Love

Confession: I'm a love junkie.  I'm unashamedly addicted to loving as fiercely and fully as possible.


"You there! Hi, nice to meet you. Let's fall in love."   That's what its like for me.  That's what my brain and heart and soul play on repeat.

Why?  If you ask me in person I'd talk in breathless circles about it, getting more excited and making less sense by the second.   Luckily, though, I have the benefit of the written word here and I plan to make the most of it.

At the beginning and end of it is God.  I'm sure a lot of you can list off the many, many times the bible mentions love:  we love because He loves us; the greatest of these is love; love others as you love yourself; love is the fulfillment of the law; above all else love each other deeply; and, of course, God is love.      What else do I need to say for all of us that believe the bible as the Word of God? Boom. Done.

Beyond that, more personally, is that God healed me by loving me.  When I couldn't, or wouldn't, hear Him, He filled every corner of my life with His undeniable love for me in the form of friends and K.  The friends abounded, one after the other of the most inspiring, beautiful, encouraging people this whole world has to offer. They spent time sitting with me in darkness, walking slowly into the light of what was true.  These friends showed me love that was renewing down to the marrow of my tired bones.  With K, it was a lesson of enduring love, as he showed patience, kindness, and forgiveness.  He embraced the good ways I was changing and held firm against the bad, guarding our marriage with the true love and heart of a husband.

Truthfully, I had been reluctant, at the very first, to accept love but before I knew it I was seeking it out, soaking it in, and throwing it around by the handfuls.   As my heart healed by love so I became ridiculously compelled to help heal the hearts of others.  I learned quickly that there is no end to love and no need to be stingy with it.  Guys, love never runs out.  I find the more I give, the more I somehow have. The whole world blossoms under love, people are worthy of love just for existing, and they are willing to love you the same way you love them.

There need be no fear of love, no earning of love, no rationing.  Love, quite literally, doesn't work that way.

I call it my Love Revolution and I'm on a mission to recruit as many people as possible.

Sorrow

“Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling with the mistaken belief that you can not bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain. What you have not done is feel you are beyond that pain.” Kahlil Gabrin

I'm terrible at recalling dates. I can't even be counted on to get my wedding anniversary right on the first try so it comes to me as no surprise that I can't remember exactly when I stopped fighting against sorrow. All I know is that it was a conscious effort to call sorrow 'friend' and see where it took me.

What I've found is that sorrow, however painful, has given me so much in the way of life. Sorrow has made me more gentle. Sorrow has opened my eyes to the suffering of those around me. It taught me to listen first and judge last, if ever. I learned to look at, less and less, the actions of a person, and more and more what those actions say about what's going on in the deep places we can't see.

Sorrow made me capable of joining others in their own suffering without tiring of the mess we find there.  I can sit with anyone in the trash heap, never mind the smell, and tell them all the ways they are still beautiful. I can hold their hand, or their head, or their entire body, for as long as they need and give them all the comfort I've got to offer. I can love them when they are covered in grime and convinced they aren't worthy of much.

Sorrow has even led me to real, healing joy.  I'm convinced that they work hand in hand, actually. The moments when sorrow ebbs there is joy ready to burst forth, ever more vibrant for having had to wait its turn.  As sorrow is the weight of my soul that makes me stop and take notice of the world, joy is the healing salve that lightens the bruises sorrow leaves, putting into perspective the deep and dark shades of pain.

I love more because I know sorrow. I forgive more because I know sorrow. I am more because I know sorrow.

When I felt invisible: part two

THE NOT SO BAD

Prior to March 2014 I had no idea what I was passionate about or liked to do.  Sure, when someone asked, I would list off all the things that K enjoyed - for which I tagged along - because they were pleasant enough and I had very little else to offer up.  My birthday cake that year had literally been decorated with an icing replica of his face, "because", he'd said, "I thought about what you liked and it was either me or tea".  If we want to get honest about what it's like to feel absolutely invisible there is no better example than when your own birthday cake is some other person's face.

Don't get me wrong - I loved that cake, we all got a hearty laugh out of it, but it exposed the matter pretty clearly. There was nothing much that could be distinctly pointed out as "me". I had nothing of my own and I was quickly, deeply dissatisfied with that.

Thus, I threw myself into anything that I ever had even the faintest desire to try:
 - I bought a beautiful black guitar (a la Johnny Cash) and slowly taught myself to play, the pressure of the guitar strings burning my sweet, virgin fingertips into numbness;
 - I began to paint, draw, and generally just create art (for better or for worse...and it's usually for worse);
 - I committed to a yoga practice.  Yoga is a lifeline for me, a sure cure for anytime my mood threatens to cloud over, and is so well suited to my disposition that I feel like it's always been in my life;
 - I tried my hand at decorating, cooking, paddle boarding, and hiking. I dyed my hair purple and got a huge tattoo on my ribs. I swam underneath a waterfall. I stood in the ocean. I danced.

It is no exaggeration to say that I fell deeply, madly, no-holds-barred in love with everything.

Where, once, I had stood feeling alone and invisible, I now have an ever-growing array of friends reaching out to me, both to support and be supported. I can't put into words the way my heart swells when I think of the generous, kind-hearted, flawed, devoted, honest, and wickedly talented friends that I've made.  Each of them, in their own perfectly unique way, teaches me everyday about the transformative nature of unconditional love. How one woman can be so lucky is beyond me.

My marriage to K is both more fragile and more resilient that I ever imagined it would be. I discovered that marriage love really does equal commitment (a lesson K probably wishes he didn't have to teach me). He stood by my side as I begged to leave, refusing to let either of us walk away and loving me whilst I broke his heart - I can't repay that and can only hope that I will be his unshakable anchor should he ever ask the same impossible question of me.  I learned not to take our vows to each other for granted - they aren't a guarantee and must be renewed with each day, sometimes with each hour.  He doesn't have to stay in this, nor do I, but our friendship and love for one another transcends whatever imperfections of character might tear us apart.

I pray again.

From March to October, I discovered that all around me was life, freedom, and invigorating energy.  A year later, I still find that to be true.

When I felt invisible: part one

THE NOT SO GOOD

I began my journey of self discovery in March 2014. I had spent the entire year before that feeling incapable, forgotten, and, frankly, invisible.   I had absolutely no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life anymore.   I was confused, desperately sad, and I had given up hope that God would or could actually help me.

Honestly, I was shocked that my prayers fell heavily in the silence of an empty room. Wasn't I favored by God? Isn't that what people had told me and what I had believed for so long?  Where, then, was this favor now?  I had prayed in every which way I knew: hours-long conversational prayer; tearful, pleading prayer; angry, exasperated prayer.   I begged for a baby, I begged for an answer, I begged to not feel that deep, painful, I-can't-breathe knot that had grown too large in the pit of my stomach.  Oh, the silence of the Lord is an unpleasant thing. 

Having spent the better part of 2 years getting dragged and bruised by life, I was now on auto-pilot.  I found nothing truly enjoyable. I sobbed multiple times every single day, hiding myself away in bathrooms and closets so that no one would know.  I gained 15 pounds.  I wandered around my house all day, from room to room, in between binge watching television and sleeping far too often. Lonely and alone, isolating myself, I was convinced no one would really even notice if I disappeared. 

But then, quite suddenly, I couldn't do it for a second longer. I couldn't be sad, be invisible, be empty, for one more moment.  I don't know how to describe it except that I felt such an urgency to live, to truly live, that I couldn't sit still.  I shed off everything about myself.  Or, more to the point, it was as though my 'self' was a shattered mess of glass on the floor and I was in charge of going through and picking out the pieces I wanted to keep - putting myself back together in an entirely new shape. 

Without a doubt I made decisions that hurt quite a few people and behaved in ways that are deserving of no ones forgiveness (although they've all given it to me).  I stopped hanging out with most of the people I relied on before, going so far as to avoid my family and to tell K that I didn't want to be a wife anymore.   It was too much to be needed by anyone, especially if what they needed was for me to behave like the woman they knew - the woman I was trying to escape. I felt I was fighting for my life and, somehow, everyone that knew me before became the embodiment of what I was fighting against.

They say that the Lord refines us as though gold placed in fire. I always assumed the process was passive and mild...that He just slowly made me a better person day by day while I merrily went about my life.  I learned quickly that the description of going through fire is, indeed, an apt one.  I spent painfully long days and nights confronted with my own lacking, my own impurities, my own broken and dark heart.

I learned what it is to cry out in the deep of the night asking the empty space of a God you aren't sure of if He is even there, to be huddled in the corner of a bathroom at work cradling yourself through a panic attack, and to sit across from your husband on the couch of a marriage counselor.

Those were very unpleasant times and, to my sorrow, I dragged K through them with me.   

The day I realized I was selfish

Two days ago.   That's how long it's been since I realized I am a selfish person.   K has pointed it out before but I never believed him.  "Selfish!", I'd state incredulously, "ask anyone. They'd never describe me that way" (that's a direct quote from these lovely and humble lips of mine).

As we are prone to do, from time to time, we got into one of our arguments...the kind where he shakes his head at me while I cross my arms at him and we wonder if the other person will ever understand us.  Lying on our bed, hours after we'd begun, he admitted that I made him feel as though I value other relationships more than I value our marriage.  It was in attempting to explain to him why this wasn't the case that my selfishness was undeniable.

I didn't feel that he was asking me to realize and act like the value of my marriage is beyond that of any outside entity.  I was sure he was telling me to choose between what he wanted versus what I wanted, to decide between him or me.  And if those were my options, I choose me. I choose to protect myself, to do whatever I need to make sure I feel okay, to do what makes me happy.

I choose me.

Has there ever been a more selfish sentence uttered or written?


There's a whole list of reasons why I choose me, none of them pretty, but it all comes down to my lack of trust, especially in God.  How clever of a design that my marriage relationship reflects my spiritual one. 

Here's to being less selfish, more trusting, and strengthening the two relationships that matter the most to me. Cheers. 

I'm a writer

I'm not a talker.

I could sit with you for hours, listening to you speak, offering small words here and there if you need them.   I'll joke with you, laughing readily and heartily because I enjoy you and the way it feels when we laugh together.  I'll offer advice when you're confused and need a fresh perspective.  And forever I will encourage you because I think you're great and worthy of all the things you desire.   

There are a hundred thousand things in my life that are cause for celebration.  I have a loyal husband. One of those types that always forgives and always loves, even if I make it a bit more difficult than either of us expected.  There's a tried and true best friend that has taught me it's safe to be vulnerable and honest, even if it's a little messy.  Beyond that, there are a handful of people I call my favorite in all the world.  My group, my net, the upholding hands of love and trust and faith that I've been blessed to call friends. Some live so far away we haven't seen each other in years. Some live so close I see them almost every day.  A few I've never had the pleasure of meeting face to face...pen pals, but blessings nonetheless.   Finally, and a thing I realize is quite rare, our families. Both his and mine.  They are wonderfully diverse and always accepting, a safe place no matter what. 

I am happy.  We have a beautiful home, in a handpicked neighborhood, literally right across the street from some of my worlds favorites. We travel, hand in hand, learning more about each other as we discover the world together. We discuss adoption like it's a sure thing, a desire of our hearts since we were young...a child that is both ours and someone else's, made and grown with a love big enough to fill multiple hearts and families. 

But I'm not a talker.  Sometimes what I'll want to say is that everything is beautiful and I'm excited about all the prospects of what this world and our Lord has to offer. Sometimes what I'll need to say is that I'm hurt, bruised by the realities of a life not gone according to plan.  That's the point of this blog: a place to write down all of the things I don't know how to say. 

Living life in measured time

Days and weeks: I realized I was infertile by the time April 2013 rolled around. I hadn't yet been trying for a year at that point so I couldn't officially get the diagnosis attached to my chart, but I knew it was coming.  It didn't really matter, either, that it hadn't been a year. I was already deeply entrenched in the heartache of infertility. I now lived life slowly counting away cycle days, marking away weekly increments on the calendar to explain my life in terms of before and after ovulation.

Months: On to the next cycle.  That's what we, the inferts, say to ourselves and one another when our period arrives to prove to us what we already know.   Another cycle, another chance, another month (after month, after month, after month).   Each month is its own odd little torture.  It progresses so slowly as I try to fill my time with anything that might keep my mind off of the thing we're working to achieve.   And then it moves on suddenly without me. Boom, another month, another cycle. These things add up before I know it.  Which brings me to my next point....

Years: There have been nearly three of them so far. Oh, folks, those three years. There won't ever be enough time to tell you what they've done to me, to my marriage, to every relationship I have with every person I know.  Things have been good and things have been bad, as life goes, but infertility has been my constant companion.  I either fight against it, to ignore it and live joyously in spite of it, or else it clobbers and overwhelms me, leaving me feeling confused, longing, and irritated.