Words are coming hard....

I've been mostly silent - I know. It would seem in spite of the very best of intentions I let the seemingly inevitable holiday blues slip up on me. I was determined after last year that I would pay attention and get a grip before the black hole was threatening to engulf me. I have recognized it much sooner this year but it's still creeping around the edges of my psyche and can I say I just hate it??

I know very well that abandonment is one of my hot buttons. I am not very discriminating about it either -- death, divorce, kid moving out, actor leaving a favorite TV show, running out of this or these . It's all greeted with some degree of panic. I like sameness. I relish it actually. Unfortunately, reality is forever coming up behind me and slapping me upside the head and I'm reminded yet again that life is change. It's both hellos & goodbyes, ebb & flow, birth & death.

And so, I remind myself that it all is in the hands of the Father. He holds it all. The Enemy may wreak havoc, he may corrupt something the Lord created for good. Sometimes life hurts but sometimes it is oh so beautiful. I'm struggling to face the upcoming weeks with the sweet consolation that I'm not alone. God knows my heart is going to be in Colorado when Thanksgiving comes and Tyler isn't at the table. Somehow I know He'll bring me comfort. God knows the closer I get to December 19 the more and more I'm going to miss Daddy. I know that He is already in December 19 and when I get there He'll hold my hand through the day.

I'm incredibly blessed with family and friends and I'll make it through. Sometimes I have to holler calf rope and then call my counselor. She's not on my speed dial anymore so I think I'm getting it together. At least today.

Still here

I'm still alive...I'm just really struggling with the whole letting go of my child thing. I don't know the rules. I celebrate his independence and yet miss being needed. I know he will grow from the struggle and yet I can hardly stand sitting by when I know he is so broke and he's sometimes hungry. It drives me nuts to know he has an apartment with nothing in it but a bed and a tv. He has tennis shoes and no snow boots. But he also doesn't want my help. None of this bothers him much at all. I ask him "Are you sure?" "You're not sorry?" The answer is always resoundingly "Yes, I'm sure and absolutely no I'm not sorry."

I remember being so poor when I first married at age 21. I wouldn't take for those years -- I know they taught me many a valuable lesson and there was something very satisfying about just making it to the next paycheck. I don't want to keep my child from those experiences and those lessons.

I think. Watching it from this side is hard, hard, hard.

A story in pictures.......

We forgot to take pictures before we started work. So this pictures already has the pantry mostly torn out. You can sort of see the l-shaped bar & upper cabinets that I absolutely hated. You are facing north in this pictures.

Here is a view looking south with the hated cupboards torn out. I'm throwing all pride to the wind by posting this because the kitchen is a MESS in this picture. We were in the midst of piling everything into boxes and baskets and still trying to cook and live. Oh, the pain of it all.


Then as you remember, it went to this (facing north):

and then south:

TA DA!!!!!!!!!!





I need to get rugs for in front of the sink & range - but I haven't found any that I liked. Well, actually I found one today at JCP that I liked. But I was unwilling to spend $60 for a rug in front of my sink. Also I'm going to make a cushion on the window seat when I can afford the foam. That stuff isn't cheap either. I want a round oak table too - but right now I would settle for matching chairs. You can just barely see the chandelier that hangs over the table....it was the sweetest deal. I bought the last one at Lowe's - they had to take it down from the display and I paid TWENTY DOLLARS! I covered all the little shades with the same material of the window treatments. I love it. I still have to put something on the wall - I think maybe a collection of wrought iron crosses?? I don't know. But for all practical purposes WE ARE DONE. We started the whole process with the designer in MARCH and it's now OCTOBER.

I deserve recognition just for maintaining a semblance of sanity and keeping my husband. For sure.

Advice to new moms

Bear with me. I like to pretend that I’m writing something that hordes will read and be forever changed because of the power of my written word. Now that both of you have picked yourself off the floor I ask you to wipe that grin off your face and let me have my fantasy please. Today my thoughts are for the brand new mother who is holding in her arms the longing of her heart and is now suddenly PETRIFIED.

I'm a mom in a totally different stage of life than you now find yourself. I'm facing an emptying nest so it's been a while since I had one whose every need was dependant upon me. Problems change but one thing remains constant - you never ever quit worrying about them. So I'm not going to say "stop worrying" because I might as well say "stop breathing". I will say, temper your worry with confidence that no one on this earth knows your child better than you do. No list of letters behind a person's name or degrees on a wall is going to give some stranger more insight into your baby than you have. You'll learn there is a difference between that manic compulsion to compare your child's progress with every other child to see if they are doing what 'they should be'; and that subtle but relentless thought inside your brain that says something isn't right. Those letters and degrees qualify that stranger to help you find out that part but don't let comparisons completely unhinge your confidence and cause you to worry about things that just aren't there. Pursue whatever road you need to if you have doubts - don't give up if your questions aren't answered but on the other side of the coin, give yourself permission to trust your own instincts too.

And what if you learn there is something wrong? You are a loving, bright talented mom with a world of resources and contacts. Internet & blogdom have changed your world, don’t you know? You will deal with whatever comes competently and lovingly. You will grieve for the dreams that might have to change but you don't have to look far to see successful, capable, talented kids who are living with handicaps and enjoying life as it comes. Letting go of our dreams for our kids is hard - it's a journey that's painful - but that is the case whether your child is disabled in some way, or just doesn't do what we think they should do in their grown up lives.

As parents, part of our own growing up is learning that our dreams for our kids are just that.....our dreams. Letting them set their own flight pattern sometimes brings as many tears as it brings smiles. This parenting thing is a whole lot harder than anyone ever told us - it's a road that is sometimes straight and smooth and other times there are hair pin curves and hills and even places where the road drops right out from under you......but aaahhh the journey is worth it at the end of the day. Whether it's a baby's first steps or that encompassing embrace and "I love you, mom" of your boy-turned-man as he moves out of your house, your town and even your state -- those things are memories that you will store in your heart forever and will give you confidence at the end of your day that you did something good.

Gosh, I don't know if this says anything that makes sense or was worth reading but sometimes it's good for a mom who is farther down the road to look back over her shoulder and say "It's okay - been there, done that and it's all good in the end." And it's good for another mom to hear it.

He gave her a song

When KT "aka Your Highness" was little over a year old she began talking in complete sentences. None of that string-two-or-three-words-together-stuff for her. Oh no. Sentences with nouns and verbs and adjectives, a participle or two -- it was all there and clear as a bell. This was sometimes most unfortunate since she did not choose discretion. Yes, indeed. How would you like to be holding this breathtakingly beautiful blonde blue eyed bundle of joy at the back of the church during the expected duties of The Preacher and His Wife? You know, the meet & greet at the back of the sanctuary when the lesson is over. There you are, smiling at all the little old ladies who want to hug your husband and fawn over your children, when she raises one little eyebrow and says "NO! I don't like you." There was the time in a fast food establishment her dad was holding her and absentmindedly patting her while reading the overhead menu when she clearly admonished, "GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY HINEY!"

We were warned.

As much as she liked to talk she liked to sing even more. She sang constantly as she played, making up little songs to go with the part she was playing at the moment. She loved to sing "church songs" though and was amazingly able to recall words to hymns she heard. Sometimes she adjusted the words to fit her play like the day I heard what I thought was "When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be." It warmed my heart to hear my baby singing about heaven until I realized she had actually rewritten the song and now the ages-old hymn sounded like this "When we all get to Wal-Mart, what a day of rejoicing that will be." We were country, y'all! We didn't have a Wal-Mart so driving 45 miles to the next town that did was actually quite an exciting thing. I didn't realize just how exciting, apparently.

Yesterday all this was flooding my mind because we sang an old hymn in closing that we don't often sing - "Victory in Jesus". This was KT's favorite song and this one she was singing what she truly thought the words were. I'm afraid it might say something about the fact that the poor dear had two older brothers....I don't know.

Oh Victory in Jesus! My Savior forever!
He socked me and bocked me with his redeeming blood.
He loved me ere I knew him and all my love is due him
He punched me to victory
Beneath the cleansing flood.

Pray for this boy...........

Friday, October 5, 2007 -- a big day in Matt's life. He is taking his two teacher certification tests today. He must pass them in order to student teach in January and graduate in May. He has 21 hours this semester -- it hasn't been easy but he's doing it! He's such a brilliant kid, even if I do say so myself. This is based on fact, not prejudice I can assure you. But please both of you who read this, pray for Matt. Ask for God's peace to reign in his heart and for him to recall all the things he knows. A passing grade - that is what we need. I've said before, but not told the story -- this kid is my hero and the path to this point is a tremendous testimony to God's redeeming grace. You can do it, son! You are going to make an incredible teacher.

Update: He won't know the official results for a couple of weeks but he thinks he did okay. I love that he asked for prayers and I loved that he recognized God blessed him with recall and confidence. God has begun a great work in his life and I am blessed by watching it unfold. I still look at him after all these years and amazed -- this is really my son.

Updated update: HE PASSED WITH FLYING COLORS!!!!! The boy is officially certified in The Pedagogy of Teaching and in History. Whoo Hoo!!!!!

Second Chance......

I was looking last night and realized that although I have written 100 posts I have only posted 99 so actually THIS is my 100th post. Ta da! Another chance to be poetic, wise, deep, challenging....all those things I desire in my heart when I sit down to type.


Alas. Still not so much. I'm reminded of a cartoon I've seen in various places "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." Seriously. I cannot seem to keep a thought in my head. I'm told it's because of my "time of life". Well I suspect that's a euphemism for "you're old and losing it" but I choose to believe I have information overload and I just need a reboot.


This morning as I was doing my homework for this Bible study:
a point stood out to me that God has impressed upon my heart time and again over the years (I do remember some things). I'm getting the idea He thinks I need to hear this! I've even blogged about this before and still I read it and think "You haven't gotten it yet, Michelle!" Exodus 14:14 says "The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still." My heart just seems to zero in on those words wherever I read them and I begin feeling convicted again. I've messed up so many things because I thought it was up to me to fight the battle. It's up to me to say the right thing, it's up to me to do the right thing. I've got to think of some way to convince someone to go the way I think is right. I wonder if the result would have been different, at least some of the time, if I'd relinquished the need for action and was still and let the Lord fight the battle? In 12 step groups there is often the mention of trying to be someone's own personal God. By that it is meant that we enablers often are busy trying to talk someone into being sober, smoothing the way, cajoling, shaming, begging - whatever we think will work. Oftentimes, while our intentions are good, we are standing between our loved one and God. We need to get out of God's way. We need to remember that GOD will fight the battle if we'll just be still and quit messing in His business.


Am I the only person in the world that thinks God needs help?

One hundred times

I have written deeply profound things in this bit of on-line encyclopedia of deeply profound things. I had always intended my 100th post to be something that was extraordinarily written, destined to be in the Blog Hall of Fame.

Well, not so much.

I'm struggling with hard questions right now. The kinds of questions that don't have answers and that are uncomfortable to even ask. So much so, that part of my energy each day is spent with trying to convince myself I don't really have those questions at all.

Right now I'm feeling like "Well then why pray?" If I believe God can do anything (and I do) but He doesn't answer, what good was my prayer for anyway? Did it change the situation at all? No. Did it change me? No. It didn't. I'm not more noble than I was when I started praying this prayer. I'm not more unselfish. I'm still hurt, I'm still confused and yes I'm even still a wee bit ticked off. Ticked off? At GOD?? Now you see why I'm exerting all my energy at trying to convince my mind that I didn't really mean that. A good friend lost her dad this past Sunday morning. She's way too young to be facing life without him in her life (your thirties is way too young) and I just didn't want her to experience this hurt yet. Her dad was an incredible man of God who used the whole of his life to reflect the glory of the One he served. One of the more obvious measures of that is the life of my friend, who though wwaaaaayyyy younger than me has taught me so much about faith and friendship and prayer and marriage and joy. Her dad served the community he lived in and the family of God he shepherded in. No doubt at all the man is dancing with Jesus this morning, free from the tumor that had entered his brain uninvited and robbed him of years he would have otherwise spent here sharing the good news of Jesus. SO why????? Why, when a man would do so much to advance the kingdom, cut his life short? My head knows that Sunday morning was the very best day of Dennis Hogue's life. My head knows that. But my heart breaks for Pam and her mom and sister and brothers. My despair is for their pain and for those grandbabies who will grow up without their Granddad. And above all else, I guess confusion. I know you could have healed him Lord. I believe that. I just don't understand why you didn't.

Ultimately, that's where faith that is "the evidence of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (Heb. 11:1) comes in to play. I know there have been times where I as a parent have said no to my children. I'm not talking about the times when what they wanted was wrong or dangerous or ill-advised. I'm talking about the things that were good, would have been enjoyable and memorable...but still I said no. I knew something they didn't know. I could see the big picture. I knew there was something even better around the corner.

Maybe that's what this is all about...there's something better around the corner. And these painful goodbyes make us a little more aware, a little more connected to that hope.

Keeping it real

grace: noun, verb, graced, grac·ing

1. elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action.
2. a pleasing or attractive quality or endowment.

You will not see my picture in the dictionary by this word. Oh no. No modeling contract in the works for me. Twice today I embarrassed myself by my oh so talented ungrace.

The first display was in the bathroom at work. This would not be a happy place for Michelle. I just really hate it when there are other people in the bathroom. The whole experience is one of high anxiety -- you know I am the only human being to go to the bathroom of course. But when you try to drink your requisite 8+ glasses of water a day you are going to obviously be making a trip or two. So today, I'm in my stall knowing there is someone in the next stall. Nervous bladder attacks plus always the possiblity lurking in the back of my mind of "what if I make some unfortunate noise?" That would be death. So I always go as fast as I can, turn around while zipping my pants I flush with my foot, wash my hands and get out. How absurd is this? But today, I turn around, lift my foot to push the lever............. I am wearing these cute little slides and when I lifted my foot up so quickly I flung my shoe off, lost my balance and fell backwards. I grabbed the wall to keep from falling over, had to reach around the back of the toilet to grab my shoe -- don't you know this was all done ever so quietly? The whole scene was so ridiculous I nearly choked to keep from laughing out loud.

Scene two: I'm walking toward the parking garage. I don't walk slow and I have to fight irritation when I get behind someone who is just meandering their way out of the building. So I get my chance and I break away - I'm leading the pack and just about the time I come face to face with a guy who is going back in the building.........I fall off my stupid shoe and am stumbling face forward. Do you know how hard it is to do something this embarrassing and still shake it off and keep walking like you really intended to do that all along? Oh but I tried.

I'm sure no one noticed.

Come to the table.......

Every Tuesday night for about 7 years now I go to a meeting for parents of kids who are struggling with addictions. When I first went I was desperate for help -- anything to "fix everything and make it be all right". Things have been 'all right' for 3 years now but I still go. I don't want to waste the experience and if I don't do something positive with all I gained it will not count for much. This certainly isn't a ministry I volunteered for nor EVER wanted but it's where I have been placed.

I have noticed over the years something about those who come through the doors of the "club" no one ever looks to join. Everyone comes in broken. They come in desperate for help, for answers. They've tried everything there is to try to fix their child. They come in largely as one of two distinct groups. One comes in broken and they know it. They admit they don't have answers, they don't know how to put the broken pieces of their family back together again. They know they need help and they aren't too ashamed or proud to admit and to ask for it. They pull their chairs into the circle…close in. They listen to the 'long timers' as they share their experience, strength and hope. They soak up the serenity of those in the circle. The other group of people that comes in are broken too. But they refuse to admit it. They hold their pain close to their chests with a plastic smile pasted on their faces. They sit in the chairs nearest the door…or even at times, pull their chair out of the circle and sit back behind everyone else. They leave just as broken as when they came in.

I think there is a parallel there in the way we come to the Lord's Supper. We can come to the table broken and knowing it. Knowing, somehow sensing that help is there for us and we pull our chairs up as close to the Lord as we can get…bathing ourselves in the healing power of his love and forgiveness. Or we come too proud, too ashamed, too hardened to admit we're there for us…not anyone else. We're there because we're supposed to be but we don't dare get too close to the table...and in so doing we miss the union that is ours in the taking of the bread and the cup--that sacrifice that allows for our wholeness. And so we leave just as broken as when we come in.

Walking the tightrope

It has come as quite a big a surprise to me that having a child move to another state has been so painful. I remember driving away from the college campus in West Texas where we moved our oldest for his freshman year. I thought that was hard -- and it was. Somehow going to college doesn't feel quite as permanent as when a 21-year old moves out. The college experience provides you with a gradual letting go and maybe that's the difference. This was one day I'm fixing his dinner and next day I'm standing at the curb watching him drive away.

In case you are wondering I haven't been doing that great a job at that -- letting go. I'm trying. Really I am. But he reminded me the other day (and in not a very polite tone I might add) that he was a grown man and he didn't need to call his mother OR have his mother call him. He'd been calling me every day - giving me updates or asking what he should do about something involved in setting up house. And then one day in his mind he cut the cord........and didn't let me know. And I crossed that invisible line. He was not happy. And that made me mad. In a "I brought you into this world, young man and I can take you out!" Bill Cosby sort of way.

Which I have discovered, makes letting go easier for a time.

Thanksgiving at My House

Okay, so I'm not done with stories from my past.

The very first Thanksgiving I spent away from home was when I was 4 months into my marriage and just 21 years old. My husband thought it would be a great idea if we had all the single students over to the house for dinner and naive babe that I was I said "Sure!" As plans firmed up I learned we would have 4 young men as our guests and I was a nervous wreck. I called my mom every hour for days up to the big day asking how big a turkey to buy and how did I make dressing and when should I.......on and on. One thing I was confident about was the pies. I knew I could make pies - they didn't scare me a bit. Somehow I got it all together and on the table shortly after our guests arrived. Grateful single men that they were, they ate heartily of everything. Then it was time for the piece de resistance....pumpkin pie. I had made two and one was a little prettier than the other so that is the one I brought to the table and cut. Generous pieces were placed on each plate and a big bowl of Cool Whip (I don't care what anyone says that tastes better than real whipped cream.) . Conversation slowed as they began eating and I sat back (I don't care for pumpkin pie so I was abstaining) and surveyed the situation. I had done it! I had cooked Thanksgiving dinner!! I reached over and took a small bite of pie from my husband's plate and nearly choked.

I was a very insecure 21 year old and laughing at myself was a skill I simply did not possess. Mistakes of any sort were met with silent mortification. Which explains why I ate that piece of pie with a smile on my face.

Didn't every one make their pumpkin pie without sugar? I. LEFT. OUT. THE. SUGAR. FOLKS. The pie that wasn't as pretty? Perfect. Since that time I'm a bit paranoid about serving people anything I haven't tasted first. But today it would crack me up. Then I wanted to cry.

Not bad

One last story from the past........

It was a while before the kids met Thomas (well, obviously not too long a 'while' since we married six months after that first disastrous date). Katie met him first. She was four. The boys had gone to spend the weekend with their dad so it was just she and I that Sunday morning. At the time Thomas and I were going to different churches so we decided to meet for lunch before he had to drive back to Dallas. In that little community if you went out to eat after church that meant you went to Pizza Hut. So Pizza Hut it was. Katie sat in the booth beside me, Thomas across the table from us. Thomas did everything but stand on his head trying to get Katie to talk with him but she just wasn't cooperating. She mostly hid behind me and snatched glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

On the way back to our house she was very quiet. I was anxious to know what was going through her head so was trying to figure out the best way to coax it out of her. We were about one block from our house when she finally spoke up.

She never turned to look at me - just kept staring straight ahead. But this is what I heard....


"Not bad, Mom. Not bad at all."

The big date

A date!!! I hadn’t been on a date in 20 years but all of a sudden I felt just as much teen-age angst as I ever felt. What should I wear? I’ve got to get a babysitter. I called friends of mine in Amarillo to see if I could spend the night with them Saturday night – we had decided that in addition to the Saturday night event we were going to we would take in breakfast and church Sunday morning before I headed home. Mr. Nice Guy was actually working in Dallas at the time so he was flying up to Amarillo and would pick me up at my friends’ house.

The friend who was at my house when I got the call insisted on paying for a manicure so I set out for Amarillo Saturday morning with fake but beautiful hands, a stomach full of butterflies and a determination to find ‘something to wear’ at the mall. The perfect pair of jeans later I headed to Canyon to my friends’ house for a long catch up visit. Before I knew it the door bell was ringing and I was introducing everyone. Then it was off for dinner and later, the Emmaus Candlelight that was the main purpose of our evening.

Thomas and I have laughed over that first date a million times. Because, y’all there would have been no second date and certainly no marriage had I based it on the first date impression. Whew. Talk about bad!! It was. That’s another story – I’d hate for you to think badly of the dear man. Obviously I saw something that was worth a second look since 6 months later we were married.

I don’t know if many men would have been so willing to take on the responsibility of a wife with three kids. Thomas was not just willing, but eager. He had given up on the idea that he would have children since he’d reached the ripe old age of 40 without having found me. So to get 3 in the bargain was just the ticket for him. He has been in Indian Princesses, Cub Scouts, coached all sorts of sports teams. He’s held puking heads over the commode (I just can’t do throw up), he’s canoed down the Brazos, he’s sometimes worked 2 jobs to support us, bought cars, clothes, Play Stations and Barbie by the dozens. He did it all without having had much of an example in his own life too – proof positive God has been in the picture since the very beginning.

Oh yeah....My original “Gideon’s fleece” check list?
1.) With all his heart
2.) Never
3.) None
4.) 18 months & 7 days

Mr. Nice Guy

A friend excitedly told me she wanted me to meet this guy who had moved back to the panhandle – he was such a great guy and he was soooooooooooo nice. My smiling face said “Sure” but my brain was saying “Nice. Right. There is no such thing as nice.” She invited me to a weekly accountability group and lo & behold, Mr. Nice Guy was a member of the group. He was always cheerful and seemed to be an integral part of the group. He shook my hand when we were introduced but that was about it. Ya'll he was ca-yuuute (for you non-southerners -- C. U. T. E. is actually two syllables at bare minimum) and I didn’t mind looking at him a bit but beyond that, I hadn’t a thought in my mind. After all, timing was not right according to my time table and I was still pretty fragile.

Fast forward several months - it's a Tuesday evening about 8:30. For some time I had been meeting with two sisters to just pray – it was such a great time and one of the high points of my week. One of the gals had already left and I was just casually visiting with the other when the phone rang. I answered the phone and my friend could tell there was something quite momentous about this phone call. She watched as my eyes widened and I promptly backed up to prop myself against the wall behind me. Instead, I bumped into a shadow box with 4,738 miniatures in it and knocked it kerpow, straight to the floor. My grace astounds even me.

“Michelle, this is Mr. Nice Guy. How are you this evening?”
“Oh, I’m fine! And you?" I think it actually sounded more like mmm,..uhhhh, fffffine.
“I was wondering if you would like to go to Amarillo with me this Saturday evening?”

HOLY CRAP. I was 37 years old and I was going on a date.

I did what any self-respecting girl does in a situation like this. After agreeing and getting the details I hung up the phone, looked at my friend and …………..

screamed.

The one I caught.............

Since I told the story of “the one that got away” I decided that today I would share the story of how I met Thomas. It’s a story of God moving in definite, traceable ways so that I, a very wounded woman, could trust that it was God and not me.

About a year after I learned that John (my ex) was in love with my good friend (I have since redefined what ‘good friend’ means to me) I wrote in a prayer journal: “God I am very tired of going it alone. Being a single parent is hard when the kids are so young and need so much. Where do I turn when I am worried about money or discipline or any of the myriad of things that come up in the day?” And He said, “Michelle, you turn to me.” I was learning that in so many ways and it was filling my cup and I was learning to trust Him. For too long I’d placed men of God or knowledge of God ahead of knowing God but I was learning each day the blessed difference. In spite of all I was learning about and from the Lord there was one area of my life that I hadn’t turned over to him. That was the pain and the shame and the failure of divorce. I was so very ashamed – I felt certain that there was a large bold red letter RDF tattooed on my forehead. Rejected!! Divorced!! Failure!! was all that I felt about me at the time.

The next entry in my journal went something like this: “Lord, I don’t know if there is a man in my future – I don’t know if I’ll ever trust again but even if I do, who is going to choose me? If there is somebody out there that can overlook the fact that I obviously couldn’t do marriage right – if there really is such a guy then I am going to need all the assurances in the world from you that it is your hand guiding the relationship”. Not mine. Not this mythical guy’s. Not any human hand. Then I decided to lay out my fleece just like Gideon did.

1.) He must love the Lord above all else.
2.) He must never have been married before – I have enough baggage for two.
3.) He must not have any children of his own – my children need undivided attention and loyalty
4.) He must not call me or ask me out until 18 months after the end of my marriage.

I thought I had made the list so impossible that I wouldn’t have to worry. I would accept my single state and not have to take a chance on love again because well, God didn’t send me anyone that met the requirements. Let’s face it, a man with no kids and no prior marriage at the late 30’s age point?? Most of those that were still single were single for a reason, people!

Aaaahhh, but my God is so big.

To be continued…………..

Ode to the Cowboy, The End

At the time I was dating the boy who would later become my husband but I was pretty miserable. His definition of “exclusive relationship” meant I dated him and he dated whomever he chose. (For evermore why didn’t I see the handwriting on the wall?) I was so completely lacking in self respect and confidence and plain good sense that I was going along with this plan. Being with a bad boyfriend seemed much more desirable than being without any boyfriend. It was my security blanket….proof that someone could love me. He was the darling of every adult in my life and they all thought I should hang on to this great catch. I was nothing if not obedient. Gorgeous Cowboy had seen me with Steady BF all around campus and he had told his advisor that he was going to pursue me. Advisor said “She’s taken, you won’t have any luck” and that was all the encouragement he needed. Suddenly I was running into him. Every day. Every where. By this time in my goof-off educational career I was passionately pursuing my major - Student Center 301. Liz and I were Spades Champions Extraordinaire and were happy to take on these cowboys as fresh meat new challengers. They reciprocated by teaching us the card game Pitch. Being the talented, bright person that I am, I quickly had a double major – Spades and Pitch. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was a whole lot more than the thrill of a card game that was causing this feeling in my stomach. The thoughtful politeness of this boy-gentleman had my brain in an uproar.

Obedient self: What about Steady Boyfriend?
Dizzy self: He doesn’t treat me like GC does.
Obedient self: But you have Steady BF's class ring!
Dizzy self: But he doesn’t smile like GC does.
Obedient self: But your parents, preacher, youth minister love steady BF.
Dizzy self: But my stomach doesn’t do flip flops when he catches my eye and winks.

You see the dilemma. Stay safe. Or go against everything you have ever done in your obedient life. I did what any sane, rational, obedient 19 year old college girl would do.

I fell head over heels, madly, deeply in love with Gorgeous Cowboy. All I wanted in life was to be beside this guy whose life had been so different from mine. Oh who am I kidding?? All I wanted in life was to be in the arms of this guy. He knew about things I had no knowledge of whatsoever. For fun he rode bulls. He never did let his hair grow and he kept those Wranglers. Mercy!!! I grew to appreciate those Wranglers. He made me feel confident and smart and beautiful. He made me oh, so weak in the knees. He made me believe I was worth the chase. In turn I knew he was worth the price. My parents didn’t approve or understand. There wasn’t anything at all wrong with GC except that he wasn’t Steady BF. At the end of the year we said goodbye. I knew it was the final one. He had dreams that included the National Finals and the rodeo circuit…dreams that a girl didn’t want to try to compete with nor keep him from. Deep down I knew I was Obedient Girl and would ultimately walk the path others had chosen for me. For the first time in my life I knew that sometimes you have to let go of someone you love because the time just isn’t right. Sometimes the girl doesn't get the guy.

I haven’t seen him since then. I heard he’d settled in that area but I never go back there anymore so I don’t know. If there is any justice in the world he’s gone bald and has dunlaps disease (his belly done lapped over his belt). If he has aged like this man I’m going to need a drink. Or a shrink.

This is my Ode to The Cowboy. And to Young Love.
The End.

Ode to The Cowboy, part 1

I have been stalking this woman for months now. No day is complete unless I have entertained myself with her captivating stories. She had me from the get go because a) she’s funny and b) she lives in the country. Oh, I’m so jealous. In light of an approaching anniversary she has been sharing the story of how she met and married her cowboy.

That has me reliving my own love affair with a cowboy. Keep in mind this is a PG site (my entire life is a PG story ANYWAY). I’m using the term “love affair” in the most innocent and beautiful of ways. After all these years I still remember that breathless-heart racing-mind numbing rush of emotion that hit me whenever I looked at my cowboy.

It was a Friday night in the 19th year of my life. My attached-at-the-hip-best friend, Liz and I were dragging main, because it was, well, our job. We had stopped at the 7-11 at one end of the drag to do something vital like buy gum and go to the bathroom. We walked out the door to my bomb car and noticed two guys who were noticing us. In an interested kind of way. A girl just knows these things.

[What follows here is important information necessary to 'set the scene'. The whole “Flower Power, Love Child, Hippie, Power to the People” era had just recently made its way to our neck of the woods. It took about 5 years for West Coast changes to make it to our little berg. So, our wardrobes consisted of well worn, very bell-bottom jeans with patches, peasant blouses, long very straight hair and beads. With the exception of the peasant blouse business, this was a unisex wardrobe. All the guys at this college had long hair, bellbottom jeans and flip flops. Until my sophomore year. In came this influx of cowboys on rodeo scholarships. I had never seen such a thing! Those poor guys would be so cute if they’d, you know, wear Levi’s instead of Wranglers and let their hair grow for heaven’s sake!]

Back to these boys at 7-11. They were wearing big cowboy hats and grins, oh my gosh, their grins. So we grinned back. And they asked, “Can we have a ride back to the dorm?” Here it became my Christian duty to help – it was nearly winter in Colorado and all. Their jackets didn’t look warm enough to protect them from the elements. Clearly I was being called upon to entertain one of those “angels unaware” that the King James Version told me about. I’m nothing if not obedient so I said “Mmmmmm, but I don’t know you…..smile, wink…” “I’m Hunky Cowboy and this here is Gorgeous Cowboy”. Now that we were friends, we all crawled into my car (girls in the front, boys in the back) and backed out of the 7-11 and immediately pulled into the dorm parking lot. (I didn’t say they had to walk far). We talked for hours that night and I knew that the world as I had carefully defined it had just taken a 180 degree turn.

Merciful Heavens it is finally the end of the story...........

Those are the stories of my life…in the boat, and out of it. Going down for the 3rd time and walking across the top of the waves….What have I learned? I learned that what happened to me had to happen in order that God be able to mold me into a vessel he could use. Back in that first part of my life I was trusting fully in my ability to do all the right things and none of the wrong things. That was an empty, vain religion that was no life preserver when the storms of life hit. It was only after I was broken that God was able to begin a work in me that he hasn’t finished yet.

Once at a ladies retreat we looked at Hebrews 11 and the great hall of faith heroes. Our speaker suggested that we all add a verse to that chapter so that our verse 41 would read “By faith ______(insert your name) did...." If my Bible had a verse 41 it would say "By faith Michelle hung on” As I was thinking about that lesson God allowed me to see vs. 40 with new eyes. I thought about that long list of people who did great things by faith, parted the red sea, left their homeland, offered their only son, hid the spies and many other things. The chapter closes with this verse, “these were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised.” But they had faith that caused them to act whether they saw the fruit of their faith or not. Just like Habbakkuk said in chapter 3 of the book that bears his name “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vine, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food. Though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord.”

And so my conclusion is this – authentic faith isn’t gained by staying in the boat. It isn’t a faith that sees. It doesn’t have all the answers but it is one that is in a God that is big enough to handle the questions, the anger, the doubts. It’s the faith we possess when we are honest enough to admit “God I don’t understand. I may never understand. I don’t have to understand.. It’s a faith that says ‘Whatever, Lord’.” And that is enough. I’d like to close this long saga with a paragraph from a book I read recently that has powerfully impacted me. (The Prisoner in the Third Cell by Gene Edwards)

"You have now come face to face with a God whom you do not fully understand. You have met a God who has not lived up to your expectations. ....You are going to get to know your Lord by faith or you will not know him at all. Faith in Him, trust that is in Him...not in his ways. ....today you are resentful of those who so callously hurt you. But no, not really. The truth is you are angry with God because, ultimately, you are not dealing with men, you are dealing the with sovereign hand of your Lord. Beyond all events, behind all things, there is always his sovereign hand. The question is not, "why is God doing this?" Why is he like this? The question is not, Why does he not answer me? The question is not, I need him desperately, why does he not come rescue me?" the question is not, why did God allow this tragedy to happen to me, to my children, to my wife, to my husband, to my family? Nor is it why does God allow injustices?

The question before the house is this: Will you follow a God you do not understand? Will you follow a God who does not live up to your expectations?

Your Lord has put something in your life which you cannot bear. The burden is simply too great. He was never supposed to do this! But the questions remains, "will you continue to follow this God who did not live up to your expectations?"

And for me, the answer is yes.

Almost to the end.......

There is a quote from Charles Spurgeon that spoke to me when I first heard it:

God is too wise to be mistaken
God is too good to be unkind
So when you cannot trace his hand
Trust his heart.

So I trusted God to show up and I asked him to hold me up. For four years we lived through the highs and lows of a family that loves an addict. I went to places I never dreamed I would go…both literally and figuratively. I never ever expected to see my child in an orange jumpsuit behind bars. I would never have imagined a day when I would say ‘thank God he is choosing alcohol now instead of pot…at least it’s legal”. Long periods of time would go by where he was almost the happy funny kid I gave birth to, followed by periods where he gave into Satan’s lies and slide into the cesspool of lies that the enemy filled his mind with and he would attempt yet again to drown out those voices of insecurity and inadequacy with drugs and alcohol. I prayed for him to get sober. I prayed that God would somehow make him hate alcohol. I didn’t see it happening. But it began to matter less to me. Not that I quit caring….not by a long shot. Not that I began accepting his life style choices. Never did I or would I do that. But I began experiencing the sweet serenity of knowing God was in charge. God loved my son more than I did…hard to imagine but I knew it was true. I still cried. I still mourned the loss of dreams I had for the kid. I still panicked from time to time. But over all I knew that he was one of God’s sheep and God doesn’t lose his sheep. [As an aside, he chose to get well on October 14, 2004 and as today has been sober nearly three years. Recovery works. He will never be cured from this dreadful disease that he has but he has chosen to live in recovery and I praise God for the deliverance. I am deeply grateful to all those who own a part of that recovery because of the battle you waged on your knees for his soul. You’ve loved him, accepted him as your own and that’s a debt a mother can never repay.]

Remembering......

Six years ago today I was sitting at the front desk of the busy legal department where I worked. I was feeling comfortable and confident. (After all I had been in the adult working world for fifteen months now!) One of my co-workers came running to the front and said "Have you heard? We're under attack!"

Those were words I simply could not get my mind around. Under attack? How could that possibly be? Immediately I thought back to Pearl Harbor (which I know about ONLY from history books, thank you very much). Those things didn't happen anymore, did they? We were America! Who would do that? My friend sat down at my desk and urged me to go to the conference room where a television was reporting the shocking news. I sat in that room, eyes glued to the screen, listening to reporters, listening to the shocked and angry remarks of the attorneys standing around me. Strange the words that came to my mind at that time. "My God, my God why have you forsaken me?" I lived a naive, very sheltered, very Texas life. That the world was much bigger than that, filled with people who hated us for everything we stood for and most dumbfounding of all, did so in the name of the God they served was a revelation to me that morning. In a moment the world became far less safe and much more vast than I previously believed. And maybe for the first time ever I saw what a world without God looks like. Not the "oops" kinds of sins of which my world is made, but rather a world where the sacrifice God made for it is unknown or just denied.

The corporation I work for went into immediate lock down. Those outside couldn't get in, those inside couldn't get out. None of the things we were working on a few minutes earlier seemed at all important. No one wanted to be alone, everyone wanted to go home. Home where their loved ones were. Home where we had previously thought we were safe. Home where we could hide from terror and hate and destruction.

Maybe the most important lesson of all was this world is not our home.
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." John 14: 1-4

More and more.......

This next storm was nothing I could anticipate, expect or be prepared for. This storm involved my first-born. I have a connection to him that defies my explanation…I deeply love and adore all three of my children but there is some sort of psychological, spiritual bond that I can’t explain that exists between myself and my eldest. I have always been able to sense when things weren’t right in his life. When his daddy left he was almost 11, he was old beyond his years and totally devastated by his dad’s actions. He would pour over his Bible in his room and copy verses that he would then write to his dad and ask him to explain how he could do what he had done if he preached the opposite. He grew angry and angrier.

When I remarried and moved here we brought along a little boy who had been a very big fish in a very small pond and put him in an elementary school that itself was larger than the entire K-12 population of the school he had moved from. He made his very best friends in the youth group; he was in the Gifted/Talented program in middle school and high school. He had a sweet girlfriend. He also began taking drugs. I knew something was wrong with Matt…but never in my wildest dreams would I have come up with the answer of drugs. That was foreign to me. I wasn’t stupid – I read all the signs a parent is supposed to watch for….change in friends…nope. Falling grades….nope. Disruptive, defiant behavior….nope. He went to every youth group party, devotional, mission trip, road trip….he maintained an A average, scored a 1300 on his first attempt at his SAT without preparing at all. So of course my son wasn’t doing drugs. He got a very generous academic scholarship to a Christian college and in the fall of 1999 he moved to West Texas. There, away from the confines of home he became a bona fide addict. I would venture to guess he was high nearly every day of his freshman year. Having a 2.3 grade point average doesn’t impress the scholarship folks and at the end of that first year I think he had 13 total credits. We were in debt….and furious. But still ignorant. Still with no clue as to what he had been doing out there….other than not his class work to be sure.

Shortly after he got back home that May we discovered what the problem was and I was completely shocked, heartbroken, and terrified. We told him he could not expect to smoke pot and live in our home – he had to make a choice. For the first time in his life he yelled at me and walked out. Out of his home, with the clothes on his back, a contact case and his car. I didn’t see him or hear from again for over two weeks. That was when I really learned about crying out to God. I became aware slowly that the panic I expected to feel was usually at bay….amazingly enough I could sleep. For two weeks I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, where he slept, if he had anything to eat….he didn’t have clean clothes. But God provided me with the strength for the moment. There is no other explanation because this girl could not/would not have survived the ensuing years. After a couple of weeks he called and asked if he could get his clothes. He rented an apartment near our house and so began a period that lasted four long years.

Four days and counting.......

This letting go business hurts! Tyler made it to Denver safely (though not without incident) and is planning to drive on to Winter Park tonight. When he left he had his bed tied on to the top of his Explorer. It was a reprisal of The Beverly Hillbillies to be sure. Then somewhere in the Panhandle the wind that IS the panhandle relieved him of that load. He just kept on going. So somewhere in the panhandle prairie some cow was treated to a softer place to sleep.

I've cried every single day and night - surely this is going to dry up soon. I have listened to Mark Harris's "Find Your Wings" over and over and over. I'm a masochist like that. The song is absolutely so beautiful and the words straight from a parent's heart. "It's only for a moment you are mine to hold. The plan that heaven has for you will all too soon unfold. So many different prayers I'll pray for all that you might do. But most of all I'll want to know you're walking in the truth. And if I never told you I want you to know. As I watch you grow I pray that God would fill your heart with dreams and the faith that gives you courage to dare to do great things. I'm here for you whatever this life brings. So let my love give you roots and help you find your wings." Now obviously I've listened to it once or twice since I can relay the words so effortlessly.

I know that I have no real power to make things all right or to keep my kids from all harm or temptation. Having one so far away serves to emphasize that all too painfully. I have to trust my feeble efforts at parenting and most of all the God I pointed the way to. I know (although can't quite fathom) that God loves Tyler more, even than I do. I am proud that he dared to do this thing - follow his dream (I seriously hope being a ski bum is not the entirety of his dream!) and make the hard choice to leave all that is familiar. He knows I'm here for him. He knows above all else GOD is who He said He was and is watching over him when I can't.

I'll get beyond this grieving in time. I keep telling myself that dozens of my friends have walked this way before me and survived. I hear, even, that the empty nest has an allure of its own. I'll have to accept that by faith at the moment. I did tell Tyler's brother that I had just cancelled his move to Africa. He could find a mission field in Richardson. Oh my I don't know how I'm going to do that one.

Pray for me!

Yet still more..........

This was not a storm I was prepared for. It was a storm fiercer than any other I had faced. I was swept out of my boat and into the darkest, roughest water I had ever imagined. Most of the time the best I could hope for was keeping my head above water and oftentimes I was barely that. This was the beginning of the long dark winter of my faith. Unlike my previous storm where I called out to God and He responded in unmistakable ways, this time God was silent. I couldn’t sense his presence. I didn’t see his hand in my life. Life became a battle---making it to the end of the day so that I could go to sleep was the highest of my goals. And every day was exactly like the gray day before it. I came to church but could never make it through an entire service. I prayed prayers that felt empty and futile. The only person in my life who loved me completely and unconditionally was gone. How was I to go on? WHY DID GOD DO THIS TO ME?

Through the love and support of a good husband, good friends, a good counselor and good drugs I was able to eventually claw my way through the depression that had settled but I still couldn’t feel God’s presence. Would I ever hear his voice again? I didn’t even have a chance to make it to the boat let alone get settled in it before the next storm hit. In many ways it was the worst one yet. The other storms had been devastating…but none came as a complete and total surprise. I knew my husband didn’t love me….I was shocked that he would choose divorce but still – mentally I had a degree of preparedness. While I certainly did not expect Daddy to die on my kitchen floor a week before Christmas I knew he would die someday. And I knew I would never be ready to say goodbye to him. This next storm was nothing I could anticipate, expect or be prepared for.

Story of the storm.........

I am the oldest of four. My parents had three girls in three years and six years later my brother came along. For a lot of years I got to be Daddy’s “son”. Friday night football games were our date nights right up until I was in high school. I got to go to work with him in the summer. I spent lots of hours riding with Daddy in his truck. I grew up believing there wasn’t any thing worth knowing, any thing worth doing that he didn’t know or couldn’t do. He had lost his own mother when he was a small boy and so grew up being passed from relative to relative…whoever could feed an additional mouth during the days of the depression. As a result of that he wanted to build a family unit that was strong – providing for us the sense of security he never had. In the eyes of the world he lived and died without much that makes a man a success. But it was through him that I learned I could do anything I set my mind to. It was because of him that I’ll tackle nearly every home improvement job I think up. I can still hear in my mind “Shoot, if they could do it we are smart enough to figure it out too!” It was also through him that I learned a deep appreciation for the Word of God. Daddy’s work day started at 4:00 a.m. and if you ever got up to go to the one bathroom our house had in the middle of the night you were most likely going to find him sitting in his recliner with his Bible in his lap. He taught me by example to “hide the words in my heart” as it says in Psalms 119:11.

In December 1997 mom and dad were coming to our house for an early Christmas celebration. Because my sister is a 12/25 baby she has always gotten top billing on that day (and rightly so!). So Mom and Dad came on Thursday the 18th and were going to go on to Abilene on Monday the 22nd. The next day was the last day of school for the year and the kids were all excited about the class parties and Secret Santa’s and the school break. That Friday morning I got my kids up and out the door while welcoming into the house the two little babies I was keeping at the time. Rylee was 2 and Nicholas was 1-1/2 and we were going to have our own Christmas party. Nicholas had gotten very attached to “grandpa” the night before so as soon as he got there he was looking for Grandpa. Daddy had waited until the kids were gone to get his shower and so it was after 8 when he came into the kitchen with Nick draped around his legs. They sat down at the kitchen table and began to play with the toy that he had just gotten and I asked Daddy if he was ready for breakfast. “Sure Hon” was his reply”. I turned to get the muffin out of the oven, butter it, pour the coffee and answer the ringing phone all at the same time. Tyler was calling – he had forgotten to take his Secret Santa gift to school. During the conversation I heard the unmistakable thud of a head hitting the floor. Moms of boys are well acquainted with that sound. Nicholas cried out and I turned expecting to scoop him up into my arms. As I bent down to get him out of the corner of my eye I saw daddy slumped in his chair and then watched in slow motion as he slid to the floor.

The next events remain vivid in my mind’s eye…as though they were burned into my consciousness forever and yet the minutes, hours and days leave no real perception as to their actual passing. I remember grabbing the phone and dialing 911. I remember screaming at the operator both to come and to let me go because I knew CPR. I can see my mom sitting on the floor and cradling Daddy’s head in her lap and asking me over and over “Don’t you know what to do?”. I can feel his chest under my hands as I began CPR – a skill I had never intended to use and certainly not on someone I knew. I can still hear the paramedics tell me I had done well and to let them take over. I cannot erase the pictures of his body lifting off the floor as they shocked his heart over and over. The surreal-ness of following the ambulance to the hospital still overwhelms me. I remember every face of every person who had heard the news and come to gather and support me in the family room of that hospital. I remember the pain in Keith’s voice as he prayed for us. I remember going into the room where the shell of the man who had shown me the way to Jesus was laid, gathering my babies to my chest as they cried tears of fear and confusion and hurt. Instead of gathering around a Christmas tree that year, my family and I gathered in the snow around a hole in the ground where they laid that shell to rest. I remember crying harder than I imagined a person could cry until it felt as though my very insides had ceased to exist.

We Interrupt This Series For........

...an important announcement.

I am grieving the loss of a job. Reality is that I have successfully worked myself out of it and am one blubbering soggy mess. This morning I kissed my child goodbye and watched him drive off for adventure in the guise of INDEPENDENCE. I have been looking forward to this day but I planned for independent living to take place in the far off reaches of, say, Plano. Then when I got used to that maybe even North Dallas! This is not to be for #2 son. He’s pulled up stakes, loaded his Ford Explorer full to bursting with everything we could cram in there and is moving to Winter Park, Colorado. He does not have a job (“Don’t worry, Mom! There is ALWAYS a job if you aren’t afraid to work.”), he does not have a home (“Don’t worry, Mom! I’ll find a place to live.”) and he doesn’t really know anyone, with the exception of the one friend he talked into making this leap with him. Oh, did I mention his Ford Explorer is FIFTEEN years old and he is leaving with MAYBE a six hundred dollars in his pocket???

It seems like just yesterday this confident, self assured, hardworking young man was my equally as confident & self assured curly haired baby boy. He’s never met a stranger, can charm the socks off you with one genuine grin and has been an absolute joy. Oh to be sure, he is hard-headed, stubborn as a mule and hearing impaired if he’s not hearing what he wants to hear. He is an adrenaline junkie and scares the living daylights out of me (Have I mentioned he skateboarded off the house? Drove a car when he was two? Refuses to wear a helmet?) and is not nearly as serious about life as I would wish. But he hugs and kisses his momma every single day of the world when he leaves the house and when he comes back in – how am I going to manage without that?

Tyler, age 6 months:

No matter how many clothes he had on when he went down for a nap:

With his doll (he was only two!!)"Billie Sue":

Easter Sunday at 3-1/2:

Living his dream:

Go with God my precious gift – may all your dreams (and none of my fears) come true….

Short story today.......

It was in the storm I met Him.

I learned that storms, though brutal, do not last forever. They eventually end. I learned that storms are survivable when God is in control. I didn’t need the oars anymore. God was captain of my ship and I thought I was exactly where God wanted me to be. He brought a man into my life that adored me and was eager to become Dad to three hurting kids. The fact that he was willing to take on a woman scarred by divorce and serious trust issues and three children who were dealing with abandonment issues of their own is proof either of God’s direction in his life or insanity on his part. The jury is still out on that one! All of a sudden this country girl found herself living in a metropolitan area that was literally 50 times larger than the community she had moved from. I went from a place where we grew and canned our own food to a place where people were far more likely to get dinner from the drive through than their back yard. I was in culture shock but God was in control. (As a complete aside from this serious post I would like to say that I have completely adapted to that drive-through thing and am compelled to say the day-in and day-out cooking thing is highly over rated!)

And so the story goes on.....

Remember the rule based religion I talked about earlier – I was finding that doing the right thing didn’t necessarily means I would get the right results. It didn’t protect me and you know what? It didn’t comfort me either. The first lesson God wanted me to learn was that He alone had power over the storm. He didn’t cause the storm but he was in control of it and he knew Michelle’s boat was rocking but not upside down. The second lesson and probably the most important was the hardest for me to accept. God had people all over that little community of 3500 that didn’t show up to the same building I did on Sunday morning. I know for some of you that is hard to understand why it came as a surprise to me. But for my time in the world it was a huge revelation and one I didn’t accept easily. There were great birthing pains as my faith stretched before I could wholeheartedly believe and accept that. Even that I had to learn the hard way though. The church we had worked with were grieving, in shock themselves and most believed (and told me) that I should leave. Only when it was those in other faith groups who sat with me, cried with me, made sure I had a place to go on holidays, who told me they were fasting for me. Only then did I accept and believe that I was receiving the love of Jesus from people who months before I would not have fellowshipped. Accepting their love for God provided me with the greatest freedom of all…I wasn’t their judge and in freeing myself from that responsibility I received even greater freedom. The freedom to make mistakes myself. I finally was free to admit I didn’t and couldn’t get it all right. And that was ALL RIGHT! The greatest lesson I learned during the storm was if I kept my eyes on Jesus the storm wasn’t as frightening. If I took my eyes off him I saw the waves just like Peter – but when I was keeping my eyes on him life was euphoric. My faith grew by leaps and bounds. God’s word became real and active. He met me where I needed him. With whatever I needed. With all I needed. For perhaps the first time I understood that God was actively involved in my life and He was really REAL. He wasn’t some judge far off but a father very near. God saw me through that first real storm of my life. I am ashamed and sorry to admit that up until this time I had been absolutely faithful in my service to God. I had been teaching Sunday school since I was 14 years old. I held teacher-training workshops and tried to teach other women to love Bible class teaching as much as I did. I went on mission trips. I was THE preacher’s wife for goodness sake….and yet I didn’t really know God. I knew all about him. But I didn’t know him. I replaced my idolization of my husband and other men of God with an idolization of the only one worthy of my worship. I wish I had time to share this part of my story. Of the ways I would pray a prayer for a specific need and a few hours later I would get a phone call that would begin with “Michelle, you don’t know me but…” Every single need. I had no job history, no marketable skills and yet we were provided for the entire time I was a single mom. I ended up with my own business that was exactly my skill set and I was able to provide food, clothing and shelter for my family. The fact that any of this happened and that I was able to do any of it is proof positive that God was in control of the storm. None of what was accomplished during that time was me…none.

and still more.......

It was somewhere during this most difficult time that a young man moved to the community as a vet in the largest vet practice in town. He was different from anyone I had known before. He talked of a personal relationship with God that was intimate and engrossing. He thrived on talking about Jesus as though he were a friend and most of all he exuded a joy that eluded me. One fall day when the pain was so great I could bear it no longer I got down on my knees in my dining room and cried out to the God that I had all but abandoned. Truth was I was angry at him. Everyone repeatedly told me that my husband was gifted from God…his ministry certainly seemed to be blessed by God. I couldn’t reconcile that with our day-to-day life and had decided that if God was blessing my husband then I didn’t want anything to do with God. But that fall day I was desperate enough to try him one more time. I told God through the tears that I didn’t understand what it was that Greg had but I wanted it and to please take anything in my life that was standing between me and the Lord’s active presence in my life. No sooner had I uttered those words than I quickly added on a postscript to please not let anything happen to my children. I didn’t think my emotional health was strong enough to live through anything happening to them but I offered up everything else in my life. As was my habit at the time I then set about planning God’s answer for him. I don’t know why I thought God needed my help…or why I thought I COULD help…goodness only knows things were a mess. But I always wanted to help so I figured out that my husband would take a sabbatical from ministry. We would have time to reunite as a family and we would be very poor but we would grow back together and things would be great. Somehow in my warped head of rule keeping I knew that marriage was for better or worse for life and I assumed that everyone played by those same rules. I was wrong. On the day after Christmas 1990 I was packing our bags to return to Texas after spending the holidays in Colorado at my parent’s home. My husband had just gotten the latest Max Lucado book and he had gone to bed early the night before pleading a sore throat. He was going to read the book and he asked for notepaper to take notes. He was an inveterate note taker and that request wasn’t the least bit unusual. I checked all the rooms for any shoes or new toys that we would miss at that precise moment when it was too far to go back and get them. No toys, but there lying on the floor between the wall and the bed was that ML book. I reached down to pick it up and the papers fell out. I picked them up, shuffled them a little to get them back inside the front cover when I noticed the words “My Darling”. An apology note I thought to myself…for any of a hundred neglects and so I sat down and began reading. I hadn’t gotten much beyond the first paragraph when it dawned on me that this wasn’t making any sense and only a little bit farther when it became painfully clear that the letter was to one I would have called my best friend. From my husband. The boat I had been riding in was rocked in a wild storm that completely caught me by surprise. The oars were washed overboard, I couldn’t see the shore and I didn’t know how to swim. Those days were the most gut wrenching I had ever experienced. In one decision by my now ex husband, I lost my identity (Preacher’s wife), my house (preacher’s home), my financial support and my church family. For 16 years I was the preachers wife.. 16 years I had lived in 3 different places. 16 years removed from the community I’d wanted to spend my whole life in. It was no longer home. Daddy had gotten sick and for me and 3 kids to move back home would have been a financial hardship. My kids were Texans! Through a series of events God led me to believe he wasn’t done with me yet in that little community.

More....

As I said, I grew up in a home that was ruled by alcoholism of the generation past. We were so busy living perfect lives and being perfect examples there was no room for mistakes or weaknesses. The way we dealt with them was to deny their existence. Keeping up appearances was the most important thing in my life. So there was nowhere to turn, no experience to rely on of how to ask for help. We were not long into our marriage when one inescapable fact was glaringly apparent. My husband and I agreed on one thing. We both thought he was the greatest preacher/teacher/man we had ever known. He was truly gifted in ministry. People came to him in great numbers. No matter which community we lived in the church where he preached quickly became a drawing card to the community at large. He did weddings, funerals, graduation speeches….he was truly gifted. But he didn’t’ love me. I became lonelier and lonelier. The verbal putdowns became more and more frequent. The predictable thing happened – I began to believe what I heard which only further exacerbated the problems. I had always wanted a big family – would have been happy to have six kids. Instead I had endometriosis and fertility was a huge issue. By the grace of God I finally got ½ my original 6 but the years of drugs and surgeries and dashed hopes took their toll on my emotional health. I had reached such desperation that I found myself standing at the bathroom sink and staring into my own eyes, willing myself to empty the contents of the medicine cabinet into my mouth. The thought that I had 3 precious babies who needed at least one parent in their home always kept my feet on the planet earth but I was broken as could be. Still, I had a role to play and I played it well. No one knew we weren’t the happiest couple in the neighborhood. No one knew that our marriage was a sham that was ruled by criticism, silence and absence. If the absence wasn’t physical then it was emotional.

Faith story continued.....

My grandfather was an alcoholic. Although he was dry the entire time I knew him, he was very much practicing his addiction when my mom was growing up. Those living with alcoholics learn to keep secrets, to act as though you have no problems and to maintain control at all costs. Even though there was no alcohol ever in our home those coping mechanisms were learned. So you better believe I stayed in the boat. I stayed in the boat with the oars firmly secured in my arms and no other’s. As long as you acted right you could get a "right" result. I carried this understanding into my religious life as well. You went to church every single time the doors were opened and you kept a checklist of the required acts of obedience. Each week you checked them off and then could feel somewhat confident in knowing you were doing right. I didn’t curse, drink, dance or date those who did. The religion worked for me and I thought I was doing exactly what God wanted from me. The boat never even left the dock but I didn’t know it was supposed to. I graduated from high school and began college right in the little town in southeastern Colorado where I had grown up. I was going to marry a local boy, I knew exactly what side of town we would live in, which elementary school our six children would attend and who would give them piano lessons. I met my local boy future husband and he would come to church with me and decided he needed and wanted to be baptized. Then the story went awry. He decided he wanted to become a preacher. Clearly my boat was getting ready to move out into the harbor a ways. I didn’t like it – not one little bit. But I could still see shore – I still had the oars and I adapted. We lived in Denver for a year while he finished school and then we began our lives as “The Preacher and his wife”.

My whole entire faith story

I don't know how God works but I know when He starts nudging me along a certain path there is something up ahead for which He is preparing me. For quite some time I've been thinking about my journey and how I got here. I've shared it recently but I don't think I'm done because there's still not that sense of "AHA! so that's why...." So I am going to be writing about it for the next however many days it takes me to get it all out there...maybe someone will be blessed or encouraged and maybe I'll figure out what I'm supposed to be doing at the moment. And so the story begins....

When you look in your Bible at examples of faith there are many - but the one that I am thinking of right now is Peter, and one particular incident in Peter’s life. That would be when he looked out across a raging storm tossed sea and in spite of everything sane he put his legs over the side of the boat and walked on water. We spend a lot of our lesson times on the fact that he walked on water. That is huge, don’t get me wrong. But for me, the real miracle began earlier. The miracle was he got out of the boat. I mean what is in a person’s head that they would think the thing to do is get out of the boat in the middle of a raging storm? You see, I’ve spent most of my life in the boat. I didn’t know that wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I liked the boat. Reality is, in real life and in spiritual life, I am afraid of the water. I cannot swim. Way back in the days of childhood when summer came my mom enrolled my two sisters and me in swimming lessons. The way it was arranged there were three different groups at the shallow end of the pool. You started at one side and progressed through those three beginner groups until you moved on to deeper water. It took me all summer long to make it to the 3rd beginner group and I am convinced it was a social promotion. I was head & shoulders taller than those kids who were jumping off the high dive but I never got over being afraid of the water. That pretty much symbolizes my spiritual and emotional life as well.
(to be continued)......

Women of Faith

I am SO glad I went to the pre-conference as well as the conference. It was exactly what I needed and my spirit was refreshed. I took away so much that I don't know where to start processing all the things tumbling through my head. I thoroughly enjoyed Dr. Henry Cloud's sessions. I always connect the most with Sheila Walsh. I laughed so hard at Anita Renfroe that I thought I would break a rib. She is without a doubt the funniest lady I have every heard. Nicole Johnson is gifted - I had no idea that I loved Nicole Nordeman but now I do! All in all it was just a blessing and I am so grateful to God for giving me the opportunity.

Dr. Cloud reinforced some things I have been thinking about for quite a while now. I am continually challenged by my desire to be real and my desire to be proper. You generally can't be both I've found and way too often my desire to be accepted is much stronger than my desire to let the real Michelle show through. The Michelle that is wounded, that struggles with doubts, with anger and apathy. I am not sure I can be a vessel that God can really use if I don't become transparent but as much as I love my brothers and sisters, it never really feels safe to be real. Because, all the rest of the church is working hard to be proper too. I think it takes one brave soul to turn the tide and perhaps God continues to call me to be the brave soul. But I am not. Really. But I'm tired of being strong too. I've been reliving "my story" for quite a while now and I am beginning to suspect God is preparing me for something and that is disconserting.

Weekend plans

Two weeks in a row I have taken Friday off! What a joy. Tomorrow two friends and I are going to the Women of Faith pre-conference and I am looking forward to it so much. I know I am going to laugh. I know I am going to cry. I know I am going to be standing on Holy Ground....I just can't wait. We're going to make it a real experience by riding the Dart Rail down too - three old gals on an adventure!! Since they are several years younger than me I'm thinking they won't want to know I included them in the old gal category. We are going to have to leave at dark-thirty tomorrow and Saturday to make it though - so I am crashing early tonight. I know God is going to do something great this weekend -- I just pray I am an alert enough to recognize it when it is happening. God bless ya!

A little piece of heaven..

Last Friday morning DH and I hopped on a Southwest Airlines terror machine plane and went to Amarillo. Then we drove to Spearman. This was DH's birthplace and home for 18+ years, mine for just 7. But it feels like home to both of us. It is also the place I get to see these loved ones. It was a much needed break from the craziness that is city life. While we were there we went out to the old homestead to view the newly installed solar powered water well. Here is the solar part: and here is the well part: and here is the peace part: It restores my soul.
I wanna go back. Soon.

Silver

Where do you hear God most? For me, the kitchen sink. Doesn't quite look like holy ground does it? WE INTERRUPT THIS DISCUSSION TO ISSUE THIS DISCLAIMER. The picture above was taken in the midst of remodeling. No, my backsplash is not lovely sheetrock. Yes, I know the sink is not clean. And now, back to our story. I have had a couple of experiences when I was overwhelmed with God's presence - when I knew He was wanting me to know something about him and me and our relationship. Invariably those times were times I was polishing silver. That's just not an every day occurrence around here. Honesty forces me to admit there is very little in the way of housework that is an every day occurrence. However, I have been forced to polish silver when those pieces were needed for a wedding shower or reception of some kind. Once it was because we "inherited" DH's mother's silver tea set. In his childhood home that silver service was a thing of beauty and it held an honored place in the dining room. After his mom died and his dad remarried that silver tea service was moved to the garage, unloved and unwanted. When it was brought to our home I didn't celebrate it's arrival to be sure. All I saw was a whole bunch of work and an item that didn't fit into our life style. God impressed upon my heart that I was just like that silver. I had been created for beauty and honor and sin had blackened my life. The blood of his Son restores me to the beauty that was intended for me. As I applied the polish I began to see my reflection. That's my desire - that looking at my life you'll see the reflection of the one who polishes me.

Well, I am

completely thoughtless. Not as in, rude, uncaring, arrogant or unlovely. As in WITHOUT. ONE. THOUGHT. WORTH. BLOGGING.ABOUT.

It's a sad testimony to the current state of affairs in my life. Nothing remotely interesting, even to me! The saga of the kitchen remodel is going to go on forever so I don't even want to THINK about that, let alone write about it. (Latest tragedy problem is one of the outlets is dead.) How does one go about fixing that you ask? You rip a big fat hole in the wall - the same wall you spent an entire weekend putting up tile. The thoughts in my head are not pretty at the moment and so you see why I cannot share them.

We are finally having a "normal" summer in the metroplex. This means it is 110 degrees in the shade. It IS mid-August after all, but all that rain and cool weather (trust me, 92 degrees IS cool for summer around here) I have been woefully spoiled. It's too hot to even move outside. Saturday we went out to eat with friends that live at the end of our street. I would not even walk to their house. They came and picked us up in their car. I'd already decided we were driving to their house if they didn't. I do not like to sweat.

Last night (Sunday) darling hubby and I went to the Majestic Theatre in downtown big D and saw "Defending the Caveman". He has an incredible ability to make you laugh uproariously at your own behavior. He nailed the differences between male and female down. Funny, funny stuff. You should definitely check it out. Thomas had gotten these tickets for me for my birthday. He definitely outdid himself - our seats were ON THE FRONT ROW. AND we had valet parking. So Happy Birthday to me all over again!!

There you have it - the comings and goings of the C family. Perhaps my relaying of these events will trigger some writing mania and I'll get beyond the writer's block that is paralyzing me at this time. Until then -- see you!

Step right up and get yours!

She was lifting and pulling at the same time, one foot firmly planted on the floor while the other one was braced against the monstrous device of torture. Just a little more lifting, a little more tugging and the object of her attention would be torn from it's God-intended place of residence.

Yep. It was time for my yearly mammogram. And that was my womanhood she was yanking and lifting and pulling. In all likelihood she was not born in the U.S. Her accent was strong enough that I comprehended very little of what she was saying but I did understand "Now, relax." RELAX??? I was standing in a room wearing nothing from the waist up while a total stranger was holding my breast in her hand. Once she was certain it couldn't be pulled anymore she lowered a large flat plate which commenced to flattening my boob into something resembling a potato pancake. "Hold your breath." This was a totally unnecessary command since all the wind had been knocked out of me shortly after 1500 pounds of pressure had been applied to my chest. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to and besides all that I had blacked out shortly upon seeing that plate lowering toward me.

• In·dig·ni·ty a : an act that offends against a person's dignity or self-respect : INSULT b : humiliating treatment

Of course I am extraordinarily grateful that the technology is there and that I can be reasonably assured all is well each and every year. But hopefully there is a woman somewhere, locked in a laboratory, who is devoting herself day and night to creating something a little less painful.

I'm just saying.