A Love Story

Happy belated Valentine's Day!  Hope it was, as my son says about nearly everything, "awesome"!

You've read the title of this blog and efore you get all excited, let me burst your bubble.  I am not about to tell you I met someone.  Not even close.  Not even close to close.  Actually, I'm pretty sure my 6 year old has a better love life than I do.  Oh, many an awkward moment I've had, that's for sure...but no one even slightly acceptable (on a good day) has crossed my path.  When my ex-husband moved out, everyone asked me when I would start dating again.  Date?!  I'd rather scratch my eyes out with a spork, thankyouverymuch.  My feelings aren't that strong anymore, but the opportunity just hasn't presented itself.  I said I wouldn't date until I was 30 (I was 27 at the time).  30 just came.  I now joke that every birthday, I will start saying "well, I didn't want to date until I was 31 anyway...".

However, there is a love story in the works here.  The story began before I was born.  A God who formed me and knew me in my mother's womb. Who carried me through to a healthy birth, all 9 lbs. 12oz. of me (my poor mother).  A God who brought comfort when I lost my mom.  A God who was near in the years that followed, both good and bad times.  A God who protected me in my comings and goings, safety I too often take for granted.  A God who was with me when I lost two babies, practically unknown and unseen to the world, but so very real to me.  A God who smiled with me when my two living babies were born.  A God who was with me during some very dark, confusing and humiliating times, a comforting and constant presence in the midst of chaos.  A God who has provided for me financially, who has protected my children, who has given me all I ever need and even some things I don't.

This is so hard for me to admit, but there are times when the beasts of loneliness and disappointment hurt like you can't imagine (well, you probably can).  It's that familiar weight on the heart that I can physically feel.  Usually I'm too busy to deal, but sometimes I have to allow myself to feel it.  I'm a huge joker, so most people can't even imagine me being all weepy and hot-mess-ugly-cry-ish, complete with dripping snot and what not.  But it happens.  It isn't too often, really.  Most days (yes, even Valentine's day) ridin' solo is just fine with me. I don't even think about it.  But then I pop in some stupid Nicholas Sparks movie.  Or I can't take one more nanosecond of my daughter's attitude, and there's no one to save me (or her).  Or I have to drive my tired self home from the airport after midnight when returning from a business trip.  Or my car makes noises that I'd rather just ignore.

There are certain roles husbands are supposed to play such as protector, provider, leader.  Though it'd be nice to have that in a human, God has been that and more.  A lot of it is too personal to blog about, but I have been through situations that could've been much, much worse! Protector. I have a job that allows me to work and earn a decent living, but also be home to meet my kids when they return from school.  We have a home, a car in the driveway, food in the fridge, toys well...everywhere.  Provider.  The kids have somehow, some way, made it to their 4th and 6th birthdays.  They're healthy, they're happy and they drive me nuts.  There are times when I feel like I'm 'bout to LOSE MY MIND up in here, but they are also my greatest joy (omg, I'm a sap).  He's constantly giving me what I need to raise them and I have to lean on Him, because in reality, I don't know what the heck I'm doing!  Leader.

Just before Christmas, the women's ministry at my church felt led to give all the single moms a financial gift, along with praying for us.  Like me, I'm sure many single moms feel forgotten, especially around the holidays.  While they prayed over us, I just kept hearing the phrase "love story" in my head. This was such a beautiful love story.  (Well, I also ran out of deodorant that afternoon, and while they prayed, I was also thinking how the bright lights were making my pits sweat...but I digress.)  A lover remembers you, thinks of you, places value on you.  Even in seemingly insignificant times. Again God showed that His lasting love is tenderly caring for me.

It's a love story that life can imitate, but never reproduce.  Sure, it'd be nice to meet someone (under 50 and not socially awkward) one day.  There's a beauty in human relationships I can appreciate and marriage is His design. Yet I also know that this love story is as good as it gets.  His love runs deeper than any human's ever can and I can rest in it, because it is as sure as He is.

Seven times seventy

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The shame game

Imagine the bacteria.

I was ashamed, He called me beautiful...now I'm Yours, You call me beautiful. -  Forever and a Day

_____________________

Here's something that's outrageously pitiful to admit (and probably reason why I'm single #192), I often lay down at night and my mind won't stop producing clever status updates.  It's obnoxious.  Sometimes, i just can't turn off the jokes.  The wheels in my heard are constantly spinning.  Unfortunately, the short term memory wheels are a little rusty these days.  They're pretty much, wait...what?

I also often think of what people think of me.  "What?", you say?  "The girl that feels the need to stick her head under high-powered hand dryers just for laughs...she cares what people think?"  I do.  And I think of what it is they're thinking.  Most of which they're probably not thinking at all, but in my head they are. And then I stress.

As an example of the absurdity, here's what it's like to be inside my head sometimes:

Jane Doe:  Hi Sarah, <insert ever awkward side hug here> where are the midget wrestlers?

Me:  "Heyyyy girl (cause I always have to say that)...they're with their dad today."

My brain:  Good one.  She's probably going to think you had them out of wedlock or something. Maybe you should say "ex-husband" next time.  Oh, but ex-husband sounds so...bitter.  She'll probably think you're some bitter divorcee, on the prowl for a new man, probably her husband.  Great.  

I often play this game with myself.  I'm sometimes embarrassed when people see me out in public, wrangling in two wild animals (children), with no wedding band on.  Oh, it's not so bad when the midget wrestlers are behaving like angels, but that happens (way) less often than I'd care to admit.  I feel like people eye my ring finger and think "tssk, tssk, tssk".

When I first started going to my new church, I was a little embarrassed by my marital status, or lack thereof.  No one there knew my story.  Many still don't.  Its not like you want to sign your kids into Sunday school, and promptly announce the reason for your divorce. It's not cool. And it's not necessary. Oh, but it's tempting.

You see, I thought I did everything right. Dated for two years. Went through pre-marital classes.  Took personality tests to analyze our compatibility. Got my dad's approval.  Got my pastor's approval.  Married in church.  Waited two years before babies.  Yet still, it all blew up in my face. And I think "how did I not see it?!" And then I feel stupid.  And ashamed.

I sometimes feel the need to justify myself.  Justify the divorce.  Explain that I waited over two years before I even went through with it. Explain his unwillingness to change. Explain the fact that I called my pastor in NY to get some counsel about it.  Explain how difficult asking my ex to move out was for me.  And a million other things I dealt with during that time (none of which are blog-appropriate).

During those times though, I often call that familiar verse to mind:  "Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame.  Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated... (Is. 54)".  

I have felt shame. And I most definitely have been humiliated.  Those times were moments though, not a state of being.  Not caused by my decisions.  And not who I am.  I know that I know that God and I have dealt with this.  I know that, to the very end, I honored my commitment to God and to my spouse.  I know that I received Godly counsel from my pastor in NY (which was a godsend, love you PJR and Evelyn!) and that it meant more to me than they'll ever know.  I know that the few friends I love and and respect and trust more than anyone in the world supported me.  God doesn't condemn me, so why do I feel like if others do, it matters? More over, why do I feel I condemn myself?  

Instead of lending myself to those feelings, I want to let my life speak in the here and now.  I can have joy. I can have peace. I can attempt to raise normal human beings.  I can speak to others going through similar situations, telling them there is a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel.  I can live without shame, leaving the past where it is, but appreciating all it has given to my present and future.

We (I) need a little Christmas...

Matthew 1:23 (Amplified Bible)

Behold, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a Son, and they shall call His name Emmanuel--which, when translated, means, God with us.

I'm going to admit something horrible.  Here we are, three days before Christmas and I am not in the Christmas spirit. No matter what I do, I can't catch that feeling.  I grew up in New York City and, for all the bad things NYC offers, it is the best place in the world to be at Christmastime.  Lights are everywhere.  People are kind of cheery (kind of cheery is saying a lot for NYers). It's just the most magical place to be at this time of year.  Growing up, all of my family was there.  Christmas was always loud, with firecode breaking amounts of people stuffed into my grandmother's tiny railroad apartment in Queens.  We had lots of laughter, yelling over eachother and kids running wild.  That's the feeling I'm chasing.

I've tried to catch the feeling. My Pandora has had a Christmas station on all month. I put up our tree. I decorated our house. I went Christmas shopping. I attended two kiddie Christmas parties.  I went to see lights at the local speedway (yes, I'm offically a southerner...and they were lame).  My church has been playing Christmas carols all month. I watched my kids perform "Away in a manger".  I even watched It's a Wonderful Life.  Nada. 

Just this morning I was talking to my cousin about my Scrooge-ish feelings.  I just want Christmas and New Years to be over.  As excited as I am to see my kids open their gifts on Christmas morning, I'm dreading that lonely feeling because (you guessed it) this is not the way I planned it.  I always dreamed of having a "normal" family.  I dreamed of plotting and planning and hiding Christmas gifts with a husband. I dreamed of watching pajama-clad cuties opening their gifts, with both of their parents watching in enjoyment. That's just not the way it turned out.  In fact, as a parent, I've had more Christmases as a single parent than as a married one.

As I was reflecting on my inability to "feel" Christmasy (is that a word?), I started to think about the real reason for Christmas.  I know it sounds cliché, but when you really think about it, I'm sure Mary was feeling anything but Christmasy on the night she gave birth to the King of kings.  I've given birth and my first child came four days before Christmas.  While each contraction seemingly ripped a hole through my abdomen, I guarantee you I had no Christmas cheer.  Receiving my epidural was about the closest I came to merry that night.  We all know Mary had no pain medications.  She had no bed in which to lay.  She had no fancy equipment to monitor the baby's heartbeat, no one to tell her it wouldn't be much longer.  She lay in a odorific stable surrounded by farm animals.  She was giving birth to the Savior.  It sounds glorious, until you remember he was going to be the ultimate sacrifice just a short time from then.

I looked up a couple of verses relating to Christmas (God bless those YouVersion folks...download the app if you don't have it!) and came upon the one up top.  This line is the one that got me: "...and they shall call His name Emmanuel--which, when translated, means, God with us".   Do you think that's a coincidence?  Surely God could've chosen a name that meant "Savior", "blameless", "sacrificial lamb" or a thousand other things He was and is.  I don't believe there are coincidences with God though.  That name reminds us, thousands of years later, He is with us.  Always.  In the good times and the bad.  When life has somehow become exactly what we wanted or when it falls into crumbles around us while we watch helplessly.  His presence is the one thing we can rely on.  That alone should bring us comfort and joy. 

I'm still not really "feeling" that feeling.  Yet, like Mary, I want to give birth to hope.  Obviously, bearing the son of God can't be matched but you and I can birth the things which the Christ child offered: joy, peace, hope, love.  Even if it's painful.  If you are a single mom/divorcee, or walking through any other kind of difficulties in life, Christmas can be painful.  Be that as it may, my kids are not going to miss out on memories and traditions because life is a little non-traditional right now.  They are not going to see me sulking the day away, dismissing everything that the birth of Jesus offers.  It still may hurt, but I know I am birthing those things into my life and the lives of my children, and that's a better gift than I could every buy them.     There's a Christmas song we sang at church and one line says, "Joy, unspeakable joy...overflowing well, no tongue can tell. Joy, unspeakable joy, rises in my soul, never lets me go."  He truly is joy and when something overwhelms your soul, you can't help but experience it on the outside.  This season, I celebrate the unspeakable joy he offers, in good times and bad.

Okay, I'm actually feeling a little more Christmasy now!  Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy and hopeful new year to you!