The Plans I Have for You

This framed photo sits in the foyer of my home.  I pass it every day.  Most days, I don't truly see it.  Last night I did, and it stopped me cold in my tracks.  I was struck by how small the kids look, how much younger I was.  It was 11 1/2 years ago, and it was my first Mother's Day post-divorce.  He was 1 1/2 and she was 4.  Life seemed overwhelming, to put it mildly.  The image I'd had of how my life would turn out was clouded by reality.  I was doing this alone now.  Simple things like getting all of us ready in the morning, getting myself to work on time, and going to the grocery store were now major undertakings.

I was flipping through a catalog when I saw this frame, and it immediately brought me to tears.  A plan for me?  Plans to prosper me?  Plans for my future?  It was almost more than I could bear to hear  - such words of hope and promise when I felt so alone and scared.  Those verses became an anchor for my life.  

I wanted God's plan to include finding a good, strong, responsible, moral man whom I could love, and who would love my children and I.  And though I was engaged once, I have never remarried.  

I could look at the picture on that frame and the inscribed verse and say that God's promises don't hold true.  But that would be short-sighted.  God has prospered me.  My hard work and God-given talent have been rewarded in the workplace, and I've been able to provide for my children, keep our home, and even add two pets to our family.  I have been harmed many times, in life-changing ways.  But God did not harm me.  He never promised we would go through this life without pain.  I have learned, however, to turn to him as the ultimate comforter.  I am working on talking and listening to Him as the co-parent absent from my home.  It's hard.  Sometimes I want immediate answers, or better yet, someone to take the reins while I scream into my pillow or take my hand when I'm feeling weary.  

Lately, I've been feeling frequent anxiety and sadness over the empty nest years that aren't too far around the corner.  Revisiting the message and the image in this frame reminds me that I am not alone.  There is still a plan for me.  There is a plan for them.  There is hope.  I'm holding two armfuls of it in this photo and forever in my heart and in my soul.  

Your Absence

It wasn't intentional, I didn't plan things this way.  But almost a year later, I can clearly see the way I isolated myself after you died.  For a brief period, I reached out to others, intentionally trying to fill my time and my thoughts.  But that quickly subsided, and I came to find safety in isolation.  Spending time with anyone else only brought you to my mind, and everyone suffered in comparison because they weren't you.  Of course they weren't you.  No one could ever be you.  Loved ones tell me to call up some friends and make plans.  Oh I do occasionally.  But most of the time my phone sits silent, and I busy myself with my career, my children, and all of my adult responsibilities.

I recognize it now, and yet I'm not sure I'm compelled to change it.  It reminds me of a bad breakup, of which I've had one too many.  The high of being in love and the low of a broken heart.  It can paralyze you and scare you away from taking another chance and risking another disappointment and that unbearable hurt.  So it is with friendship.  You were my soulmate, as much as a friend can be a soulmate.  With you, I was understood.  I was loved.  We laughed.  We dove deep into our souls and allowed each other to see the beautiful and ugly parts of ourselves.  If I never have a friendship like that again, I'll remain grateful for the 16 years I had with you.

I see pictures of best friends on social media and sometimes have to shut it down and just cry and mourn your absence.  You were my go-to girl, my plus one, my confidante, my sounding board.  You were there when so many others were fleeting and transient.  

I know darn well you would want me to continue to invest in other friendships.  It almost makes it worse knowing that I'm doing the opposite of what you would want for me.  I'm peppering friends in here and there.  You're just a really tough act to follow.  So the curtain stays closed, the lights down.  Sometimes healing and grief just take a long while.  

Alone in a New Chapter

My ex-husband and I separated before our son was one year old.  I've been a single mom for almost 12 years.  The first night I was alone, I remember thinking how on earth am I going to get 2 children ready and get to work on time?  I got up 45 minutes earlier than usual.  Mind you - my son couldn't stand or walk, never mind dress or feed himself.  My daughter was 3, but still needed heavy "coaching" to dress and feed herself.

Now I find myself the parent of a 15 year old and 12 year old.  It's like a whole new journey. I have given so much, thought and planned so much, worked so hard, sacrificed endless things, and tried so very hard to be all the parent that they need.  My custody arrangement went from almost 50/50 to 95/5.  It's a thankless job at many times, and that's tough to take.  Teens will be teens, they will say hurtful things, be selfish, and break your heart right in two.  It's hard not to take it personally.

Over the years, there have been lots of ups and downs.  I'm blessed that my parents are nearby and very committed to helping me however and whenever they can.  I've had 3 serious relationships in 12 years that eventually gave me a confidante, helping hands, and someone to talk to about my parenting struggles.  Just nothing that was worth my return on investment, and all became liabilities rather than assets, so I wrapped them up and cut my losses.It's hard to not have a co-parent to talk to about it, to "talk me off the ledge" when needed and to validate my efforts and encourage me to persevere.  On the positive side, it's forced me to lean on God more and more - which is the way it always should have been.  It's just hard because I can't always discern or hear God's response.  I don't know when I'm headed down the right road.  

At times, all I can do is hope and pray that someday they will see and appreciate all that I did for them, to keep them clothed and fed, to keep them in the same home they've always known, to bring them smiles and wipe their tears, and to encourage them to be good citizens, good Christians, and to be true to themselves.  I guess that's all that any parent can do - single or not.

darkness & light

When I slow down and become aware of the thoughts that pass through my mind, I am keenly aware of the constant push and pull of darkness and light.  Even as a positive, encouraging, or hopeful thought formulates - a negative, discouraging thought counters it.  When I am still and paying attention - typically as I'm trying to find sleep - it is alarming to witness the battle. 

Darkness doesn't give up.  It is persistent, unceasing.  It is manipulative.  It knows my weak spots.  It knows which buttons can be pushed.  It knows where my bruises are.  I can no sooner release an uplifting thought - much like a balloon - before I quickly release a thorn of darkness to pop it.

And despite becoming aware of it, it doesn't subside.  I marvel as I go through it over and over.  It literally feels as if my soul is wrestling.  But I refuse to give in.  I refuse to be pummeled.  I want to be love and light.   The smallest glimpse of light breaks darkness.  Light can be faint or bright.  Darkness is absolute, yet it is merely the absence of light.

I Am...

I am five years old, my practically white blond hair shining in the sun as I swing upside down on the limb of our tree.  I wait impatiently for my father to come home so we can begin raking and playing in the leaves together.  I'm a daughter and a sister and a kindergarten student, eager to understand, ask questions, and stand out to my parents and my teacher.  I am sweet and shy, watching the world around me as I subconsciously decide who I want to be.

 

I am ten years old.  My teeth are all jacked up, coming in on top of each other.  My stubborn, unpredictable hair is darkening and waves go through it as I unsuccessfully try to train and tame it.  I fill my afternoons and weekends playing with friends, practicing drama, conflict, and resolution.  I'm figuring out my talents and interests, measuring each decision with the weight of the crowd's approval.  I'm a daughter and sister and fifth grader, advanced in all classes, bored and un-stimulated easily.  I am silly and awkward and labeled a nerd.  The backlash tempts me to purposefully under-perform, but I can't resist the rush of competition and the feeling of success.

 

I am fifteen.  Waves are giving way to spiral curls, leaving me clueless as to how to manage my mop.  Dreams for my future are beginning to form in my open mind and heart.  Eager to be an adult, I swallow the small sense of sadness and hesitation that comes from letting go of my childhood.  Fitting nowhere and everywhere, I navigate a diverse social scene.  I am a daughter, sister, student, and BFF.  I am involved at my church voluntarily for the first time in life.  I am hopeful, eager, and open.

I am twenty.  They call me a butterfly and I resent them implying I was once ugly and unnoticeable.  I hide my body in baggy, wild clothes to deflect attention, not yet realizing my figure is attractive.  I am soaking up college like napkin over a spill, loving the luxury of learning and enjoying a fresh slate in my social life.  Where I once held no opinion, I now know where I stand and I stand there passionately.  I'm a daughter, sister, college student, roommate, girlfriend, and employee.  I have removed myself from the church.

I am twenty-five.  I believe that I know who I am.  I've achieved 2 college degrees and have been married for one year.  I don't know what I want to do for a living, but I'm working hard in the meanwhile.  I want a baby desperately and am eager to begin that chapter of my life.  I am enjoying being an adult, making my own way, and the future seems full of possibility and specific dreams.  I'm a daughter, sister, employee, and wife.  I have found my way back to church and feel comfortable there. 

I am thirty.  My marriage is falling apart and with it my entire sense of identity and dreams for the future.  I have 2 babies, and I cannot imagine how I will care for both of them WELL all by myself and hold on to my job and my home.  I've literally just started a new job for a tiny start-up business, not knowing if they'll be there to employee me a year from now.  I am convinced I am no longer attractive.  I feel like a failure.  I am afraid.  I am lonely and overwhelmed.  I'm a daughter, a sister, employee, mother, and soon-to-be-ex-wife.  I feel out of place at church, even with my peers, and while I still believe, I have an awful lot of questions.

I am thirty-five.  I feel comfortable in my own skin, as if it finally fits snugly - neither constricting me nor hanging loosely.  I am pulling off this single mother business and it has required a complete facelift of my routine, strategies of living, support network, budget, outlook on romance, and many, many other things.  Everything, really.  My employer is successful, growing, and providing a great place for me to spread my wings and feel successful at work, even as I doubt myself in most other areas.  I am doing things I've never done before - traveling, joining organizations, and feeling free and independent.  I am a mother, daughter, friend, employee, and sister.  I am craving something deeper at church.

I am forty.  I am now more accustomed to being alone than being with someone.  My best friend has recently received a grave cancer diagnosis.  I rage against the thought of ever facing life without her in it.  My life is a treadmill, constantly running, but feeling as if I go nowhere at times.  Still, I look at who my children are becoming and I know that what I am doing matters and makes a huge difference, if to no one else but them.  My career has progressed nicely to more challenge and more responsibility, although it also brings more stress.  I'm a mother, daughter, friend, employee, and sister.  I have found a church I adore, that pushes me to explore the truth of scripture and apply it to my life.  I want to be around other believers as iron sharpens iron.  I long for relief.

I Wasn't There

I wasn't there, but I imagine that she was quiet, absorbing the image of her lovies strewn across the room in restless slumber.  Even if she had the strength to speak, she chose not to disturb them just to meet her needs and desires.  She stared out the window until she wasn't sure if she'd been dozing or straight staring all along.  She felt frightened and brave all at once, a certain sense of resignation rising up her heart.  She felt her body slowing, yielding to a place of peace, warmth, and light.  She glimpsed a fawn wandering in the garden outside her window.  A weak smile crept across her beautiful face as she said hello just before she said goodbye.

Figuring out Forgiveness

Life is hard and it's messy.  It's rarely easy to figure out, even when you're actively trying.  All of us, at one time or another, make mistakes.  All of us have to seek forgiveness and decide whether to give forgiveness.  If you're a Christian, forgiveness is part and parcel of your belief system.  It isn't an option.  The only option is whether to reconcile or give a second chance to someone.

 

Trust is a difficult thing, whether you're just getting to know someone or are giving them another chance to earn your trust.  When you connect with another human, you run the risk of being hurt.  Others risk the chance that you will hurt them.  There is no magic formula.  There are no guarantees.  Good, Christian people fall from grace at times and make poor decisions that hurt others.  Lost souls do the same.

 

Only God can cast our sins deep into the sea and move past them with pure, unconditional forgiveness.  The rest of us remember.  We long to protect ourselves from hurt, and often times that means casting people out of our lives, as a surefire remedy to prevent them hurting us again.  At the same time, we erase the possibility of working through to a better connection and moving past the hurt.  We each walk in our own shoes and determine how to respond to the events around us.  We each deal with the consequences of our decisions. 

 

And so we struggle with this thing called life as we all crave human connection and belonging.