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The Climb

The Climb

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I was frustrated, annoyed, broken, and feeling helpless… so, I took off on hike to clear my head. I told myself, “I’ll get out deep in nature away from everything,” but that proved to be much harder than I anticipated. First, I had to pick the trail. From our cabin, there were two directions I could go in (1) take the local, wide trail used by bikers on property, or (2) travel a section of the Appalachian Trail that is narrow, rocky, and pretty much goes straight up a mountain. Since  I’m a total Type-A “Finisher,” taking the Appalachian Trail seemed like a bad call, seeing as how I could not finish the trail and and would always want to keep going. So, I opted for the easier trail, but I heard so many voices in that direction and was reminded that I wanted to get away from noise. Sigh. Guess, I’ll have to go the hard way. So, I set off on a section of the Appalachian Trail wondering how far I would end up going.

“I’ll just go a mile in and find a place to sit down and write,” I told myself. Just calm down and enjoy nature. But, I couldn’t. The frustrations continued as I climbed, while I could hear the birds and the rush of the white water flowing down the Nantahala River, I could also still hear the cars driving along the highway; which appeared to run parallel to the trail. “Am I really going to have to listen to trucks driving by the entire way?!? Can’t I just get away!” I was tired, still frustrated, and growing ever more impatient with my path. It’s so narrow and one side drops straight down. Large rocks and tree roots are scattered about the pathway, so I have to pay attention to where I walk. I keep pressing on. No big deal. I’ll just keep going until it clears out and there is a big rock to sit on to relax. I kept climbing. Finally, I hit a curve in the path that revealed a big rock cropping, and thought, “this is perfect” while setting my bag down and taking a seat to rest and drink some water. I could see and hear the rush of the water… what a beautiful place. Then, I heard a large truck going by. Great. Looking out past the water, oh yeah there it is, the highway still following me. “Leave me alone! I just want to get away from the noise and pressure of civilization!” So I grabbed my stuff and kept going. Haven’t really hit a mile yet anyway, I can keep going and still make my way back. Surely, I can hit a quiet space before getting in too deep. So, I kept climbing. For a while the path seems to just continue to wind around the mountain, with little opportunity for openings… what if there aren’t any more rocks? What if I keep going and going and never find a better place? Maybe I should go back? Maybe I should have taken the other trail after all. Or just stayed back in the cabin and sat outside on the porch? God, what am I doing?

That’s about the time I started to notice the analogy that God was using my trip to teach me a lesson about life. He says “Narrow is the path and few find it”… this path is surely narrow, and I haven’t see a soul since I started out on it. Oh my gosh, what if I get bit by and snake and die out here because I set out on the trail alone?! What if I take a turn somewhere and can’t remember how to get back? God seemed to say to me “Relax, just trust me. Keep going.” Ugh. So, I climbed on. But my mind continued to wander. I finally found another rock. This time it protruded from the path. Just big enough for me to sit on, and be out of the way if someone happens to come by, which didn’t seem likely at this point. All those passing through probably left much earlier in the day and where way ahead of me. I looked down at my FitBit, and realized I’ve been about my mile now… also the climb was even steeper than I thought, since it calculated I had climbed the equivalent of 42 flights of stairs! Gee Whiz. “This is good,” I told myself. I can make this work, I mean, it’s kind of small and all… but I better stay here.

Then I heard the highway. Come on man! “Just rest. And don’t worry about what lies ahead,” He prompted. I used the Relax feature on my FitBit, to control and slow my breathing. For the first time, someone walked by… going in the opposite direction. I thought about stopping him and asking him about everything he’d seen, how far until it opens up, is there an nice area that I can go to sit and write? But I was reminded of another way my trip was like life… we can’t do that. Each of us has our own purpose and unique perspective and we can’t base our future on other’s past experiences. He looked like a serious Appalachian Trail hiker, probably gone many miles… he wasn’t looking for quiet alcoves God-made for writers. Had I asked, it probably would have just discouraged me further–there probably were several that he never saw, because that’s not what he was looking for, not his goal. This is my journey, and I’ve got my own guide. I just don’t trust Him all that much because He wont let me see the freakin’ map! Why can’t I just see the whole plan so I can KNOW.

Time to press on. “But how much further?” And all those questions flood back into my mind, and “What ifs”… But, I keep going. I start to build myself up with encouragement, hey, it looks like we’re finally turning away from the highway. I can hear more birds, feel more sunshine. This is great. I thought about life and complacency. The way we get somewhere and decided to stay with what we know instead of traveling further because we’d rather settle for what we know than to travel ahead into the unknown. Those first two places I stopped where nice, but not what God had in store for me. I passed another rock and then another and thought each time, “Well, I could stop here, but what if there is something better?” and kept on going. Now my confidence is growing, I’m trusting, I’m knowing. Something great is waiting for me, I just have to keep going. Then nothing. Passing more logs than rocks now. Oh great, I slip back into the sea of doubt, “I should have stopped back there.” I’ve made a mistake. Where are you taking me? I’m tired and thirsty. I only planned to travel a little ways. I only took a single bottle of water, which is more than half gone now… FitBit stair count has risen to almost 60. Dang, that’s a lot of stairs. I was too confident, now I’ve missed something… I can’t keep going, this trail goes on for a very long time. “Just trust me. You have everything you need for what you are going to do.”

Then I see it.

A perfect little spot, away from everything. And a rock formation that looks like a bench. Surrounded by trees and nature. Far enough away from the road, that I no longer hear a constant flow of cars, but only hear an occasional plane or train (and I love trains, so that’s cool with me). Can you imagine if I had stopped earlier? I never would have made it here. I could have made due with something else, but this, this is ideal. This is what I needed. This is what I really wanted. OK, it would have been even better if I was looking out at a beautiful waterfall, but I don’t even know if that is a possibility along this trail (at least as much as I can travel right now)… but maybe it’s just not the right time…

After I sat down to write, I started having hikers passing by one after another. And I realized a few other things.. (1) Most people are traveling alone (2) they have a lot more provisions than me (3) everyone has a different goal.

Our walk with God is very similar to hiking the Appalachian Trail. Those sounds of civilization are like the worldly influences we face in life. Once we are enraptured with God’s love, we think we’ve outrun the world, but it keeps following us, and occasionally catching up. We have to just keep pressing on. Our lives come with peaks and valleys. The hardest climb is to the peaks, but it comes with the greatest reward. So keep on climbing, and don’t be afraid to trust your guide.

Man of Sacrifice

Man of Sacrifice

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The other day my husband turned to me and asked, “How is it that every day you get more and more beautiful?” I smiled and replied, “Because I love you so much.”

Awwww. So sweet right? My husband is the best. And I am proud of my comparison to Sarah. That’s me so devoted to my husband and God, that I am blessed with great beauty… a princess.

The next morning I awoke, shaking away a strange dream. My husband and I were on a train, and I was sitting beside him, but pretending to sleep while he chatted with another passenger (my husband is the kind of man who has never known a stranger and seems to have a life goal to talk to every person on earth.) At some point the passenger points to me and makes a comment about my beauty and my husband tells him that I’m his sister.

Weird. I think God is trying to tell me something…  I reflect on the book I’m currently reading “This Crazy Little Thing Called Marriage” by Greg and Erin Smalley, and how at the last group meeting when we were discussing our husbands’ spiritual leadership one of the leaders asked everyone to describe their husband’s character with one word. I chose the word “sacrifice.” It was the first thing that came to mind, as my husband will constantly sacrifice himself, his dreams, his desires, for me, for his children. But after I said it aloud, I internally kicked myself because there were like a hundred “better” words I could have chosen. Or were there?

I know many of you are probably smarter than me and get things right away, but I can be kind of stubborn, so sometimes I have to be told things a hundred times before I listen…

My husband and I are in a spiritual struggle right now, fighting for our family and our children. I tend to get pretty heated over the entire thing, because of my past. Great fear enters my mind for my husband’s children because I constantly picture them going through the struggles that I had while I was living with the consequences of my parents divorce. The thoughts, the actions, the words, the tears–all of it floods my memory. And I ache for their broken hearts. I know I’m not their biological mother, but I want so bad to save them from pain, to take on their pain so they don’t have to feel it. I love them with a love I never thought possible, even though they don’t even know me! And I want to save them from going through the same destructive years I lived in depression, fear, bitterness, and hatred. I want them to know nothing but love and happiness.

We got some bad news concerning the struggle and I was devastated. I tried to hide my tears from my husband. I tried to logically find a way to change our circumstances. But then I just broke down and cried out to God, demanding to know why everything keeps going wrong. Where are your promises?! Where is our victory?!

God replied by pointing out several things to me:

1.) Do YOUR Job.

It seems like I’m forever having this conversation with God:

“Stop trying to do MY job. You’re terrible at it.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Your Job.”

“Which is what?”

“Wait.”

Sigh. “But I want to DO something!”

“Well, wait for me to finish doing my job and then I’ll tell you what needs to be done next.”

“OK.”

And then I start trying to meddle again because I don’t feel like anything is being done, and it starts all over again.

2.) Remember Your Story

I am often prompted with the question “How did your story end? You’ll have to hear my entire Salvation story another time, but the short version is that I’m alive today because someone interceded for me.  Anytime I question the power of prayer, God seems to bring that up… me being living proof and all.

3.) You’re not as spiritual as you think you are.

I often get a little high horsey, when it comes to the subject. I got saved when I was 8, and had an undeniable salvation story when I was 15. I’ve spent most of my life studying scripture, and have lived a relatively “spotless” life. Sometimes, it seems to intimidate my husband. He heralds me as the “prayer warrior” and lets me do all the praying, talking, leading Bible Study groups, and giving advice. So, I can tend to get so caught up in myself, I forget that my husband is the leader. I mean, looking at my resume, aren’t I the more “qualified” candidate? Um. No. Actually not. My husband has much greater faith than I do. Like Abraham. Abraham, the “Father of Faith.”

4.) You can’t steal HIS story.

I never really thought of it that way… but the logic is solid. It’s like trying to parent your kids by putting them in a plastic bubble. You can’t keep them from every bad thing. Even if you did, they wouldn’t be able to live a fulfilled life. My story comes from my deepest, darkest moments. Those are the moments when God shines through. You can try to keep your children from every type of harm; but doing so will also keep them from their purpose, their destiny. Because God turns pain into purpose. We are driven by our experiences. Without the moments that cause us to call out for God, we live like we have no need of Him. I can’t steal my husband’s story, or my children’s stories; I can only live out my own and allow God to write theirs.

 

So, to sum it up, after three consecutive messages I received it: God thinks my husband is strong like Abraham. I should too. I see the evidence every day. One of the greatest stories of Abraham is his willingness to sacrifice Issac for the Lord. One day my husband’s legacy will be similar–having to be willing to lose his son in order to save him.

It’s important to note that God never expected Abraham to actually sacrifice his son, God was interested in Abraham’s heart. God judges us by our heart, not our actions. God is interested in the why not the what. So, if you’re going to be like Sarah, be the Sarah who grew more beautiful everyday for respecting her husband. Don’t be the Sarah who freaked out when Abraham left to make a sacrifice with her only son, likely traumatizing herself with her thoughts–that ended up being totally off the mark. Trust your God. And trust your husband. Your husband is well-intentioned and acting on his heart. Chances are your husband is scared to death of what he is doing, he just has more faith than you in the final outcome.

The Roots of Divorce are Strong and Far-reaching

The Roots of Divorce are Strong and Far-reaching

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I’ve spent the majority of my life reflecting on divorce. Always the little kid asking, “Why?” Divorce is like a giant tree that has grown in the middle of the garden of my life, like a weed with big twisted roots choking out everything else in the garden. The first 20 years, I was caught up in it emotionally, fueling the tree like Miracle Grow with my bitterness, anger and resentment. Somewhere during the last decade, I started going through a renaissance period. I started cutting through the emotions with the blade of the sword of Truth and looking at things a little differently. Still asking “Why?” but this time looking for answers that held truth instead of those jaded by my own brokenness. First I realized Miracle Grow is poison, so let’s get rid of that. This tree is not one good for fruit or shade or anything else, it is dark and brings nothing but darkness; so not only is it not productive in my garden it is slowing destroying everything else. So, I decided to chop it down. Hasn’t been easy. When you realize how much the roots have intertwined with everything else, the task almost seems impossible to complete.

One of those roots is selfishness.

A marriage is a single unit. Two people choose to come together to become one. Continuing on the path of one-ness requires sacrifice because you have to abandon all sense of selfishness. Nothing is mine or yours, it is ours. Having children just adds more “we” to the “us.”

Divorce is like a villain everyone underestimates. I’ve talked to many people who claim, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” “Our divorce is different.” “We get along so much better now.” Some divorces are less tumultuous, some people are luckier (if you want to call it that) than others–but you cannot underestimate this enemy. There is so much going on behind the scenes.

The hard truth is this: divorce makes everyone involved selfish. Whaaaaaaaat?! Yes, you. You’re not magically immune. Don’t deny it, it will only make things worse–and teach your children to be even more so. Think about it logically for a moment. Divorce fractures a family unit. What was one now is in several pieces. Even if some of the pieces try to align together, the underlying truth is that every man now fends for himself. There is no us, there is only me.

Somehow our society has come to the conclusion that we should not rock the boat and try to salvage things–you know, for the good of the kids. I imagine their thought process is that a broken family breaks apart like a puzzle (it seems logical, people were separated before they come together to form a family) and if we just remove one piece of the puzzle, it will be OK. The puzzle is still almost whole. You can still see the image. We can glue all the other pieces together, to the table, so we don’t loose any more. That one piece won’t be that big of a deal. But that is not how it works. That thinking will never work.

When hearts break, they don’t break even. Hearts–and families–shatter. Imagine a glass shattered on the ground, spilt milk everywhere. The glass is the family and the milk was their future. After this moment, nothing will ever be the same. All of the family members made up one glass together. When the glass broke the family didn’t just break apart into a clean piece for each person. Every person themselves is shattered and all the pieces strewn about. What do you do? You try to put yourself back together.

It’s not that anything is wrong about that. It’s human nature. And a necessary evil. Think about being on a distressed airplane where the oxygen masks have fallen from the ceiling–what do you do? You put on your mask. You have to. They tell you to. You put on your mask first. You can get all indignant and wax eloquent saying that you’re a selfless parent who would definitely be concerned with putting a mask on your child first. But you may not live to help your child, if you don’t help yourself first.

I’m not saying that you shouldn’t start by putting yourself back together. On the contrary, I am. But you have to realize what you are doing. Don’t lie to yourself, or others. Sometimes you have to be selfish for a moment to become selfless for a lifetime.

Think of Jesus in the garden at Gethsemane. Sweating blood. Irate with his brothers for falling asleep and having little regard for what is going on. How pivotal of a moment in history is that? Jesus needed that moment to say “I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this.” He needed a little me time to get perspective on the us. Then he made a choice, to make the sacrifice for the good of the world–a broken, fractured group of people. Altruism. He didn’t whine “Woe is me, look what I did for you, look how selfless I am that I would die for you! Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me.”

The irony about the glass scenario is how people act like divorce is the end of the world when it comes to family life. But it is not. Divorce doesn’t destroy families (well, it does if we let it; but it doesn’t naturally) it just restructures them. Same way that new additions, death, adulthood, marriage, or other life changes would. That’s probably where we get the term “family dynamics,” because families are dynamic. Families don’t stay the same. Ever. They are always changing. They involve multiple people who are constantly evolving and changing the way they interact with one another.

So, why when there is a divorce do we try to take all the glass shards for ourselves and force everything to an old memory to stay the same forever? I’m still trying to figure out that why. Actually, no. I think I know. I think it is because all logic and reason goes out the window and people act only on emotion. And the emotional response to hurt is to pull back and avoid being hurt again. So the most aggressively emotional person in the group grabs all the pieces and tries to force them into their desired memory, while driving out any memory of the one person they are removing and placing all the blame on. Selfishness. I don’t think that person necessarily means to hurt anyone. And they are convinced they are a victim and an vigilant, saving everyone else from this hurt. But hurt happens. The hurt has been done. Don’t push it deeper. Help it heal.

The cool thing about glass is that it melts at high heat. It just so happens that divorce (and other life-altering events) is an intense heat situation, providing a perfect opportunity to make something beautiful in the midst of an ugly situation.

You just thought that a puzzle was a better scenario because you didn’t truly think about the entire picture.  Just a puzzle missing a piece, much better than tiny shards broken glass that can’t be fixed. But the puzzle will remain broken forever. You can’t just get by without a piece. You can’t force a different piece in it’s spot. Or draw a new piece yourself and get the same finished whole product as the original.

The shards of glass cannot be glued back together to form the same shape they were in before. But they aren’t meant to. Once a family is divided it has to start again, re-creating new families. Just like you did when you got married in the first place. You don’t think you left broken glass when you left your parents’ glass?! Well, you did. Just go ask your mom. Her life changed. Forever. Families are supposed to change. They were designed that way. That’s what makes them dynamic.

So, why are we forcing children of divorce to cry over spilt milk? Demanding they use superglue to desperately try to glue together something that cannot be fixed? Tying their well-being and self worth to our own and trying to force them to feel our feelings and reject the other parent?

It’s time to stop being selfish. Take a moment to be selfish to reflect on yourself, get help from outside to focus on the big picture: families change, and you cannot remove anyone from your family–marriage is forever (in more way than one). IF you make a child with someone you are tied to them for life. You cannot change the laws of life. No amount of running or lying or repressing will eliminate a member of your family. So stop trying. Look at what is and make the most of it. Choose to be selfless for your children. Recognize that you are hurting your children more by your actions than the divorce itself. And accept the cold hard truth that the best way to navigate your family through divorce is together. In case you missed it, together means with your ex. Because no one’s ex falls of the earth after a divorce to never be heard from again. They are there. For the rest of your life. Learn to live with it. Not just “until the kids get older,” or “after the payments stop,” or “when the ex gets remarried,” but for-ev-er. Your children will grow up, get married and have children of their own. You will have weddings, funerals, births, graduations, birthday parties, and countless other milestone moments in your family life that you cannot eliminate someone from. Suck it up, Buttercup. For your family. For your kids. Set fire to the broken glass and make what you want of the pieces–together. You’re family never gets smaller, it only changes form. Teach your children how to handle the changes in life, stop the cycle of bitterness, brokenness, and victimization, prepare them for the inevitable next change. Dynamic. Families are dynamic.

Disney doesn’t ruin children’s minds with fantasy images of marriage and family. We do. We’re the ones crying “Woe is me… ” “All this bad stuff? I didn’t deserve…” “Make sure you pick the right person…” “Leave them before they leave you,” and all kinds of other bad advice. Whether verbally or through our actions. Stop telling children that you can make “perfect” families and keep them that way. It’s not normal. It’s not supposed to happen. It’s not going to happen. If you keep feeding them these lies before they ever realize the truth they will be lost and broken thinking something is wrong with them, when the only problem they had was having a parent fail to teach them the beauty in broken glass and the ability to create under fire.

Do you want your children to spend their entire lives preoccupied with mediating their parents’ failed relationship? “Well, if I invite dad, mom is going to be unbearable the entire time..” “I’d call my mother, but I don’t want to spend an hour listening to her berate my father…” “I think my kids would be better off spending minimal amount of time with their grandparents. Too much drama.” “If I have to choose between my parents… I choose neither. I can take care of myself.”

No matter how awesome you think you are. You cannot be both parents to your child. They will always have a hole in their heart. After-all, fifty percent of them is the other parent. If you teach them to hate the other parent. You really just teach them to hate themselves.