Community · marriage

Back to Our Future, aka: We’re Moving!


It was 1988, I had been a Christian for less than 2 years, David was one month out of Bible college, and we were three weeks into our marriage, when we left California and drove across the country to Danville, Illinois, where my husband had taken a job as a Youth Pastor. During the transition, people called us “fearless.” Honestly, we weren’t fearless. Clueless, perhaps–but fearless? Not even close.

We learned pretty early on that our lifestyle was different than our peers, as their date nights and toddler’s schedules didn’t revolve around other people’s teenagers. Investing in someone else’s teenager is much like a welcoming a virus into your home, as the joys and trials overtake your thoughts, conversations, and family activities.

In the two decades that followed, we were both blessed and exasperated by the hundreds of young people we encountered living and ministering in the midwest and Southern California. We witnessed teenage friendships evolve into dating relationships that sometimes resulted in marriages, and then we experienced the joy of watching most of those marriages thrive and the grief when some of the marriages ended in divorce. My husband stood beside a young man when the frightened seventeen-year-old told his parents that his girlfriend was pregnant, and thanks to social media, we’ve watched that unplanned child be loved as she grew into a beautiful young woman. To say the least, our lives were positively altered by the teenagers who allowed us to be a part of their lives.

Over the course of the last decade, David’s ministry role within the church shifted. He was subtly ushered into jobs that were highly administrative and less relational. It would take several blog posts to explain how the transition began, how we each responded to and resisted these new roles and the way the undesired change affected his self-esteem, self-confidence, and ultimately our marriage. Mentioning the shift is irrelevant anyway, except in that it eventually frustrated us both to the point of asking questions in regards to what we wanted out of life, and the ways in which we each desired to serve the Lord and the community.

We began asking each other the romanticized question, “If money were no object, what would you do?” My answer was easy and obvious (#amwriting). David’s took months of contemplation to be realized.

After much prayer, consideration, and conversation, David is leaving his career as a Pastor to become a High School teacher.

Days after David made this decision, I woke up with random thoughts of Ruth Bell Graham, wife of Billy Graham. My heart sank as I compared myself to the upstanding woman. I thought, perhaps, if David had married a woman like Ruth, his life might have turned out so differently. Those in church leadership might value all he has to offer.  I blamed myself, the selfishness of my infidelity, for David’s life taking such a dramatic change. I felt as if I robbed him of a great life.

Once I was able to conjugate my shame into words, I shared my brokenness with my husband.

“If you had married someone like Ruth Graham, you wouldn’t be leaving the ministry,” I whispered through restrained tears.

“Who says I’m leaving the ministry?” he responded, “I’ll never stop doing ministry…and besides, if this is what comes of everything that happened, then GOOD! I couldn’t be more pleased,” and in his gentleness, he pulled me out of myself and into his belief.

And, he’s right. I can see how he will love these students and how they will bless his life. This man was created to be involved in the lives of students; he is a natural shepherd, a breathing example of God’s love as it is available through Christ. So, we leave the life we have always known for the life we once knew.

But, where?

95ccea7ce7a76aa1011145a2d49a9c43Perhaps you’ve heard the saying, “the third time is a charm”, but do you know it’s folk history? The saying evolved from a British law, which said any person who survived three hanging attempts would be set free. The law came about in 1885 when a West Country sailor was convicted of murder and sentenced to death by hanging. After three failed attempts, the sailor was imprisoned and later released. He died a free man in the 1940’s.

Likewise, after two attempts at living in the Antelope Valley we are returning for the third time to live in the high desert of California. Beginning August 8th, David will be teaching at a public High School, and we will be investing in the community that has twice before been our home.  We are eager for whatever God has planned as we return to living in the wide open spaces, amid the wild poppies and Joshua Trees. Our hope is that the third time will be a charm, and this will be our final relocation. We have felt for a while that ‘the best is yet to come’, and we see that in going back we are moving forward. 

affair recovery · Freedom · marriage · spiritual growth

When It Matters Most

I like to imagine that I have my own bodyguard. A tough guy, who is equally intelligent. Imagine James Bond, minus the misogyny, following me around and protecting me from the world’s terrors. Oh, and the terrorizing is primarily internal, so he also lives in my brain. You know…phenomenal cosmic powers…itty-bitty living space.

My brain bodyguard has been a hard working guy for the last couple years. He’s worked every weekday and then straight through the weekends. He’s even had to put in overtime, working every effing holiday. I’m sure he gets tired, but he keeps showing up with his weapons of truth and encouragement whenever I am tempted to crawl under a rock of shame. When I am eager to walk the path of comparison, he reminds me to walk the other way. In attempt to help me stand confidently, rather than quivering in a corner, he prompts me to see the truth, without relying on the lies in commonly used, but altogether false, phrases:

In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take.False. We regret the times we hurt people. We regret the mistakes we made that caused distance and division. We regret our failures. That being said, we don’t live in those failures.  We brush ourselves off and keep moving forward, but we sure as hell regret hurting people. We aren’t sociopaths, for crying out loud.

tumblr_lnjyxzj72n1qm7w50o1_400Live. Love. Learn. Regret Nothing.False. Regret SOME things. We need to allow ourselves to feel the searing pain of regret without fearing that we won’t recover. Because the truth is, we CAN completely acknowledge our wrong doing, feel horrible about it AND recover. God’s work through our defects is actually the definition of grace. When our failures are transformed and we grow there is a double blessing. We are restored AND God is glorified. The learning is beautiful and the growth is immeasurable, but it is only true growth if it comes from a desire to never do it again. Which by the way, is also known as a regret.

Anyway, back to the bodyguard. Even though he is on fleek and does his job “hund-P” there’s a crack in the wall. There’s a backdoor, a way in, so to speak. You see, when I go to sleep, my bodyguard takes a break, and quite often I have terrifying, shameful dreams. I am continually assaulted and accused by a person who had every right to be enraged with my selfishness. Everything about the dream interaction is chaotic; it’s noisy and polluted. There’s rage and anger coming at me with any response I make to the person. Every apology is unwelcome. Most recently, last night that is, the person handed me a frightening book and told me I had to read it in its entirety. (Yes, this is what nightmares can look like for writers…pretty boring, I know.) The book was terrible, not because it was part of the “50 Shades of Grey” series, but rather because the title spoke of my personal weaknesses. This morning, I can’t even remember the words on the cover of the book. It was bright blue and the lettering was yellow, but the guilt inciting words have receded back into the darkest recesses of my mind. Not being able to remember them in the light of morning has given them added power over me.

When I rose, and my husband and I began to make our bed, he asked, “How’d you sleep?”

“Not good. Dreams, well, nightmares.” I answered.

“Oh no…what of?” he asked.

“Same thing. Shame. Always shame. It’s just exhausting.”

I can’t blame my bodyguard for taking a break while I am sleeping, especially when I consider how hard he works in my waking hours. I brush my teeth and look in the mirror. The bodyguard still hasn’t shown up. I am alone. As I walk out to the kitchen, I make the mistake of opening a social media app on my phone (because no one else ever does this when they are already feeling awful, right?). The very first post reminds me of a large event happening at my former church. This is a huge trigger for me. Something that I had once spearheaded before I self-sabotaged my life is right in front of me. I see tables. I see painted pillars. I see mistakes made in the name of lust. My hands are shaking, and I hear a ringing bell and a woman declares, “Shame!” (That’s a Game of Thrones/walk of atonement reference…I don’t actually own a bell.)  Eventually, I grab some hot coffee and wander out to my front porch to read and recover. The breeze has caused a film of dust to fall on my books. They are gritty to the touch. The trees are full of birds, winged rodents, making noise. They chip and sing, but it’s not my song. It’s meant for someone else. The tears are coming now–but there is still no sign of my bodyguard. Is he sick? Did someone get to him? Where is he? Why am I alone?

I don’t have a particular plan when I open my Bible, but there is bookmark shoved in the book of Isaiah. I begin to pour into the words. I’m reading and I’m praying. I’m looking for a salve. Unfortunately, the bookmark is at Chapter 28. The subtitle is Woe to Ephraim. These are not the pleasing meme worthy verses that are so often Instagramed. I read them anyway. I will not pick and choose and only focus on the popular verses.

I arrive at Chapter 29. The subtitle has only a slight variation: Woe to David’s City. The variation is not a good one in my case. I push through because, oddly, the pain of the nations is not making me feel worse. It is making me feel normal and reminding me that I am not alone. I am not the first person to make choices that brought woe. I am not the only one to mourn and lament. I continue reading for two more chapters: Woe to the Obstinate Nation and Woe to Those Who Rely on Egypt. I am just about to close my bible when I see the heading for Chapter 32: The Kingdom of Righteousness. 

13072859_10154011175611970_792728843836938532_oAs I begin to read I am no longer looking for a salve. I am just absorbing the calm that has taken over the porch. There is a quietness that I am not only comfortable with, but relishing in. A light breeze moves the wind chimes and their bell-like sounds blend with the music of the sweet birds. An altered perspective is a glorious thing. And as I read a verse jumps from the pages of Isaiah and lands on my heart.

Justice will dwell in the desert

and righteousness live in the fertile field.

The fruit of righteousness will be peace;

the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever.

Isaiah 32:16-17

No, I am not three hundred miles away participating in an event, and I cannot silence every regret that surfaces while I am sleeping, but when I am awake, when it is quiet and when it matters most, I am not alone.

affair recovery · Community

FREEDOM: The Story of the Bathtub Picture

The “Thread Family” is a group of people with a Facebook status that has been running strong since February 2013. There are over sixty-three thousand comments on the status update, and I don’t think there has even been one day when someone hasn’t commented. The people in the Thread Family are not genetically related to one another, their bond runs deeper. I am a relative of  the Thread Family. I wouldn’t say I am a member of their immediate family. I’m more like a distant cousin, or to some, the estranged sister. The immediate family check into the thread every day to comment or chat. I check in far less often.

Every once in a while, someone from the immediate family will do a roll-call. They tag members of the family and those who are tagged receive a notification. When this happens, and I am included, I try to respond.

About a month ago I was tagged in a roll-call while I was busy working at the restaurant. I  was standing in the kitchen waiting for food so I could deliver it to a table when I saw the notification on my phone. In an attempt to pull the Thread Family closer to me (because I am currently living over 350 miles away from these friends) I took a quick picture of the kitchen line-up of food and added the picture to the thread with a shout of, “Here!”

For a moment the Thread Family was in my world, and when others responded with their pictures announcing, “Here”, I was in theirs. It was only for a moment, and then it was over. They continued in their world, and I continued in my own.

Last Saturday night there was a roll-call at about 6PM, which was the beginning of the dinner rush at the restaurant. I didn’t feel the phone vibrate, so I didn’t see the notification until I arrived home about four hours later. I had just finished working an eleven hour shift and I was physically wiped out. I grabbed something cold to drink and headed straight to the bathtub. I tore off my clothes and stepped into the tub while it continued to fill. While standing and waiting, I looked down at my phone and checked my social media notifications.

When I saw the roll-call I smiled. Being remembered is truly priceless.

My first instinct in responding was to take a picture. I was tired, and it just seemed easier than trying to think of something to say. I clicked on the camera and took a picture of my feet. I was about to type, “Finally here.” when I accidentally hit post.

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Almost immediately, I regretted what I had posted. I remembered that this thread was not only visible to my FB friends, but to many people with whom I am not close to at all. In my frustration, I couldn’t get my phone to respond quickly enough as I attempted to delete the picture. My heart pounded and I could hear the imaginary voices of people who would would be quick to judge me for placing a picture of myself in the bathtub online. People don’t bathe in clothes, and by posting this picture–I was drawing attention to something that others might consider sexual. Not too long ago I called an aquaintance, “Baby…” in a passing conversation. Later, a woman who had overheard the exchange, confronted me and to let me know that using that term was evidence of poor boundaries. I can only imagine what that person would say if she were to see this picture.

And all of the “even thoughs” couldn’t overpower the fear I was experiencing.

Even though the affair has been over for longer than it lasted.  Even though God forgave me for the rebelliousness of my heart.  Even though my husband has forgiven me for breaking my vows.  Even though my children have forgiven me for every single lie.  Even though my closest friends have forgiven me for showing them little respect.

Even though….even though…even though…it didn’t matter. All I could imagine was judgement. All I could hear were whispers of words associated with adultery and the nastiness of things from my past. Bad choices echoed off the tiled walls.

I am lucky I didn’t drop my phone in the tub as I tapped and banged on the screen to get it to respond. Finally, I was given the option to delete the picture from the thread.

Delete?  YES.

And I sat down and relaxed in the tub.

A few minutes later I received a text from a woman who is part of the Thread Family.

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And that’s how the conversation started.

I went on to express my fears, and she did her best to reassure me that I don’t need to live in that place anymore. She encouraged me with her willingness to come looking for me when she saw something was amiss. She showed me love and reminded me that I cannot be bound by concern for what other people might think. There have been a few people who have responded with emotion to my sin, but she reminded me to focus on the people who have responded in the fullness of Christ. She reminded me to focus on the future and the promises outlined in scripture.

She did everything she could to make me feel free.

Two mornings later, I was sitting on my porch preparing for a series of talks I am going to be teaching at a Women’s Retreat this weekend. The verse for the weekend is Galatians 5:1

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

As I prayed through my notes, I was struck with the meaning of this verse and how my behavior on Saturday night had not been an act of freedom at all. I was not behaving as one who is free from the sin of the past. I was behaving as one who is still in bondage to something that happened and has long since been forgiven and forgotten by the Lord.

I wasn’t freed from bondage to live in bondage. I was freed to live free.

I decided that I wanted to let my friend know that her words had finally reached me. She was trying to share this truth with me, and I had been reluctant.

I added some scripture to the picture and posted it online for anyone to see, knowing full well that it would make very little sense to anyone else. But, as I posted the picture, God spoke to me.

God’s call for me to live free is bigger than just my freedom. It’s a call to live free for the sake of others finding freedom.

When we live in bondage to the sins of our past, we are incapable of drawing someone else out of the sin which is holding them captive. We become down-trodden and insecure. Decisions are made out of fear. Whispered lies, that the Lord would never ever utter, ring loudly in our imaginations. We become ineffective to the plans of the Lord. We become less than what He would desire.

When we live in the fullness of the freedom we have received, we have the words, the Spirit and the enthusiasm to share that freedom with those around us. Our hope increases and we aspire to do things we didn’t know we could do. We become capable of handling things we didn’t ever think possible. It’s among the most majestic things offered to us other than our salvation. To live in freedom that we may be used after we have failed is to discover true freedom. And when we live in that place, others see that possibility for themselves.

Our freedom is a gift, and it’s a gift that was meant to be REgifted.

It is freedom for freedom.

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spiritual growth

Unexpected Visitors at Christmas

MV5BMTI1OTExNTU4NF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzIwMzQyMQ@@._V1_SY317_CR5,0,214,317_AL_Mention Cousin Eddie to anyone who has seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and there will be immediate sympathy for the trials of having an uninvited and unexpected house guest at Christmastime. Along with other classic scenes, the iconic movie, which celebrates it’s 25th Anniversary this year, highlights some of the inconveniences Clark Griswold faces when Cousin Eddie and his family arrive unannounced at the Griswold home.

Even if we have never had an unplanned house guest at Christmastime, we can relate to the hardship we see unfold in the comedy. It’s hard not to chuckle when the redneck cousin arrives in his RV and parks it in front of the Griswold’s soon-to-be brightly lit home. While we don’t know the exact details of what is going to unfold, we know it will bring Clark to his knees in frustration. While I have never experienced anything remotely close to what the Griswold family faced, I have had a few visitors at Christmastime. Unfortunately, they weren’t laughable, and I had no guarantee they would be leaving when the mistletoe came down.

In the days of Christmas past, I was visited by “Grief” at Christmastime, and it was the hardest season in my life.

On the last day of January in 1995 our third born child, our daughter Molly, died suddenly and unexpectedly in her sleep. Our family woke one morning, and Molly did not. Our nineteen-month-old angel was gone in an instant, and needless to say, we were in disbelief. Once the mind-numbing shock lifted we were left devastated. It was a searing pain that still burns deep.

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Like the Walking Dead, we moved through the year until eventually the Christmas season arrived. My husband and I were both hurting, and I wanted nothing to do with traditional festivities.

When I glanced at the Christmas tree, sparkling lights would dance off the glass ornaments, and I would begin to feel something shift in my heart. With that shift there was pain.  I heard songs I had heard my entire life, but with the dagger of Grief piercing my heart they sounded different: whimsical words wounded like weaponry.

The problem was– even though we were grieving our child who had died, we were still parents to three children who lived and they were ripe to learn about the baby born in manger. We had a bouncing baby boy, and two children ages six and four who needed to hear the tales of the Inn that was too full, of Shepherds in the fields, and of Wise Men bearing gifts. Whether or not we were sad, these precious little ones were still anticipating the arrival of Santa Clause. There were Christmas pageants to attend, presents to be wrapped, and cookies to be decorated. While I may have been fine with skipping Christmas, there were others who would have been dreadfully disappointed.

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Looking back, we see now that the problem was actually the blessing.

Experiencing Christmas with Grief was doing a work in our hearts. There is no way to lose a child and not feel complete devastation. One of the temptations to avoid feeling that overwhelming sense of loss is to avoid “feeling” anything. It becomes a trade that seems to make sense at the time: close off the part of your heart that feels good in order to protect the part of your heart that hurts.

Closing ourselves off from good is one of the worst lies the enemy tells us.  When I looked at the Christmas tree and felt the shift in my heart, the enemy wanted me to believe that if I diverted my eyes from the dancing lights, I wouldn’t be reminded of Molly’s playful ways and I wouldn’t hurt. When Christmas carols sounded like battle cries, the enemy would have taken pleasure in my covering my ears rather than hearing a salute to the Newborn King.

God was allowing me to feel these things, not as a punishment, but because He knew things I didn’t know. Experiencing Christmas without my child hurt worse than anything I had ever imagined, but God knew this pain was bringing a new kind of strength. And He knew this pain would not destroy me.

He also knew it would not last. God’s lens is more broad than we can imagine. He is not limited to only what has happened and what is happening, but He is privy to what will one day happen. He was not limited to only seeing the Christmas of 1995; He saw every other Christmas as well. He knew I would make it if I just would just persevere through it. And He knew that walking through grief, and feeling the grief was the only way out.

This year, much like an unwanted house guest, Regret has come calling.

Regret is the cousin of Grief. They are not directly related–but they are so similar they behave like they are from the same family. At times, the difference is subtle.  A person can experience deep Grief, and have little or no Regret, but it is difficult to have Regret and not have Grief.

Regret will sometimes spend time with Repentance. When Regret is with Repentance, he is not only bearable–he is welcome. When Regret leads to Repentance there is a gratitude for their arrival. Opening the door and seeing Regret and Repentance arriving together is a welcome sight. In these moments, we light a fire and bring out the good wine. These two together help to restore relationships and build hope in the family.

The problem is Regret will often overstay his welcome.

In these longer visits Regret pulls us backwards into “what might have been” and “what I should have done.”

  • Regret slyly offers a box wrapped in bright paper and tied up with a red bow.  When it is opened there are memories of Christmas’ past–but along with the memories there is a card that reads, “you took all of these things for granted…”
  • Regret calls the household to play a game of charades and then taunts its players with romantic notions of a perfect life.  If things had been done differently “All Would Be Well.”

Lingering Regret is often unrealistic and tells a multitude of lies, and living with Regret is hard on all members of the household. Even those who did not give permission for Regret to stay in their home suddenly have to deal with the mood swings and the depression Regret brings.

Sill Tree 2014

Like Cousin Eddie was drawn to Clark, Regret is trying to stay with me through this Holiday season. He’s smelly and unpleasant; he’s sleeping on my couch and leaving his dirty dishes in my sink.  He is judgmental and harsh, and I really want this guest to leave. But, Regret doesn’t want to go away. It seems Regret is hell-bent on spending Christmas in my heart.

I think of how differently Regret speaks to me when he visits with Repentance. Without Repentance, Regret is just an unpleasant feeling. With Repentance, Regret is forced to behave differently. The only way I am going to make it through this season is by inviting Repentance into each day. Regret pretends he likes to be accompanied by Repentance, but in reality he would much rather have the stage to himself. Without Repentance, he is the star. With Repentance nearby, conversations move from judgement to mercy. The set is changed and the story is no longer about Regret, but about Redemption through Christ. With Repentance nearby the lies of Regret lose their power.

The thing is, Repentance will always wait for an invitation.

Repentance simply will not come uninvited or empty handed. Upon being invited he will arrive swiftly, and he will bring lavish foods that will leave you full from your tummy to your toes.  And best of all, Repentance will bring along his brother, Restoration. When invited into your home, Repentance and Restoration make the drawn out visit from Regret easier to endure, because while Regret focuses on the past, Restoration is looking to the future.

Regret’s romantic tales of opportunities lost have less power over us when Restoration is part of the story.

Much like Christmas of 1995 when the problem became the blessing, 2014 is calling for a shift in perspective. I long for Regret to leave my household. He says, “No.” Because Regret refuses to leave, I rely on Repentance to see me through each day.  Repentance comes swiftly, bringing the blessing of Restoration. The problem becomes the blessing.