered in my brain that the place was really clean, and I burst into tears of joy.  Sarah had cleaned the house, cleaner than it had probably been in an entire year.  I walked in  and saw not only a clean kitchen, dining and living room, but a table full of clean clothes, neatly folded and put into piles.  This sent me to the laundry room, which I found empty (formerly full to overflowing with unwashed clothing).  Actually, it wasn't empty, there was a brand new bottle of Tide and everything that had been haphazardly dashed about the room was now neatly organized.  

Sarah had single handedly brought God's answer to a prayer that I hadn't even made into a serious prayer, as I left it on the drawing board as a hilarious wish-joke.  I get so caught up with questioning where God is when I want Him to show up that it is almost shocking when He pens me a love letter using a willing member of His own body.  This woman, whom I had known in college over 15 years ago for less than a year before we reconnected this year in Florida, cleaned my house and left me gifts that days later I am still discovering.  Toilet paper.  Cereal.  Oreo cookies and snack size chips (found by the kids to the tune of "SHE IS THE BEST EVER!!!").  Utensils-because we are famous for leaving them at school or throwing them in the trash and were a few shy of a full set.  Organized closets and drawers.  Shampoo in the boys' bathroom.  

Thank you Sarah.  Thank you for watching my sick son.  Thank you for cleaning my place.  Thank you for all the gifts that you scattered throughout the apartment.  Thank you for making the rest of my week so much easier.  Thank you for being my friend.  Thank you for showing me through your love, the love of God.

P.S. Sarah is hilarious and fun and if you don't know her, you're missing out on a great friend!

Oceans Never Fill

I've always had a connection to the ocean.  Most of my earliest memories revolve around the ocean.  The earliest memories I have of dreams and nightmares alike are about the ocean.  Dreams of "flying through the ocean" and terrific nightmares of being tumbled til I can't breathe, waking myself in a breathless cold sweat, nightmares that heralded the beginning of summer, and sweet dreams that savored its end.  To this day I when I am in the ocean, time loses meaning, and I can spend untiring eons diving, jumping, swimming through the waves.

I was having just such a day today.  Reading Perelandra by C.S. Lewis for an hour, then swimming, then returning to tanning (flipped over on the other side, of course) and the ocean-like planet described in our dear C.S.'s book.  I'm afraid that I don't have the patience, nor the command of even English to properly describe what happened today.  I'm also afraid that it won't interest any of you-which would be such an immense disappointment because it was so poignant and perfect for me, today, where and when I am in my life.  So, I could do one of two things.  I could (and part of me feels like I should) be like Mary and store these things up in my heart.  Or I could write it down.  Seeing as I'm me, and not Mary, I write.

The past month has been a wild one for me, to say the least.  To be honest, this whole life has been a wild ride.  But particularly, this month.  My life is full of the smaller (or seemingly smaller) every day ups and downs.  And above that din, is a larger more menacing, darker, furious ebb and flow of my ex.  Things seem fine.  Situations explode.  Said situations resolve, almost always in my favor, with less effort on my part than my worry would have led me to believe in the first place.  I barely catch my breath and something even more incredible than the last something is hurled in my direction.  I am not just being a complaining (soon to be) ex-wife.  These slanders, libels, insinuations, threats and accusations are heavy, damning, and completely untrue.  But he persists.  It hurts.  Sometimes it is difficult to see the truth through all the lies.  Sometimes it is nearly impossible to quiet my constant inner monologue as it pertains to him.  I get caught up in a panic of needing to figure it all out, work hard enough, be smart enough and persistent enough to properly defeat the attacks of my ex.  That's the manner in which my mind was occupied while trying to read my book on the beach and enjoy the beautiful day.

After about an hour of sitting on the beach in the high afternoon Florida sun, I decided it was time to jump in and cool down.  It was just after high tide, so the waves were large and the rip tide was strong, made more-so by the sand bars which caused small outflows of rivulets to cut perpendicular to the general in and out crash of the waves.  There were people in front of me and to the left of me and I didn't want to be near anyone.  Even further to the left were surfers and as a swimmer, I don't really ever like to be near surfers, they seem like they need their own space.  I walked along the bottom of the ocean, further in to where I could easily stand but the waves would crash over my head as about every third once was a couple feet taller than I.  The tide was rushing out and pulling me further into the ocean, while the rip current was knocking me sideways toward the people and then eventually the surfers to my left.  I just wanted to swim in the ocean without worrying about everything, everyone else that was there.

The sun went behind the clouds, and the wind picked up.  The waves became increasingly more frequent and quite a bit taller in a matter of seconds.  I continued to walk in the ocean, struggling to maintain some sense of control.  At least with my feet on the ground, it felt like I was in charge of my destiny and could navigate where I wanted to go.  It was an illusion I was feeding myself because I just kept going in deeper and further to the left. I wasn't afraid, I just felt "safer" with my feet on the ground.

"Just, stop.  You can't control the ocean.  Give in to the ocean.  Let it carry you.  Just float."  It was one of those moments where you aren't sure if it's just your ridiculous need to narrate every moment of your life or if it's the voice of God whispering deep into your heart.  I'm sure it was a mixture of both.  There was a knowing in my heart that He was telling me something about my life through this moment.
And, certainly, there was my brain, adding a layer of words, that didn't exactly do justice to the sentiment that lay beneath the swaddling.

I went back and forth about it in my head.  I picked up my feet and floated on my back.  The ocean is amazing.  Because it is salt water it is more buoyant than fresh water.  You can float so easily in it. The ocean will lift you up and carry you over the waves...as if the waves weren't even there.  If you allow it to, the ocean will pick you up and gently carry you and deposit you safely back on land.  The place you really run into trouble with the ocean is when you try to do things in your own strength. Try to stand in the ocean, in one place.  You can't.  Try to face large, breaking waves.  You can't they will break over you and tumble you for trying.  Pick your feet up off the bottom of the ocean and relax and - I don't know how to say it - you are weightless and worry-less and free.......light, and somehow smarter and stronger, more aware of everything and melting into the background so that nothing really matters.

"You see, you're never going to have more of a say in what's happening in your life, than when you just let go."

It is easy to surrender to the ocean.  I see the water, I feel it against my skin, I let go of control in the ocean and the ocean itself does the work.  I know how to float.  My physical body is familiar with how to do that, and I've had a lot of practice. It is easy to see that I am not in control of my situation and that I need to surrender to God, so that He can do what I cannot.  So that He can do again, what he has done so many times in the past.  And I have just as frequently forgotten, and begun to dis-believe. It is the HOW of such a commitment that is puzzling to me.  I am willing, and I know He is there-here-everywhere....but how do I let Him carry me through life?  How do I fall into invisible arms? I like to think of myself as a bit of a mystic, but this is so mystical that I can't get a grasp on it.   I don't even have a starting point.

OK maybe I have a starting point: I think it starts with my thought life.  I think it starts with laying down my thoughts.  I think it has something to do with me not having to think that I can figure it all out and thereby solve all the problems that beset my life.  If my constant inner monologue would just shut her big, fat, mouth. I think this is an ironic, catch-22, conundrum, charlie-foxtrot.

And this makes me think of a Jars of Clay song "Mirrors and Smoke."  Though it only touches the topic here tangentially.  It somehow fits perfectly:


I'm feeling older than my years
I'm feeling pain inside my chest
It's love that keeps me silent
It's my silence that you detest
Rivers flow into the oceans
And oceans never fill
I want to kiss your lips, but I know I never will

Love's a hard decision to risk impending choke
But love will keep you wishing
And my heart will keep me broke

I blew flowers, gave you candy to even out the guilt
I sent you greeting cards with messages that I could never write
Rivers flow into the oceans
And oceans never fill
I want to let you know me
But I know I never will

Love's a contradiction
Made of mirrors and smoke
The Love that keeps you wishing
My heart that makes me broke

You will always want me
And I'll always want to leave
Even though I cut your wounds
You still deny they're real
Rivers flow into the ocean
Oceans never fill
I want to lay my life down
But I know you never will

Love's a strange condition
With all the doubts it can invoke
Your love keeps me wishing
My heart keeps me broke

Baby, don't you cry, 'cause I got it all figured out
You always make me sad
But that's what true love is all about
Rivers never fill the oceans
But oceans always feel
The waters reaching deep inside them
I guess they always will

Love's a constant mission to a world you never spoke
Love, it keeps you wishing
My heart, it keeps me broke...

Keeps me wishing
My heart keeps me broke

Mirrors and Smoke

Always by your side

Married or divorced or even in the process of divorce, it seems like this guy will always be the thorn in my side. Constant needling, whining, attempting to control every situation. The drip drop of his drivel of words 99% of which are extraneous to the point and in the end the point has no real weight or merit.  The steady whittling away at boundaries which offend him by their very existence.  He is always there, my own private chinese water torture practitioner with his subtle lies, tangential to the truth so as to be grounded in something believable and then hyberbolically stretching out to infinity in their sheer ridiculousness.

Last night I got a flurry of emails from him.  Conveniently, he had failed to address any of my concerns-insurance for the children, potty training, child care for the coming school year...you know the real meat and potatoes of parenting.  I guess he's more a dessert guy anyway.  He wanted to, by way of asking me to please obey they court order and inform him of Dr.s appointments (which we haven't had any of thanks to father of the year discontinuing coverage, failing to inform me, and continuing failing to provide a certificate of coverage so I can get an exception to policy and put them on my insurance in the middle of the year) school events (which he was at yesterday because I had the 9 year old call him and invite him) and other major life events in a timely manner, suggest that I was in violation of the orders governing our joint legal custody of the children.  It just wasn't acceptable to him that he "wasn't afforded equal access to appointments and information regarding the children." The ludicrous nature of the statements should have been laughable. But I wasn't laughing.

In another email, this control addict wanted me to provide him with a moment by moment itinerary and travel route for my upcoming road trip with the children.  It was a long winded cleverly passive aggressive attempt to insert himself into something that was making him feel left out :(  poor baby.  The inappropriately juvenile spirit in which the email was written should have made me feel sorry for the author.  But I did not feel sorry for him.

What I did feel was white hot anger creeping up my shoulders and burning through my carotid, lighting my ears on fire and melting my brain into a non-functioning mess.  I will never be free of this guy.  He will always be bothering me.  He talks about coparenting and getting along for the sake of the kids, all the while talking trash about me to them, causing confusion and embarrassment to them and quibbling over every little decision made, though they make perfect sense and he would indeed agree if he was looking from the outside in as a sane observer.

The anger burned through me and disintegrated all the joy and gratefulness I had been learning to have through this slow, arduous, thankless process. All the lessons of self control and emotional discipline lay in an ash heap left behind by the angry fire; ashes that I promptly picked up, showered myself with and rolled around in til I was REALLY FEELING my fully rightly deserved self-pity.  As the offspring of this ill-fated union entered the witching hour of late evening and had a sudden second (or twentieth?) wind of energy for the day, I felt like it was just TOO hard to take care of these kids and respond to their dad and think about what this genius was laying the foundation for with these emails and how was I going to combat it and HOW was I going to afford combating this.  So I thought about it, incessantly, and didn't do anything about it, and got annoyed at the kids for being kids, especially seeing as they were his kids.

There I was, figuratively, on the ground, kicking my legs like a two year old.  I'll never be divorced.  I'll always have him to deal with even if this divorce gets finalized.  I don't believe God gives a care enough about my situation to do anything about it.  And even if He did, humans don't always cooperate.

One of my sisters suggested that maybe this could be like the story of Ruth. Ruth? I thought I would check it out.  THIS BOOK HAS NOTHING to do with my life story.  These ladies' husbands are DEAD.
This book is more for Abby, who actually has a dead husband and could relate.  Not for me. I kept reading though.  I read the whole book-it is four short chapters.  I got nothing.  I was soooooooooooo pissed.

I'm unaware of how or when the change in my mind happened.  But I just know sometime between last night and this morning I knew what the book of Ruth had to do with me.  Ruth had to go to the fields every day and glean.  It was hard work in the hot son and she had to do it every day.  Here's the message, Jessica, get off your butt, put one foot in front of the other and glean in the fields.  Whatever work is put in front of you-do that.  Whatever task is required of you, focus on that.  Regardless of what you are feeling, do what you must do.

The idea began to crystallize in my mind as my two year old went #2 all by himself this morning in the potty.  A week ago it FELT like he would never be potty trained.  I chased him to the potty 100 times the first as he yelled "i have to pee, i have to pee"  and didn't pee.  I cleaned his butt crack and several pairs of undies when he would claim to have to go poop, run to the potty, sit there, say "i can't do it" and 30 seconds later be in a corner proving that indeed he COULD.  It felt like an endlessly futile exercise.  I felt like giving up.  Then the next day brought more pee on the ground and crap in the laundry.  But the third day he peed in the potty and in days 6, 7 and 8 has not had a urine accident.  And this morning after two days of holding it, the potty training was complete.  How silly it was for me to buy into the feelings of hopelessness and uselessness.  I had potty trained three boys before this and not a one of them didn't come out the other side a fully functioning toilet using member of society.

I will be divorced in a year or two or however long this thing drags out.  And with each interaction with the person I once saw fit to marry, I am a little less perturbed and the emotional fallout lasts a slightly shorter time. If only my "soul amnesia" as Ann author of One Thousand Gifts puts it wouldn't kick in so hard next time.

Sometimes our feelings are valid and aligned with the truth.  But more often than not, they are in collusion with a lie that is being whispered in our ear, blinding us to the truth of the love of God. And instead of having an emotionally induced temper tantrum, maybe we need to do the work that is required of us.  Go to the fields and glean.  Naomi will whip up a plan, Boaz will provide and redeem.  I just need to be Ruth.  Write a simple email in response to the (one day) ex, state the truth, press send.  Get up and take my son to the potty 100 times because one of those times is gonna produce results.  And NO emotional romance novel addict, this doesn't necessarily mean that you will get a literal Boaz (rich, handsome guy that falls in love with you at first sight and vice versa despite your insane baggage).  Nope, the Boaz in your story is the great I AM.  I am who is always by your side, sustaining you.  It is God who whispers in your ear  "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge" Your Boaz provides you, not necessarily with grain, but, with whatever it is YOU need for today.  He spreads out the corner of His garment to cover you in His peace and righteousness, to comfort you with His warmth and protect you from ridicule and slander. Your Boaz   is the one who, as the Hebrew meaning of the name implies, is your strength.   Go work in His fields.  Watch and wait and work.

Surrender

I surrender.  I give up.  I give in.  I can fight no longer.  Moreover, I give myself over, all that I am, especially my will to the One who alone has the power to change any of this mess-or leave it as it is.  

I have fought the "good" fight for the past 18 months...doing what I thought was right, spending all the money to my name and more in the legal pursuit of what was best for my children.  I attempted to save them from the influence of seeing their father strike their mother.  I wanted to spare them the mental anguish of being reared by a manipulator who uses every tool at his disposal to control everyone in every situation he finds himself in, so that he can feel good about himself-a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow the end of which he will never catch.  Every tool, even, and perhaps most belovedly, violence.

But I'm out.  Out of money.  Out of time.  Out of energy.  Out of fight.  Up against lies.  Up against the odds.  Up against money I left behind in favor of safety: my own as well as that of my children.

I moved nearly 3,000 miles away from my home, and friends, and surroundings that were familiar and comfortable.  Nine months later, when he could not have his way in a California court, I was followed by a man who knows no boundaries.  Just this evening, far too late for me to call in and arrange a telephonic court appearance, this man's lawyer called me (sporting a feigned stilted mastery of English) and informed me that rather than allowing the judge to dismiss the case in California-AS HE HAD PETITIONED THE COURT TO DO, he was going to ask for more time (which will at a minimum further delay our divorce) because HE LOST the paperwork and it couldn't be properly certified...and "of course" inform the court of how its going for dad and the kids.  This man and his lawyer have lied in open court more than once.  As it turns out, there's no cure for a liar.  There's no proof that he's lying.  The truth actually isn't enough.  No doubt he'll lie tomorrow.

He won't mention the flame red, raised diaper rash the two year old comes home with EVERY time he spends even one night with dad.  He won't mention the fact that the six year old has experienced a distinct decline in behavior since dad's arrival in Florida.  Nor will he mention the lies he tells his children about their mother.  Nor will he mention the fact that out of nine months, this loving father, has only seen fit to pay 3 months of child support-and only because it is convenient to his case.  But he will lie about me.  Because he believes all the lies he's been selling himself about me ever since he decided he couldn't stand looking at what he saw in the mirror.

Cuss that cuss.  I ain't playin.  Not that I even could.  But, given the time I wouldn't.

Let this be a lesson to you young ladies out there: better to have retained your you-ness, rather than lose everything by making the mistake of marrying someone who wasn't worth you.  Let this serve most specifically as a lesson to you young ladies who believe that you are not complete, finished, whole, enough without a husband...who believe that your highest purpose is served in making babies.  Unless you are with your prince charming, your beshert, yes the one human for whom THE ONE who made you, made you to find and compliment-two wholes making one, not two halves making one.  Mystery not math.  So you hold out.  You hold on, girls.  Because He who made you, knows with whom you belong.  Because otherwise, you could end up losing everything.  And the surrender of that everything will be the one comforting act at the end of a long and painful battle that you never had any chance of winning.

The only rest I find, in the midst of this episode of my constant inner monologue...in the crossfire of volleys of hatred both of him and myself for entering into this union most foul firing back and forth inside my head...in there the only chance of peace is surrender.  Handing over, myself, and my wishes, my husband and my children, my love and my anger.  Take them.  Do with them what you will.  I find that there is no play for me, no words to say, nothing.  Here's my empty cup.  My white flag.  My nothing.

This is for you, Abby

Dear Abby,

Can it only be two months?  Has it already been two months.  Time doesn't heal anything.  Time barely makes sense during the times when we need healing.  There are moments, between all the times where I just don't believe any of it is ture, where my heart breaks-into smithereens-and I cry, not because I understand, but because I don't.  I don't understand how much it must hurt for the one you love the very  best to be gone.  I can't imagine loving that much and then losing.  I love my children, but that isn't by choice, i don't think.  I have never loved, purposefully, by choice, that much.  I know you have.  Right, or wrong, you loved him like crazy.  It is an unknowable agony, and once in a while I get a whiff of it and it ruins me.

So for you, the ruin must be daily, moment by moment, complete, vicious,  Mom times Ben, no doubt.  In the midst of that pain, how unimaginable that an all powerful God, could also be all loving while He stood by and allowed this to happen.  How on earth do you trust Him, or even believe that He is real enough to trust?

You are not alone.  Even those who saw Him, touched, Him, loved Him, knew Him in the way in which we LONG to have Him did not trust Him any further than they could throw Him.  Though Peter had seen Jesus perform miracle after miracle, though he professed with His mouth that Jesus was the Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit, nonetheless, Peter was limited by his humanity.  We can only trust so much. And though we trust, our meager flesh betrays us.

Take Matthew 14: 22 ²² Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. ²³ After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, ²⁴ and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.
 ²⁵ Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. ²⁶ When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
 ²⁷ But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
 ²⁸ “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
   ²⁹ “Come,” he said.
   Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
 ³¹ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”
 ³² And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. ³³ Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

But, LOOK, Abby, it is not dependent on Peter, to trust, or know, or feel, or perfectly reflect the glory of God.  NO!  It is Jesus, who, despite Peter's frailty, reaches out and SAVES him.  He buoys Peter up, when Peter's moment of doubt threatened to drown him.  That is how we know, though we cannot see, though we cannot feel, though we do not hear, that it is He, Christ Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit who sustains us.  That it is He who bolsters us.  That it is He who is trustworthy.  That it is He.  Because without Jesus Christ, Abby, you would have failed to get out of the bed the next day.  Because without His creative power you would not be able to bear this pregnancy alone.  Because without His word, you would have fallen prey to the lie that there is no point.  Because without His love you would have turned your back on those girls to lick your wounds.  Because without His presence, you would die of loneliness.  Because without His promise of a future you would cease to exist.  Because without His hand sustaining you, you would have QUIT long ago.


But He is!  He was! He shall be forevermore!  And you are.  You take care of those babies.  You work, day in and day out.  God sees you and sustains you.  Abby, I know because he did the same for me, though I do not compare my situation to yours,  I do compare my salvation to yours, because it radiates from His throne in both cases.  He amazes me, through YOU - Abigail.  Through your life, I know the Lord is LORD of all.  Through your perseverance, I am convinced of the work of the Holy Spirit.  You may not see it, and you may not feel it but you PROCLAIM it , and we who see you are encouraged, and bolstered, and men and women are won to Christ because you display His work for all to see.

What was meant for evil, and indeed it was. ...  For it is not God who authors sin and calamity and death, but our choice from the beginning, through Adam and Eve.  We chose knowing, and in knowing we brought the consequence of guilt and suffering as a HUMAN RACE upon ourselves. ... what was meant for evil He will take and make beautiful.  That is who He is.  He cannot contradict Himself.  He will not undo Himself.  He WILL draw all men unto Him and, in beauty untold, you will be part of that.  God did not do this to Ardell, but He will turn it on its heels...he will restore the years that the locust have eaten.  He will bless where curses were spoken.  You may not see or feel this for years.  But that is because we are temporal.  But He has done it.  Christ has won it.  He is making beautiful things out of shit.  I am watching it happen.  And I am so! so proud to be your sister.  You are a living testimony to the power of Christ, you are thriving and your girls are blossoming in the midst of chaos and sorrow and pain indescribable.  BUT I AM dwells in you.  And Jessica Dowd is encouraged just to see His light reflected in your life.

His Spirit is upon you.  I see it.  I feel it, emanating from you.  It is strong, and loud.  I'm not sure if you've ever listened to Gungor, but I've been thinking of this song all day...and then I saw it on a friend's pinterest.  Like a confirmation, and I could not keep silent.  I want you to know, Ab, that I see His fire in you...I know Him in a deeper, greater way because of YOU! Because of AVA.  Because of ADRIANA.  Because of Aaliyah.

i Love you.  He Loves you.  it bind us.  all of us.  one.  even if just for this moment we are all one.

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new
You are making me new

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

Birthday Blues

It is the eve of my 35th birthday and, as is true of every year, I have anticipatory birthday blues.  I know this day will let me down.  Yet, in the face of that knowledge today, just like every other year I pour so much hope into the fantasy that this birthday will be all that it can be. I have quite a list of birthday wishes.  They won't come true either way, so I will break the birthday wish jinx rule and tell you what they are:

1. I wish I would wake up tomorrow and be magically and finally divorced from my husband.  I further wish that Brad Pitt's Billy Bean from Moneyball would magically replace said ex-husband.
2. I wish my wrinkles would suddenly be erased (those face creams are liars) and my skeletor/crypt keeper face would be replaced by the plump youthful one I expect to see.
3. That wish goes double for the restoration of my breasts...8 straight years of pregnancy and breastfeeding, massive weight gain and loss can really be a doozy on the boosies (what book was that word from?)
4. I wish that I would be miraculously patient, kind, loving and merciful...the very picture of grace in my actions toward my children.  I wish that without effort, or any sense of discomfort, I could perfectly parent my sons-bringing out the best in them and spurring them on to greatness as they discover their talents and pursue them to their zenith.
5. In case that wish sounded a little spiritual for this fairly selfish litany, this one should sit better in the pocket (as Paula would say). I wish I could lose 7 pounds in the "second buttocks" region.  Or upper thigh as you might refer to it.  You know that place where if you wear the wrong pair of undies you end up with four butt cheeks.  I know you feel me, ladies.
6. I wish that, from the moment I wake tomorrow, to the moment my head hits the pillow that everyone I interact with shall treat my like the birthday queen, anticipating my every thought and fulfilling it to perfection.  I know it is vague, but I am VERY serious about this one, in particular.
7. Finally, and probably most importantly, I wish that tomorrow would be the day that I meet and simultaneously fall in (reciprocated) love with the man of my dreams-the face and general adorabilitude (yup made it up, just for him) of Jake Gyllenhaal, the body of Tatum Channing (or vice versa-can't rightly tell which way his names are supposed to line up), the lips of Tom Hardy, the accent of Gerard Butler, the athletic handsomeness of Mark Sanchez (in case you've never heard of that, that is the perfect proportion of equally handsome and athletically capable-it is a mathematical expression that is probably above your paygrade, so that explanation will have to suffice), the apparent genius of Christopher Nolan, the song writing skillz of John Foreman, the work ethic of Ryan Seacrest (although NONE of his physical attributes PLEASE) AND last but most certainly not least the true love mirroring that of Jesus Christ.

Not Gonna Happen.

So what, then?


Instead, I'll go teach my students - and fulfill my personal goal for the day-no audible "cuss's" and no free flying birds in the general direction of any 14-18 year olds. Then I'll take my kid to the doctor to check out the "boogers" that have taken permanent residency in Jake's sinuses.  We'll rent a kid friendly movie, and I'll rent some non-kid-friendly movie for myself (which sadly, will not be "Drive" with another of of my potential next ex's, Ryan Gosling-cuz it doesn't come out until next Tuesday :( ).
And then I'll go to sleep and wake up and start the second half of my life (which is probably optimistic, as given the mortality rate of ladies in my family  - I probably won't make it past 60)

Because I am the song-singing constant inner monologue-er, I have a song to usher in this year.  It  manages to capture the odd pairing of melancholie and inexplicable joy that I manage to find constantly running in and out of my life. It's by Switchfoot...On Fire

They tell you where you need to go
They tell you when you need to leave
They tell you what you need to know
They tell you who you need to be

But everything inside you
Knows there's more than what you've heard
There's so much more than empty conversations
Filled with empty words

And you're on fire when He's near you
You're on fire when he speaks
You're on fire burning at these mysteries

Give me one more time around
Give me one more chance to see, yeah
Give me everything You are
Give me one more chance to be near You, yeah

When everything inside me
Looks like everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I'll take

And I'm on fire when He's near you
And I'm on fire when He speaks
And I'm on fire burning at these mysteries

You're on fire
You're on fire
You're on fire

I'm standing on the edge of me
I'm standing on the edge of me
I'm standing on the edge of me
I'm standing on the edge of me
I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before
And I've been standing on the edge of me
Standing on the edge

And I'm on fire when you're near me
And I'm on fire when you speak, yeah
I'm on fire burning at these mysteries
These mysteries
These mysteries, yeah
You're a mystery, yeah
You're a mystery