Ellie's Hotel and the Catapult

Ellie (aka Rachel) opened up her garage top hotel for business today. Her first two customers had lots of pets join them. She even has service for Jack, the wonderdog -- with two different types of water. I don't understand that, but I guess I don't have to!

Meanwhile, up on the deck on the other side of the yard, Jonathan is building a catapult. It seems to be aimed directly at Ellie's hotel, which concerns me just a bit. There could be a war in a few hours. I might just have to distract them with a meal of peace.

Watching my kids play this summer seems to be more of a joy than it ever has before. Our little family has been through a lot, and my kids have seen and heard more than kids really should. It is such a gift of God's grace to me to be able to watch my kids just be kids. They are playing and creating today to their hearts' content and it is a thing of great beauty to me.

Sure, they are real kids who say "Mom, I'm bored," a little too often and they can be really mean to each other. But they are miracles to me, each and every one of them. They have saved my life, more than once. I am beyond blessed to be able to do life with them.

Pause for a Thunderstorm

As I've looked over my postings for the last few days, I've realized that there is an intensity about them that requires a little break -- both for me and you, my dear readers. So here it is . . . with of course a connection to grace and identity at the end, because I wouldn't be me without that!

Early in our marriage, we took an intensive Russian course in South Carolina. I loved my time there, being in the classroom and spending time with others who were suffering through the beginning stages of Russian learning along with me. But my favorite part of the day were the afternoon thunderstorms. I have never since seen so much lightening or heard such loud thunder. We would often sit outside our dorm room and just marvel at the rain and noise.

Yesterday Rachel came home from school with a book of poetry proudly in her hands. I immediately looked for her poem and am now sharing it with you:

BOOM!
A thunderstorm is coming
I'm scared
It's just a storm
We're fine
I'm still scared
Come here
Ok BANG! Flash! Oh no!
It's just rain
See, we're fine
Jack is not scared
Or the cats
I'm still a little scared
Watch some TV
IT WON'T TURN ON
The powers out
Come color with me
Ok. Flash!
Look, a rainbow
It's over
I'm not scared anymore

I'm still marveling at the insight my daughter has. I'm not sure that she even knows what she has written, or the gift she has given her mother in this piece of writing . What do I love about this?

• She has the freedom to say she's scared, even when others might make fun of her
  
• She looks for ways to distract herself, but none of them work -- except being with others
• She is scared at one of those "just a" things . . . don't we all have them? Things we are afraid of, but think we shouldn't be? Something that will be over with soon?
  
• She remains scared, even when others around her tell her that no one else is . . . and she admits it!
  

As I reflect more about this little bit of third grade writing, I am amazed and humbled by her honesty. It is the kind of honesty that I want to have in my own life. Sometimes, when I am afraid, the cliches don't make me feel better -- but in order to make other people feel better, I pretend they do. But not my Rachel. She hasn't learned to do this yet. I pray she never will. I pray that she will be able to walk in the freedom of her true self, and her true identity in Christ. I pray that she will not feel like she has to go into hiding with her family and friends.

I know that God has put these children into my life, another set of miracles, to help me mature. Thanks Papa!

Don't Quote the Bible to Me!

The first time I walked into a 12 Steps Meeting, I felt like I was in a movie. As I said, "Hi, I'm Melissa," and heard in return, "Hello Melissa," I thought I was going to burst out laughing. It was, in part, a nervous laughter, along with a sense of how incredible it was that I had gotten myself to a place such as this.

When I walked into that meeting, I hated God, I hated the Bible, and I hated anyone who offered to pray for or with me. But at the same time, I was drawn to these things that I hated. I wanted so much to find that God really loved me. So here I was, shaking, ready to swear, and listening to people around me telling the world that they were here at this 12 Step Meeting because they wanted to grow in their Spiritual Life. I found out later that some of the people in the room thought I was a piece of work when my answer to the question of my appearance here went along the lines of, "I don't really know, but I have been spiritually abused and please don't give me any Bible verses." Yeah, I think they were probably thinking I was in the wrong place, too.

How had I gotten here? Well it wasn't an addiction to alcohol or drugs, but rather an addiciton to many other things, including over thinking and loving people to their detriment. In short, I was here because my life was out of control. In the years between kicking out my husband and discovering my son had cancer, my son had gotten better, my husband moved back in, I finished my Master's Degree, I had my dream job, and I had run three Ironman Triathlons. And I had never been more UNHAPPY. Depressed. Anxious. Angry. Scared. Full of Rage. My emotions were coming out all over the place and I was a complete wreck. There was one episode where I broke down in Cub Foods, yelling at my husband for who knows what minor infraction (I couldn't shop there for months). After years of coping fairly well, I was again thinking about suicide all the time. So, I went to the meeting suggested by my therapist.

It was with this group of people that I finally found the Room of Grace. It didn't happen right away, but over time I began to trust the people that I was with each week. By sharing their own stories of brokenness I realized that I was not alone. And by crying and laughing with me as I shared my own, these people shared with me a love that I had been craving. I came to find and know God's love through the love of other broken, deeply hurting people. Yeah, we shared some prayers and some Bible verses, too. But mostly it was through the sharing of our hearts that we found healing.

This group was yet another miracle in my life. Through God's gracious gift, I was able to receive their love. It is difficult to receive love because it requires trust and my trust had been broken. But God enabled me to trust, first others and then eventually him. It is only this received love that has the power to change lives.

Miracle Pictures, Part One

This picture is a miracle. Actually it is many miracles, but that is something you would never see unless you knew the rest of the story. Over the next few posts, I'm going to make an attempt at capturing some of the miraculous nature of this family photo. In order to do that, I have to tell some difficult things about myself and my family. This is the first time I've told these things, in this way, so please excuse the rough edges in it. It is, afterall, only a first draft.

After years of submitting to physical and emotional abuse, I finally got up the nerve to admit to myself and another person what was happening in my home. I say myself, because for the first 12 years of my marriage I couldn't bring myself to call it abuse. I think it goes back to early days of our marriage when I did tell someone in our church, who told me what was happening was normal, especially in marriages with a strong unsubmissive woman! I spent the next 12 years trying to be good enough, trying to submit more . . . and failing misrably. I know now that the natural outcome of this kind of life is going to be depression, but when it first hit me I was really scared.

I had been separated from my husband for about a month when I first began to think of myself as unworthy of life. The thought was fleeting, but it came back. And back. And back. The world seemed black, overwhelming -- almost like a prison. I didn't see how I could possibly be a good enough person, a good enough mom to even deserve to live. And so I wanted to die. Really bad. And then the shaking started. I would sit and shake and shake. I couldn't stop. In order to stop the pain, I started hitting and cutting myself. It was amazing how the appearance of a bruise or blood on my skin would allow me such emotional relief.

I finally was convinced to take meds, but they couldn't start working soon enough. I know I wouldn't be alive today without the people who surrounded me, who watched my kids, who talked to me late at night, who told me they loved me.

And then, just one month after the depression hit me head on, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, it felt like God had hit me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me and I no longer had the energy to even be depressed. Fatalism hit me, along with a deep abiding sense that if God existed at all, he was NOT good.

But in the background, God was working to show me his love. The overwhelming nature of my life hit everyone around me . . . it was clear that a single mom with four children age five and under could NOT do this on her own, and so I no longer could hide. I could be angry; everyone expected it. I could be scared; it was a natural feeling. Food came out of the woodwork. People came to help work in my business. People cleaned my house. They watched my kids. And I was free to be on the LONG journey of healing.

There is more to this story, as I would get much sicker before I got better. But, in retrospect, although it seems sick to say it, Jonathan's cancer was a way of salvation (albeit a strange one), not only for me, but also for my relationship with God and my husband.