The D Word

Nuggets,

Divorce is one of the ugliest words in the world. It is hideous, gruesome, devastating. It has a thousand different horrible life lessons about hurt and abandonment and you're-not-good-enough (or I'm-not-good-enough) realities. It's a word that destroys everything in its path. It leaves no joy, no excitement, no happiness. Sure, some people pretend like life is all beautiful in the midst of its journey, but pretending is a powerful tool. It helps us to cope. It's called denial, and it ain't just a river in Egypt.

The conversation turned to this awful word yesterday, when you popped up from your book. You were talking about Julie and Nancy, best friends who were being separated because Julie's parents were divorced and now Julie was moving away. (side note: I love how you dive in to books and speak of the characters like they are real people. I love how passionate you become about their feelings, issues, hurts, and joys. I love your imagination.) You asked me if Daddy and I would ever get divorced, and then you talked about how much that would hurt.

I think it's naive for grown ups to promise their children that they will never get divorced. I can't magically view the future, or speak to the actions of another person (though I have the utmost belief that it won't happen), when I am only responsible for my own. I can't promise that something hideous and ugly will never occur in the course of our lives. But I can say what has already happened, what we've already walked through, and survived. I can say that I believe in the power of healing and hope and restoration. I can say that Daddy and I have walked through the shadow of the valley of death, the most hideous of marital hurts, fought it, and lived through it. I can say that we love each other more now, than we did then. Crazy thought, isn't it?

I can say that Love is hard. Not because of the other person, but because of myself. It is hard to give of myself, expecting nothing in return, and bearing no resentments. It is hard to put the wants and needs of another person ahead of my own. It is hard to trust that they are doing the same for me. It is hard to expose the weaknesses in myself, talk about them, and to burn out the dross of my soul. It is tough to see how selfish and evil I really am, while I do my absolute best to love your Daddy. Love is a mirror. It's the clearest way to see who I really am, and not who I pretend to be. Love forced me to experience my sinful-self-denial and do something about it. Otherwise I don't really love.

I can say that I bear the scars of a set of divorced parents. Daddy does too. I can say that as young as I was, I was harmed. I can say that the lesson of the option to abandon Love has permanently changed the way I view it. I can say that as hard as I work to trust in and believe, am vulnerable and fragile with your Daddy, a deep dark part of my heart fears that he will one day decide that I'm not worth it anymore and abandon me. I know that Daddy experiences this same fear. We carry this weight, often times unaware, and we work to superglue-cement our feet in place, to be resolute in not having the option of abandonment. We work hard to show ourselves, and each other, that come what may, we are here for good.

I hope you never learn that Love can be abandoned, or that it comes with strings attached. I hope you grow up and understand that Love is about what you can give, and not what you get. I hope you always have the safety and comfort that your Daddy and I are as stubborn as hell, and we're not going to quit on each other. I hope that you will never forget to pray for us to always feel this way. I hope you will grow up to have this exact same reality in your own marriages: feet cemented, super glued, duct taped, wrapped up in seran wrap, welded together, and attached for good.

Good Mornings

Nuggets,

I love you. I have no idea how this day is going to play itself out. I have no idea if we will be moving soon or living here forever. I have no idea if school will be easy peazy lemon squeezy or if it will be like scaling a rock face with nothing but our bare hands. I can't say if we're going to experience the most unimaginable heartache or the most astounding joy. I can't declare that no one will fight today, or that everyone will be only kind, caring, and considerate. I can't. I, unfortunately, do not have the gift of seeing the future. I'm thankful for that.

I hope that you will learn to enjoy the unknowns. I have moments myself, where I hate it. I have periods where the dark realms of an unlighted path have shaken me to my core. When Bruni's kidneys stopped working, when Grigio's lungs stopped breathing, when Charchee's fever wouldn't come down, when Lolli's bone marrow freaked out, when Daddy deployed... I felt like my entire being was broken into a thousand pieces. I felt like my sense of composure wilted away. I remember screaming in to the phone (at Grandma) that God couldn't do this to me. I remember being curled up in the fetal position feeling utterly devastated. I also remember seeing your tiny, broken, fragile bodies overcoming. I remember standing there as Daddy walked off the airplane and he was home. I remember the moments when those devastations ended. I remember when healing began.

What I can tell you, what I can promise you, is that I will love you every single moment of this day. I can declare that this entire day will have that singular fact flowing throughout all of it. I can assure you that my love will not faulter, or change, or diminish based on whether or not you are a school superstar, or you are feeling sad and frustrated. I can announce with full certainty that I will still love you, even if you make the worst choices ever.

Though the path of this day is unknown to us, I look forward to walking through it with you. I look forward to this renewed opportunity to show you grace, a passion to learn, and the ability to overcome. I look forward to helping you to understand that frustrations are good, and not to be avoided. I will enjoy showing you how to love others in a greater capacity than you did yesterday. I can't wait to see you discover new things today.

But always, no matter what, I love you. Come rain or come shine.

Circus Dogs

America,

I would like to introduce you to the veterinarian nuisance. His name is Gus. He's become the black sheep of our animal family. He's the naughtiest, most troublesome, neurotic, overbearingly ridiculous four legged creature I have ever loved.

Today we took Gus in for his annual exam/shots/doctoring. We didn't even make it out of the van, before the images of Marley and Me started flooding through my brain. The dog was about to pass out from pulling so frickin hard against the leash that I think he nearly suffocated himself. The hyperventilating was real, and it wasn't all mine.

Now I pride myself on my abilities to train, equip, and handle dogs. Gus is good on a leash. I walk him all the time with no troubles. The problem with Gus is he's smart. Too smart. He forgets nothing.

He used to be great at the vet! He was calm, cool, collected. He'd mosey on in with me, and hang out quietly in the waiting room. Sure he would struggle when he wanted to greet someone or play, but what dogs don't do that? It all changed when we let them take away his cojones. From that moment, he has viewed veterinarians as the foundations of hell, and he hates them. No, he abhors them. I promise you, America, he remembers what they did to him!

You know those times when you've been to the vet and sat there listening to a dog scream bloody murder and thought to yourself Geez, I wish those people would get control of that dang dog!? You know you've had that experience. Don't lie to yourself or to me, America. It's not nice. I will confess that I used to do that all the time. I'd sit there with Jake and think Thank God I know how to control my dogs... That's pride. Jesus hates pride. Hence why he gave me a circus dog, with freak intellectual abilities. Now I am the person, sitting in the vet, being judged. We literally had someone say today What the HECK is the matter with that dog???? Oh my gosh!!!!!! Someone else said What happened to him that makes him act like this?! I said What happened? He got neutered. And he remembers it. He hates these people.

We were ushered in to a room relatively quickly. I think they understand that my dog is about to have a complete nervous breakdown (as opposed to a partial nervous breakdown. Stop laughing America. Breakdowns are no joke. Shame on you) and they try to help. In the room, the tech says Um... he is labelled a "caution" dog. So we need to put a muzzle on him. I lowered my head in shame, turned to Gus and said Do you see what you've done??? You've brought shame to the family! Indecente!

Gus does not like for vet's to touch his genitals or his booty. He has decided that his sex organs are off limits to medical personnel. Maybe he's listened in too much on my talks with the kids about perverts, and he's absorbed the information. Maybe in his genius brain, I am pinning him down to let some sicko molest him. I have no idea.

Now Gus is not all flaws. This dog has been taught to put a tennis ball in your hand and place items in your lap. He can open doors and knows unique words that are not common to dogs. He passionately loves music, but is selective about the type that he likes. He seriously has a music taste. You know how I know this? Because he dances. That's right America. Gus dances. Did I teach him that? Nope. He just did it. And he'll only dance to a certain type of music. He is insanely in tune with my emotional state. If I am ever so slightly agitated or frustrated or sad, he'll start doing random hilarious things to make me laugh. One time I was feeling frustrated and he took his toy in his mouth and started trying to do a side flip, sort of like how dolphins jump up and over to their side. He continued the action until I laughed. He is the smartest dog I've ever known. Every command he's ever been taught has usually taken 1-3 times of showing it to him and then he's got it down solid. He learned sit in two tries, when he was 7 weeks old. No. joke.

But you know how annoying it is when you're at the vet listening to some dog sing the "song" of his people? You know when you think your eardrums have burst from that irritating dog that just won't shut up and you think you're going to lose your mind? That's probably Gus, America. It's probably him mourning the loss of his testicles, and singing to the world about the misery of it. I apologize.

Donkeys and Frick Ups.

Nuggets,

I am a donkey. There I said it. I give you the freedom to say it about me. I'm not afraid of your acknowledgment of my heavy list of flaws. I make no fantasies about you thinking that I was (or am) perfect. I'm not. I'm terrible in a lot of ways.

I think of all people on this planet who might try to assess my personality, you and your Dad are the most capable. You are often the audience of my weaknesses. I struggle with sin. I struggle with soul ugliness. I think you also see my strengths the most clearly as well. Yes, I hope that you will ignore the weaknesses and make the strengths the center of your parental photographs, but it doesn't dominate my existence. You will remember me how you remember me.

Truth is, I think I am better on paper. I can edit out the words I don't like, or undo the things I shouldn't say. Paper makes me seem kinder or more loving than I am. Paper doesn't hold my impulsive shouts, or my unforgiving knee-jerk reactions. Paper doesn't etch painful words in your ears in a moments of foolishness. Paper isn't impulsive. I think that's partly why I've started this blog. I can edit my f'ed up brain to the things I wanted to say, or the things I want you to understand. I can water down the disappointments in the message, and give you the purpose as my heart sees it, and the love as my heart means it.

I hope you understand that while I admit to my failures, I am resoundingly seeking to improve on them. I don't want to ever be that person who says "Well I'm just that way" and then give up and give in. It's why I feel like I'm constantly apologizing. Recognize when you have failed, apologize, and then correct the behavior. You have the power to change your behavior.

You are a part of my story, but you aren't my legend. You are not my saga. My value and worth is not summed up in the completion of your lives. I say this, because I hope that when you have your own children, you will recognize that. Your children are not you. They don't determine how great or how bad you are (or were). They are their own people.

Society is hell bent on changing and perverting that scenario. They fill the atmosphere with bullshit statements like I am a frick up because my parents were mean (or absent, or busy, or angry, or sad). It's such bull. The real truth is that someone is a frick up because they choose to be. Every single one of my sin-filled, weakness-filled, unloving-filled actions are a direct result of my choices. They are my failures, my flaws, my problems. Not my parents. As much as it would be easy street to blame my sin on grandma and grandpa, I've earned that badge all by myself. Just like I've earned my successes myself. My parents were along for the ride, giving advice (often times unspoken, in the form of role models) directing the traffic, and helping me to navigate life all on my own.

But I digress. My point is this: I am flawed. I am always a work in progress. I try so hard to help you to overcome the sin issues that I struggle with, because I don't want them to dominate your lives like they have dominated mine. I don't want you to have a life time of demons that have been following you around. I want you to be stronger, better, more loving than me. I want you to rise up out the the ashes and soar on wings... free. I want you to be free.

When you four are sitting around the living room, recalling these days we're living now, most likely laughing about me and Dad, I hope the underlying thought is always this: our parents loved us. As fricked up as they are, and were, they loved us with all that they had. Because we do, my Nuggets. We really do.

Death

Nuggets,

I don't want you to be afraid of death. Not yours, or mine, or anyone else's. I spent a lot of time being afraid of death as a little kid. It was like opening a door that I couldn't see beyond and it scared me. It seemed so final, so painful, so horrifying.

Death can be horrifying. It can be gruesome and painful and slow. Truth be told, right now I am slowly dying. And so are you. Kind of crazy to think about, isn't it? Death can also be sudden. Like the pop of a firework on the 4th of July, death can come knocking on anyone's door any second. Maybe it could happen in a car accident, maybe a blood clot, maybe a heart attack... death looms everywhere. And yet we spend so much time ignoring it.

Please, for the love of humanity, don't ignore death. Everyone dies. It's a fact: death and taxes. Even the unreligious folks have to acknowledge it. It is undeniable. I want you to live every single day with this reality present in your mind: one day you will die... then what?

What will your life have meant? What will your legacy be? Where will your story end? Will people breathe a sigh of relief upon your last breath? Or will the agony of a life without you seem daunting? Will the world care that you walked upon her surface? Will the earth itself mourn your absence? Will you have poured out so much grace, love, joy, kindness, patience that the void of your absence will send echoes around the world? What about in the people that surround you?

I don't want you to fear my death. Even when my heart stops beating, my blood stops pumping, my brain stops processing, I will still be with you. I like to envision the Angels in heaven, anticipating my arrival, like we anticipate the end of Daddy's deployments. Maybe they'll have banners, maybe they are currently counting down the minutes. Maybe they're waiting on the 72-hour-notification process. Maybe the Saints are all jumping up and down with excitement, looking for the plane, wanting the moments to hurry up! With each moment that ticks away here, I am one moment closer, there. There... Please don't ever forget about all that I have told you about "There". All of my feisty, go-getter-attitude, will still be with me when I get There. All the spunkiness, that God created me to be (my Martha personality) will still be with me when I get There. I will still pray for you, protect you, and love you. No matter what.

I try hard to remember these things in my daily moments. I try to think about what I want to be imprinted in your memories of me. I work hard on constantly calling to mind my own death. Because I want it to lead the way I live. I want my life to change the world. I want my life to pour out love on people with every single beat of my heart. I want my absence to send echoes around the world. Not in grief, or sadness, but rather in inspiration. I want my life to be an inspiration to others: love with all you have.  

Remember this: live this day, like you are dying... because you are. Live a life that echoes throughout the world. The world needs that kind of love. Desperately. You were brought here for such a purpose as this. And always remember that I love you with all that I am, was, and will ever be. I have given all I have to you and your Daddy, and it's been the best experience that ever could have happened in my life. You five, are the echoes that have reverberated in my soul, and changed my world in every single way. I will never be the same, I can't be, because of you. I hope you always hold that fact close to your soul. I hope you take it out on dark days, and it gives you comfort. Your lives already have made a beautifully massive impact. Look what Love can do.

Love

Nuggets,

Don't ever give up on love. Just don't do it. Don't ever walk away from it. Or hide your war beaten heart from it. Don't ignore it and forsake it.

If there is anything that I have ever taught you or given you the ability to understand, it is this that I hold dearest to my heart. Love always wins in the end. You just have to be brave enough, gentle enough, faithful enough to wait it out.

It's the only gift that keeps on giving. It's the only treasure that can't be priced, because it can't be forced out of you. It's the only gift that literally covers a multitude of sins, hurts, betrayals, devastations. Love makes life worth living. Love. It's the most beautiful four letter word in the world.

Agape love saved my life. It saved your Daddy's. Agape love saved our marriage. It literally brought life in to this world. Love conquered death. Not just the Jesus version of that equation either. Love, literally, conquered death, in my life. Love brought your father back to me. When every single aspect of who he was, and is, and could have been, died.

Love covered a multitude of sins. It healed the wounds that war inflicted on my body. It saved me from the darkness of fear, anger, and abandonment. Love is the greatest of heroes. Love never hurts, never betrays, never ends. Love is!

Don't you ever turn your back on love. You wait for it. You wait for it to come, like the life changing, all encompassing, magical experience that it is. You fight with every single ounce of fight you have in you, to keep it alive. You nurture it, cherish it, honor it.

Don't you ever stop giving it away. Love isn't love unless you're pouring it out on those around you. Love is giving it away.

Don't confuse love with emotions. It's not. Love is action. Love is choices. Love is waking up every single day and deciding to be bigger, more powerful, more generous than your selfish nature wants to convince you to be. Love is doing. Love is flexible. It's choosing to believe the best of people, being kind, encouraging, supportive... Love is forgiving the wrongs done against you, in the most supernatural, humanly-impossible type of way.

Love means losing your life. You can't hold on to your life, and love. Love is the act of giving your life away.

Be that person. Be that person who loves so hard, and so big, and so powerfully, that no one can give you the credit. Be that person through whom a multitude of hurts are healed, and a plethora of wrongs are righted. Be bigger than what the world will try and convince you to be.

Be the Love that changes the whole world.

Fuzzy

I was fast asleep, knee deep in a dream about decorating a home celebrating the birth of a baby, when out of the depths of my soul, a voice beckoned me back to reality. Mommy? I keep having nightmares. Can I sleep with you?

I settled you down on the floor beside my bed. Pulled my body up out of my bed, and laid down next to you. I rubbed your head, like I've always done ever since you were little. Your furry little head that has encompassed the brain that has surpassed every expectation. Your scalp is encircled by cowlicks, proof pudding that you were kissed by angels, miraculously healed, and brought forth in to this world. At the very based of your skull, you have a perfectly circular patch of blonde hair. When people glance at you, they think you have a randomly weird bald spot. But I know better. I know it's where God Himself, healed you, before you were born. It's where all of the sickness that kept me laying down for seven and a half months went away. It is what kept me from bleeding out on the operating table, and kept you from dying inside of me. The proof pudding of a miracle.

You are my miracle. One of the three that came in to my world and rocked every single aspect of it to its core. You broke down my ideas of control, brought me to my knees, and showed me what complete and utter helplessness looks like. You taught me to let go. You taught me that love walks through the valley of the shadow of death, and keeps on going even when they don't see any lights at the end of the tunnel. You taught me that fighting means laying one quarter of all of the love in your soul at the feet of God, and your pediatrician, and hoping and praying that your lungs will re-expand with air, that your brain will stop seizing, that your stomach will start working. You showed me the immaculate power of a tiny little human being's capability to defeat every single medical odd placed against it. You showed me how to not give up.

Last night there was something tangible that I could do to protect you. So I spent the night rubbing your fuzzy little head, and making certain that you knew I was present with all that I was. As tired as I was (and am), it was an honor. I would do it again in a heartbeat.