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.]