For such a time as this

I didn’t realize that Shep was more anxious to go than I was.  He was packed, ready and in the car a couple hours before I had my act together.  Decked out in his dapper backpack, he was a very popular little fuzz face.

We started in Salem, spending the night with my folks, then headed through Portland to the Columbia Gorge, taking the beautiful and historic Old Columbia Gorge Highway and stopping here and there along the way, including at Vista House at Crown Point and Multnomah Falls.  Then we headed east to the high plateau of Eastern Oregon.  We spent our second night in a “vintage” motor lodge in La Grande.  

Multnomah Light Falls

The next morning was crystal clear as we headed toward Ontario and Idaho, stopping at the Oregon Trail Museum.  I was able to hook up with my brother and his two friends outside Ontario.  They were escaping Boise after a serious Duck Whuppin’ by the Boise State Broncos.  As pitiful and dejected as they were, it was still a pleasant lunch and it was great to see Tim.  My brother is one of my favorite people.

We went on through Boise and southern Idaho, staying that night in Pocatello in a charming log cabin bed and breakfast called the Buckskin Outpost B&B.  Rebecca was our hostess, a lovely woman who built the cabin all by herself and decked it out in a fun western theme.  She also makes the best biscuits I’ve ever had!

From there we traveled through to Idaho Falls and stopped at the Farmers Market.  Picked up fresh peaches, some maple syrup, and found the best penuche fudge I’ve had in a very long time.  I live on the coast where there are fudge factories everywhere – do you think I can find a decent penuche?  We were also stalked around the market by a family that wanted to ask about Shep – I need to just make a sign to hang around his neck.  “Hi, my name is Shep.  I’m an 8 month old Aussie Shepherd/Standard Poodle mix.  And yes, I know I’m the cutest dog you’ve ever seen and I look like I should star in a Disney movie.”  That’s pretty much the conversation I have everywhere we go.

Yellowstone National Park was next.  Upon entering Idaho, I was in new territory.  I found the western side of Yellowstone to be geologically interesting but not especially lovely.  It was a holiday weekend, but traffic wasn’t too bad once I got past Yellowstone lodge.  The evidence of the big wildfire is everywhere, but the regenerating forest is lovely and the understory was full of flowers and fall color.  I especially enjoyed the eastern side of the park with the rivers, lakes, and mountains.  Shep enjoyed exploring the shore of Lake Yellowstone, but especially being caught in the middle of a herd of buffalo for a half hour!  Note to self: keep ear plugs handy because his bark is loud!  Cows are not nearly so interesting to him now that he’s seen buffalo up close.

The mountains and canyons of western Wyoming are breathtaking.  I found the geology to be fascinating and incredibly beautiful.  I would like to study geology, a subject I’ve always been interested but never pursued, and return to western Wyoming.  The Big Horn Canyon was especially beautiful and the Rockies – folded and crumpled mountains – are so much different than the volcanic Cascade range.

We stayed in Cody that night and proceeded across the plains of Wyoming the next day, stopping near Devils Tower (think Close Encounters) and visiting Mt Rushmore in the evening.  I’d met a couple taking the same trip in the opposite direction that advised me to go to Rushmore late in the day and stay for the night show, when the monument gets all lit up.  Emotionally, that was the hardest night up to that point.  This was a trip I’d always wanted to take with my beloved and being there alone was hard.  Plus, I sprained my ankle in the parking lot of the hotel later that evening.  Ah, nuts!

Montana the next day was, well, uneventful.  Stopping at a visitor information center at a rest area, I asked what I might see between the corner of SE Montana and Billings.  The answer?  Nothing.  And she was right!  The only ‘attraction’ was Little Big Horn, the site of General Custer’s Last Act of Blatant Arrogance and Stupidity.  Located right next to a kitschy little tourist trap that sold tepees.  I was tempted.

Little Big Horn - as it really is!!

The following day we drove from Billings through Great Falls – and there are no falls in Great Falls, just a big dammed reservoir – stopping at a lovely city park, then headed north across the border to O! Canada.  I’m accustomed to coastal and valley weather, with all the maritime influences.  I found the weather and cloud formations of the plains to be interesting – how the wind swept the prairie and the alien ufo-looking clouds hung above the distant mountains.  Yellow and purple wild flowers adorned the roadside for hundreds of miles, and the fall colors became more vibrant the further north we went.

The first windy night in Canada was spent in Lethbridge, with a fairly short drive through Calgary and on to Canmore-Banff the next day.  My parents had generously given me a week at their timeshare condo in Canmore, a nordic community that is home to the Canadian cross-country and biathlon teams that sits on the edge of Banff National Park.  Over the next week, Shep and I explored Lake Louise, the amazing Fairmont Chateau at Banff Hot Springs, and various lakes and trails and towns.  Shep got to spend his nights at his doggy spa, playing with new furry friends, which left me alone to do such decadent things as staying in bed all day or shopping or getting a much needed massage.

Banff, Alberta - Chateau at Banff Hot Springs

Garden at National Parks Headquarters in Banff, Alberta

After a hike at Chateau Lake Louise, Banff Nat'l Park

My last day in Canada, I took the gondola up to the top of Sulfur Mountain to the Cosmic Ray Observatory (yes, really).  With my sore but somewhat healed sprain, I limped up to the top of the mountain above the town of Banff and the Bow River Valley.  The view was spectacular.  And I met some nice people at the top of the world.

It was finally time to start the trip home and we headed across the Canadian Rockies through British Columbia and back to northern Idaho.  I leaned that the mighty Columbia River started at Columbia Lake in BC (I didn’t know that).  We stayed at another B&B outside Sandpoint, ID, called the Paradise Valley Inn.   We stayed in the little cabin and enjoyed the amazing view overlooking the valley.  Being the only guest that night, I enjoyed the solitude and the blueberry pancakes and sausage made by my hostess, Pam.

But I saved the best for last.  Eastern Washington is, well, Eastern Washington.  Not too much to say about that.  Getting back into Oregon was a welcome treat.  The last night of the road trip part of my vacation was spent at the Five Pine Lodge in Sisters.  Man, O Man, I’m going back to this place!  Beautiful crafstman styling and furnishings, lovely grounds on the edge of town, individual cabins set back into the woods (cabins – are you sensing a theme?).  The best part was the bathroom.  A huge open shower, and a soaking tub with a passageway that opened into the bedroomsitting room overlooking the fireplace and plasma TV.  And, get this, the water came out of the ceiling!  I had dinner in tub, wrapped myself in the luxurious bathrobe, then spent the rest of the evening warming my toes by the fire.  One night was not enough at this place.

Seriously, the water came out of the ceiling! How cool is that?

Cozying up after a long bath and a long trip

Wouldn’t you know, the most beautiful part of the 4,000 miles was west of Sisters.  Having just a few hours to drive that day, Shep and I spent several hours wandering around Sisters – one of my favorite towns – and the location of the second best penuche fudge!  We then took our time driving home, stopping at spots along the Metolius and Santiam rivers.  We arrived home before dark to a loving welcoming committee of friends.

The next day was Saturday and our Community Garden ‘Open Garden’ was taking place.  We had perfect weather and a great turnout.  That afternoon, I threw some things in my backpack and headed back to Salem.  Early the next morning, Aunt Mille Klecker, cousin Jennifer Baez and her daughter Jenny, joined me for the Portland Komen Race for the Cure.  Cousin Dianne Gregoire is a breast cancer survivor and several family members and friends gathered to help raise money and show our love and support for Dianne.  It was a fantastic and uplifting time – what an amazing vibe of tens of thousands of people getting together to support one another and a cause greater than themselves!

Someone said to me yesterday, “It’s better this way.”  Better for whom?  Certainly not me.  Better to be raked over the coals yet again, to be accused, debased, condemned, rejected, vilified – again?  How is that better?  I had resigned myself to an overwhelming degree of loss – far beyond what most could imagine or survive – yet the losses keep coming.  Always at the hands of so-called ‘loved ones.’  I’m speaking cryptically and I apologize.

I think I’m done.  I’ve got nothing left.  I refuse to live my life with hate and anger and vengeance – I refuse to allow those things to take root in my heart.  And yet, I also refuse to be the target for more abuse and accusation.  I’m not going to defend myself – the accusations are baseless and deceitful – and no one would listen anyway.  Their minds have already been made up.  But that doesn’t mean I have to be a part of it anymore.

I remember a conversation my husband and I had about Nathan – our precious son who died nearly three years ago.  We both acknowledged, years before his death, a ‘deep knowing’ that Nathan would die young.  There was no reason for it, no logical source for that awareness, we both just knew.  Likewise, I’ve always had the same ‘deep knowing’ that if I ever lost my husband, I would lose my children too.  I certainly don’t think it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I see that I’m losing them one-by-one as well.  I have poured out my life in loving other women’s children.  I’m the substitute parent anyway, so I suppose the connection isn’t as strong as I hoped it was.  I love them – always will – I especially miss my grandsons whom I’ve not seen in nearly two years.

You’ll have to forgive me, but this isn’t better.  It’s more hurt, more loss, more brokenness, more tears.  It feels as if someone has ripped my heart out of my chest – already bruised and bloody from previous beatings – but now they are grinding broken glass into it before shoving it violently back into my chest. 

My faith.  My life.  My home.  My business.  That is all.  But it’s something.  It’s the foundation of a new life.  Lord, come quickly.  I’m ready to go Home.

I was determined that yesterday was not going to nose dive.  I did fine for several hours, then came home to some pretty hateful correspondence that cut right through my heart.  Same old, same old.  But when it comes from people who were once close to me, it’s especially hard.  It just doesn’t end.

So I spent some time last night praying and considering the roles of my life.  Wife is still there – very, very different, but still there.  Daughter – especially important now.  Sister – I noticed that once again my family is down to “us five” – my two parents and my two brothers and me.  Full circle.  Friend – God, thank you so very, very much for faithful, loving friends.  Nana – I would still very much like to be grandparent to those three precious boys.  Volunteer – increasingly important given my need for occassional social interaction and just to get my focus off the hollowness of my life.  Mom/Stepmom - still very, very much in question and not looking particularly promising.

However, I have this scruffy gift from God, who greets me with delight every morning, gives me a reason to get out of bed, makes me laugh when I want to cry, and curls up next to me in the quiet, lonely evenings.  He is truly a gift.

Yesterday was a good day – a day of significant accomplishments.  Well, maybe not to you, but definitely to me.  I have finally, after hours and weeks and months of work, laid up all the firewood I’ll need for this winter.  And I have decided I don’t ever want to do that again!  With three people it was a lot of work, but manageable.  By myself, even with the help of a few friends to cut rounds and split for a few hours, egads!  So over winter, as I am warming myself by the lovely heat of a woodstove, I will be plotting ways to get a new heating system installed for next year.

My husband’s monster pickup truck is gone – sent to a consignment lot in Florence down the coast.  This is an answer to a very specific prayer.  Of all the many, many responsibilities and decisions now before me, selling off all this equipment has been the most anxiety producing for me.  So my prayer had been for God to send His people that I could trust to help me.  I think Pastor Ron is an answer to that prayer.  God bless him as he ministers to me in this very practical way.  It was heartbreaking to see another vestige of my life-before driving out of sight, so I did give myself several minutes to grieve before moving on.

I also did something I’d never done before.  Over the past year I had participated on the Local Foods Task Force.  The purpose of the group was to examine the security of our local food supply, and promote consumption of locally grown and produced foods.  Interesting group and, unusually, quite effective in making decisions and getting things done.  That doesn’t usually happen in committees.  Anyway, one of my new pals is Chef Sharon of the Pacific Coast Center for Culinary Arts.  Sharon had asked if I would be interested in being a volunteer helper at some of the classes, so last night I did it!  And I had a great time!

Understand, because of the severity of attacks against me in recent months, and in response to my own overwhelming grief, by necessity I had to seriously withdraw from people.  And when I have gotten together with folks, small groups have been the most manageable.  I’ve had to leave gatherings with more than a handful of people just because of the anxiety factor.  So the fact that I could be in a room with 20 people (4 from Chicago – that was a nice chat!) and laugh and joke and enjoy good food and company, that was a milestone.  It was a late night by my standards and my sweet puppy was SOOOO happy to see me when I finally got home (it’s good to be loved!).  Overall, it was a satisfactory day.

So today, with the cool overcast of August, the leaves already beginning to turn and sometimes fall, my Thursday consists of basic tasks like laundry, cleaning the house, planning a family get together (Saturday, September 26 – mark your calendar), and playing with puppy, and some mundane yet necessary tasks like trying to gain two more linear feet of office space (Yes, I am measuring my progress by the foot!  Just keeping it simple.), and preparing for a bizaar hearing this afternoon to apparently resolve what had already been resolved?  Don’t ask me…I dunno. 

I’m praying that today will, overall, be another good day.  It doesn’t take much for a day to be considered good.  Good is accomplishing something ordinary without breaking into tears.  Good is experiencing the deep twinges of grief and yet not being overwhelmed by them.  Good is knowing the faithfulness of true friends and the loving give-and-take from those relationships.  Good is in the realization of so many answered prayers.  God is good.  I’m good too.

Five months to the day after hearing the confessions that destroyed the life I loved, my new life officially begins.  Yesterday,  July 21, 2009, my husband was given a prison sentence that, with good behavior, could bring him home in 18 years!  I have made no secret of my advocacy for a reduced sentence because, in spite of the sin, I believe what is best for my family is its restoration.  I know the power of God to knock us to the floor in humiliation and repentence, then to build us up to be the saints we were meant to be.  And I know my husband better than anyone and, especially seeing the change in him over these past months, I believe in him.

I feel akin to David who, after his sin with Bathsheba that included adultery and murder, knew that God’s judgment would cost the life of their infant son.  As his baby lay dying, David fasted and wept, falling on the floor petitioning God.   After seven days, the elders came to David and he learned that his son had died.  God had answered and the answer was, No.  ”So David arose from the ground, washed, anointed himself, and changed his clothes; and he came into the house of the Lord and worshiped.  Then he came to his own house, and when he requested, they set food before him and he ate.  Then his servants said to him, “What is this thing that you have done?  While the child was alive, you fasted and wept; but when the child died, you arose and ate food.”   And he said,  “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept, for I said, ‘Who knows, the Lord may be gracious to me, that the child may live.’  But now he has died; why should I fast?  Can I bring him back again?  I shall go to him, but he will not return to me [2 Samuel 12:20-23].”

I have prayed and petitioned God every day for five months that my life and family and hopes and future might be restored.  I have fasted so much that I’ve lost 25 lbs.  And I have wept innumerable tears day and night, so many that my eyes have become infected.  I have suffered not by my own sin, but by the sins of others.  Yet God gave me His answer.  So, now that it is morning, I shall arise and wash, anoint myself, change my clothes and worship.  And I will eat, but this is a good weight for me, so I won’t eat very much. 

It seems I have some time to kill.  Or rather, time to fill.

Yesterday after court, and after lunch with my dear and loving friends, Donna and Kim Seeto and my wonderful mom, Norma (I am so richly blessed to have your love and support.  Thank you.), I came home to a very empty house and an even emptier life.  Feeling fidgety and not knowing what to do next, I went to the library.  These are some of the titles I checked out.  “Your Healing Journey Through Grief” by Stanley Cornils; “Getting Out from Under” bu Stephanie Winston; “What Should I Do with My Life” by Bo Bronson; and “Stop Whining, Start Living” by Dr. Laura Schessinger. 

I like Dr. Laura.  I don’t listen to her radio show, but then I only get three radio stations at my house, including the NOAA emergency tsunami signal, but I like that she’s a no BS, straight talking, wise woman.  For example, here is a quote that spoke to me as I lie awake all night long:  “I think you’re entitled to your reasonable sadness – don’t let anybody take that away from you.  If you don’t feel the feelings – even the most miserable of them – it’s like having a gear jam in your head and heart.  Acknowledging the feelings is the lubricant you require to make sure you are functioning appropriately no matter what the situation or predicament.  When it is sadness you feel:  FEEL IT!  Acknowledge it, talk about it, let it have a temporary home in your life.  And then it must go someplace for storage – not ignored or denied, but also not held in a death-grip embrace.”

I have received a lot of criticism from some, because of my sadness and grief, because of misconceptions and assumptions, even because of my faithfulness to my marriage vows.  Anyone in the courtroom yesterday who heard the judge’s comments to me, and the venom with which they were delivered, got a taste of what I have endured from so many for so long.  No, it hasn’t been my imagination and I have not been paranoid – that has been the painful constant for me in this ordeal. 

I’m a gardener so I have an appreciation for manure.  It serves a valuable purpose even though it stinks to high heaven.  I’m not afraid to get a little poo on my hands from time to time, but I certainly don’t like wading in it.  That’s what all this has been – the attacks, I mean – just so much manure.  I have been grateful for so many faithful people who have frequently pointed out, “JoDana, they don’t know you!”  It’s true.  They don’t.  The ones who have lashed out so violently, with one exception, really don’t know me well at all, and they certainly haven’t had any meaningful interaction with me through this valley.  I know what they are saying is untrue.  So I don’t worry about it.

I have been quiet about most of this, but now that there is some resolution, I think it’s time to clarify a couple of things.  There is a common misconception that, if there is abuse in the home, the mother is either a co-conspirator or an accessory to the abuse.  How is it that I could be a full-time mom, work at home, homeschool my kid, and not know about something happening in my own home.?  It’s a testament to two things: First is my obviously misplaced yet absolute trust in these two people who claimed to love me.  The second is the degree and skill of the deception.  The whole intent was to keep it from me, and they succeeded.  It’s funny to me, though, that having responded immediately and decisively upon learning the truth, sacrificing everything to protect my child, I’m still viewed as a criminal, and treated as such by some.  “I have found in the 32 years of radio conversations that the rage usually goes toward the person who didn’t protect instead of the person who perpetrated.”  As I stated from the beginning, I can’t protect what I don’t know.  What I do know, I act on.  And I did.

There have been several lies proliferated, but the one I find most vile and disturbing is the one that I chose my husband over my daughter.  My husband is heading to prison because  I held him, and continue to hold him, accountable for his actions.  But who determined they had the right to tell me I had to make a choice?  The truth is I will not choose.  No one is going to tell me with whom I will have relationship. 

I have fought for my daughter throughout this nightmare, yet she and her minions have fought back every step of the way.  She moved out, took every last shred of personal possessions, leaving absolutely no evidence of her presence here and nothing to come home for, and urged repeatedly that I grant guardianship to another family.  I gave repeated warnings and cautions and urgings, knowing what a bad and damaging idea that was.  But I ultimately relented.  Now I’m told that it was all my idea.  Hmmm.

Here’s another Dr. Laura quote, and Sabrina, this one is for you: 

Caller: “But what if you’re a ‘people-pleaser?  I’ve heard you say that that is ultimately self-centered behavior because it focuses on making people like you…Right?”

Dr. Laura: “Yes, you’re quite right.  People-pleasing behavior is nothing about giving – it’s all about getting safety from criticism, anger, or rejection and ensuring being ‘liked.’  however, the people-pleaser is usually quite sad much of the time with a ‘martyr’ identity: I do for others and still don’t get back what I need.  People-pleasers start out as people who are sad about their worth and lovability.  They come to see themselves not very positively and manipulate to try to feel okay.”

“People-pleasers are nobody in particular – just what others want them to be.  To be somebody you have to take up space: be seen, heard, and reckoned with.”

My darling, beloved, hurting daughter, this describes you.  Be somebody who is seen, heard, and reckoned with, but most importantly be truthful with yourself. 

Another book that I have been studying, along with my husband, is “This Momentary Marriage” by respected biblical scholar and pastor John Piper.  When I saw this book it was when my marriage had exploded in shock, outrage, anger, betrayal, and overwhelming loss.  Talk about incongruity – why would I pick up a marriage self-help book then?  That’s a God thing.  I have long held that marriage is sacred, indissoluble, and an illustration of Christ’s love for his bride, the Church.  Gratifying to say the least that a highly esteemed scholar would come to the same conclusion.  If anyone is interested in what my view (really God’s view) of marriage is, read this book.  Anyone who is married, has been married, or thinks they ever will be married should read this book!  It will challenge you, I promise.

So, after a long and bitterly painful five month trek through this lonely and dark wilderness, I stand at the mountain top looking out into the beautiful unknown.  A land of unseen perils and opportunities – I mean, really, how many people do you know who have the opportunity to completely reinvent their life midstream?  There’s a blank canvas in front of me and an empty pallette in my hand.  I get to chose the colors, the brush, the picture.  I get to chart a new course with the Morning Star as my compass. 

Where shall I begin?

________________________________________________________

A division.  A delineation of space and time.  One one side of the line: The life I knew and loved.  Wife, mother, homemaker, helpmeet, teacher, lover, caregiver, steward.  On the other side: A new and undefined life with all the previous roles eliminated or deeply, permanently changed.

I am still a wife and  helpmeet, yet enduring a painful and extended separation.  This adjustment is critical, difficult, heart-breaking, but also rich with spiritual growth and blessing, and abounding in love.

I am still a mother, yet my child is pursuing a course of independence that I am passionately opposed to and fear will do deep and permanent damage, not only to our relationship but to her own life as well.  And yet, the Lord is blessing me with peace, solitude, healing grace, affirmation and validation as I entrust her fully to His care and purpose.

I am still a homemaker in that I still have a home to manage, yet with no one to serve it looses both it’s urgency and power.  I understand, however, the call from Titus 2 for older women to teach the younger ones.  My skill and knowledge in this area will not be wasted and in time God will grant opportunity for it to be passed on. 

I am still a teacher, yet no longer a homeschool mom.  God has gifted me with the ability to teach, as well as the desire to do so.  In this season of refining, I am in the place of the student under the Master Tutor.  I am grateful that the student becomes like the master, as my Master is great.  Some of the lessons have become clear, still others are clouded in mystery.  Yet I know this preparation will bear fruit in its season.

I am still a lover – of my Lord, my husband, my family, my friends.  The expressions of love have changed, as have the fundamental natures of some of these relationships, yet love endures.

I am still a caregiver in that God has given me ministry to the hearts of hurting people that, once again, surprises me.  Simple expressions of love and encouragement to families of inmates have been repaid by deep gratitude; encouraging the heart of my husband as he makes a painful adjustment and transition to a new and frightening life has yielded miraculous fruit; the testimony of love and faithfulness that is touching lives I was unaware of just a few months ago – all of these things have God’s hand print all over them.

I am still, and now more than ever, a steward.  In fact, I have been promoted to head steward – all that has been instrusted to my husband and me now falls solely to me.  I am diving deeply into Proverbs 31 yet again to understand what God has for me as His steward and I am determined to be faithful for so long as it is my position.

This is a harder loss and reality for me than for anyone impacted by it, yet at the same time I think it is easier for me.  I see God’s miraculous work, even as some things become more bitter and wrenching.  I see the transformational healing, repentance, restoration and renewing of relationship.  I see God moving in His people and providing for me in the most loving and generous ways.  I am in the blazing furnace, yet I sense that there is not even the scent of smoke on me because the Spirit of the Lord is there with me.

So across the line I step, eyes open to the future, scanning the horizon for any sign of what’s to come.  Letting go of everything, every dream, expectation, and past hope, and laughing at the future, as did the Proverbs 31 woman, secure not in my own capacity, but in the might and mercy of my King.  Ahead of me a vast expanse of shimmering sand with not a footprint upon it, save one.  My first step.  I am a sojourner venturing into a new and miraculous life. 

Lord, help me to be fearless.

Imagine a love so deep it takes your breath away.  Two people woven together in one flesh – that is the mystery of covenant marriage.  It’s surprising really.  Day by day you don’t even realize it’s taking place, through the routines, the romantic nights, the bitter disputes.  Then one day it is tested – stretched – proved.  I am surprised at how completely that one-ness has crept up on me and my husband.

So then imagine what it might be like to look your beloved in the eye and tell him, No.  No to life, no to freedom.  Through his begging, weeping, pleading for help and mercy, knowing his guilt, yet so desparate to make it right, to try to repair what he has broken.  With compassionate resolve – compassion for his fear and devastation, resolve in what I must (and must not) do – to tell him I will not bail him out of jail, I will not live a fugitive’s life.

In a recent letter to my beloved, I tried to explain it this way: 

“I desire to live an honorable life.  I want to look people in the eye, to be real and transparent, to honor God with my integrity and trustworthiness, with my character.  Sounds crazy considering what some people seem to be saying about me, but I know me.  My great crime is that I drive too fast…All I have is my name and my word, and those have to mean something.  They mean just about everything. 

Integrity, trustworthiness, faithfulness, loyalty, courage – these are more than buzzwords to me.  At the end of my life, whenever that might be, I want these to be the words that come to the minds of people who will miss me.  There are no children to carry on a piece of me; the only legacy I will ever have is my life and how I live it.  And I choose to live it honorably and, I hope, in a way that pleases my savior.

I alone must stand before God for the judgment of my actions and the excuse of “I sinned because someone asked me to” isn’t going to fly.

This has been an unimaginable battle, made harder by many of the people around me.  There are so many passionate views.  Two friends who were experienced similar things – one is still so angry at her own wounds and communicates her frustration at my response, the other agrees so strongly.  Interesting.

What is curious to me are the snipets of comments that come back to me – far fewer these days as I’ve put considerable distance between me and them.  It occurred to me the other day that if any of those individuals could step inside my life, my heart, my head, even for a day, to see the truth, I think they would be very ashamed. 

I am abundantly grateful for those faithful, loving people who have surrounded me, prayed for and with me, stood in the gap with me as I’ve been buffeted by this storm. Seeto’s, Coppages, Whipples, Leah, Jodene, Danette.  Mom and Dad.  And others.  May God pour out blessings for the comfort and support you have given.

It is a difficult and bloody thing to know you hold someone’s life in your hand and to know that the right thing to do is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.  I hope none of you ever, ever has to experience this.

I haven’t been here for a while.  I’ve been in the center of a storm – and not the calm center but the devastating vortex of a tornado. 

I learned three months ago that my husband had done the unthinkable.  And I responded, immediately, decisively, knowing that anything I did was going to mean the end of my life as I knew, the end of my future and my husband’s.

I did it right – everything I was supposed to do.  I even went so far as to provide some of the evidence that will put my beloved in prison for a very, very long time. 

Yet, the response to me has been indescribable.  I have been threatened, rejected, humiliated, accused.  My daughter, for whom I sacrificed my life, has moved out and is saying things that I can’t even believe.  I’ve been rejected by my church, and told I am unstable and an unfit parent.

When the events that come up in life defy all logic and reason, when the insanity around you becomes absolutely absurd, you have to wonder what’s at work behind it all. 

But, God…He has been faithful to bring a few precious people along side me.  People who know me, who see me day after day, and see the truth; prayer warriors who lift me up constantly.  I am so grateful.  He has given me a wonderful companion in my new puppy, Shep.  Very adorable little guy – who really isn’t so little at 4 months old.  And He is providing for me gently, graciously, generously.

So here I am.  Alone.  Facing a future at mid-life that is unlike anything I ever imagined, even in my most horrific nightmares.  All the love and sacrifice and devotion I have poured into my family for so many years seems to have been for naught.  I hope I am wrong.  Time will tell. 

I wonder if I should hold a funeral service for the death of my life.  Bury my dreams and hopes and all the possibilities that I’ve held onto for so many years.  Build a monument, scatter some ashes, plant a tree.  There’s something to that idea.

Although everything about the life that I loved is gone, I’m still here.  There is a song that I was introduced to recently by Jill Phillips.  This is the chorus:

I feel the pain but it still doesn’t change who You are
Nothing I feel is outside of the reach of Your arms
My whole world has crumbled and all of the pieces remain
In Your hands they are waiting to put them together again.

I’m too close to the rubble of my life to see beyond the edge of this impact crater.  But the slate is empty.  And I wonder how He will fill it up.

I saw kite-surfers the other day soaring over the waves on the mighty Pacific.  Perhaps I’ll start by learning to fly.