Freedom - 8-25-10

I stand on the pier at my marina. The moon is full, the sky clear, and ice-blue light is washing the cooling sweat from my body. All alone, I gaze around me in all directions, every sight as well-known to me as it is well-loved. And as I stand here, so still, I’m reminded forcibly of all the full moons I took into myself two years ago, hungry and desperately unhappy, misery sealing every airway like a plastic bag. Trapped I was, on every side. I so clearly remember running here, bathed in the blessed heat rolling over me in waves. I was closed in. My miserable circumstances hemmed me in. I was in the thick of them, no immediate way out.

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I raise my eyes to the moon, aware of the dulled edge to my once-keen joy, made all the sharper because it was one of my only joys. Palpable unhappiness and an utter helplessness in it does that to your remaining pleasures – they are never so bright and rich as when isolated by pain.

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But now. Now. Everything is different. I am aware of all my friends getting ready for bed while I am running free, the weight on their chests growing imperceptibly heavier as they prepare for their last night before the prison doors open to welcome them back.

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And I am not one of them.

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I am awash in wonder. Their brief parole is over, the summer all gone away, draining like the last soap suds in a sink of clean dishes that are about to get dirty again. Tomorrow, they go back to their classrooms and their rules and their mad students and their merciless parents. While I stand here and gaze at the beautiful, beautiful moon. Has a moon every been so beautiful? Even last night when I ran to find a flooded marina and followed my desires and stripped and dove into the waters all alone? Even then? No. I think not.

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I wake up tomorrow a free woman. God, how many cloying days and claustrophobic nights did I yearn with all that was within me for release, for freedom, for rescue? How many tears did I cry, how many minutes spent with my eyes closed against my reality as I gathered the frayed threads of my soggy strength to face the next hour?

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And as I stand here, full of what I could not find for so long, it occurs to me just how far removed I am from that woman curled up on the pier. I dreamed of rescue from my current circumstances and could see no possibility for it than to marry the love of my life and be a stay-at-home wife and mother. After all, that was my long-held and cherished dream. I truly wanted that. So how could anyone but a man be the agent of my escape? It may seem archaic, but it was my dream.

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Who knew that two years later, long after I lost hope of every getting out, the man came. But he did not rescue Rapunzel from the tower where she was trapped. And who knew that the mother in me – the most lasting artery in my body which pumped the richest blood through me – would be dead now for a time? Who knew that no escape would come except by God’s own hand? In all the days and months and years I longed for escape, I never dreamed of actually quitting without a visible safety net. Only when I had experienced God himself for a year and a half and finally understood for myself what his Spirit feels like guiding my decisions and feelings could I take such a deep plunge. God himself has rescued me, has fulfilled in his own time all his many promises. My beloved ezer. My hero. No man did this. Nor I. It truly took all God is to do these things in my life.

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I will stand tomorrow a free woman. I will stand amazed at all God has done with his own hands and all he is preparing to do. I expect everything I have never known. I will not be disappointed. Because I am free indeed.

Weirdness + Weirdness + Weirdness = Peace - 8-25-09

Weird things have been happening, more in my own head than anywhere else. Even though I had let my principal and team members know of my decision to resign a couple of weeks ago, actually making it public last Wednesday really threw me for a loop. I was basically saying, “What the hell have I done?” I still had the sense of rightness about the decision, but there was a whole round of taking thoughts captive that I knew I had to steel myself for. And the thing that really gave me the most vicious uppercut was the thought of what my parents would say. I kept waiting for them to call me up in a panic but I guess Mom hasn’t seen my Facebook post or continued reading my blog because I haven’t heard anything. And it was making me insane. I had felt a moment’s relief when I realized I could tell them I wasn’t expecting anything from them. I wasn’t expecting them to pay my mortgage indefinitely, or “help me out.” My God can take care of his own. But that moment ended when I remembered they had given me the 20% down payment on my house, and what could I say that would answer their accusation that I was just throwing away tens of thousands of dollars? On came the weight again. I couldn’t really feel the glory of the freedom I now had because I just kept seeing the calendar lose pages and saw my last paycheck inching closer. I really did keep giving it up to God, but at this point, it just wasn’t clicking like it had been, and I seriously wondered, am I maxed out? Have I taken on so much faith and so many remodeling projects in my life at one time that I don’t have anything left and I literally don’t have any more strength? I kept thinking I just needed to “change my strength” like C.I. Scofield says in his sermon, but it wasn’t happening. And I was just tired. Like, in my brain. I couldn’t seem to hold onto any clear images of the outcome I’ve been believing for. So not only was I thinking, “What do I do?” about the job situation, but “What do I do?” about the faith situation. Honestly, I just wanted to stay asleep and not wake up. I wasn’t depressed and I wasn’t rethinking my decision. Every time I went through the thought process, I was always sure I had felt God’s Spirit guide me. It was just that waking up just meant taking on the work load again. I knew that wasn’t how it’s supposed to be. If you’re truly trusting God, he gladly takes that weight. But it seemed like work to figure out how to do that.

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Not real fun.

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And then it kept getting worse. When I made this decision to quit my job, I truly knew in my spirit that it was the right thing to do and the right time to do it. And at the time, I truly believed Central Corp. would work out. I’d gone through the whole interview process, I’d presented the possibility of getting a job there early before the training program, and I’d gotten such a positive vibe. I was just waiting until after Labor Day when the final decision is made. Then the head of HR called me last Friday. Turns out my resume had a typo on it: the wrong college info because I had used another woman’s resume for formatting purposes and had forgotten to change that info as I was overwriting with all of my information. Small thing, but apparently the president himself tagged it as he looked through all the resumes and he’s a stickler for detail. The HR lady and the head of the training program evidently felt foolish for having overlooked it. She was a little hesitant, to say the least. I sent her my corrected resume right away and in my email said that anyone who knows me can tell you I pay a great attention to detail. And I was just pissed. I was pissed at myself for making such a stupid oversight, but I was also royally pissed at the prospect that two years of diligent effort and enormous personal and professional growth would be jeopardized by something so ridiculous. And I snapped to my mother, who was there when I got the phone call, that if they rejected me for that stupidity, then obviously they weren’t the best thing for me and God has something better. And I’ll be honest here: I have to admit since I made the decision to resign, I’ve wondered if Central Corp. really is the best thing for me. What? How can I say that? I just keep getting an inkling – don’t know why – that perhaps they were just the catalyst for getting me to jump off the cliff but really, they aren’t where I can truly break free and be all I was meant to be. I do feel the need when I talk about that job prospect with people to qualify the choice: to explain how unique the company itself is even though it is banking. And I believe that. I believe that this particular company is unique and very special and I would be able to help people there. I would be so much happier there. But this latest thing has kind of put a bad taste in my mouth. I am a hard worker and very good at what I do, but everyone makes mistakes, and I get the impression with this company that even though there is a true sense of family, there’s probably not much grace given. I have already been bludgeoned for years in a profession where your slightest mistake is grounds for micromanagement and censure from students, parents, colleagues, and bosses. Goodness, I don’t need to feel like a failure or a disappointment anymore! I’m depleted!

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And, too, this time, this total risk, has seemed more and more to be the time to jump feet-first into my dream. The thing is I can’t really say for certain what that would be. Having only been in teaching, I am woefully underqualified to direct my own life. I’m so glad God is there to know where I would best fit because it is one of the hardest things I’ve had to figure out (and I still haven’t figured it out) to understand how all my many qualifications in teaching translate into a job I truly want. I don’t know what job would truly make me happy. So I’m not really worried about Central Corp. working out or not working out. I’m confident that God is in control of that. But it does stress me out to figure out what to tell people. Most people are under the impression I’ve got a job at Central Corp. because I’m speaking out of faith, and in the beginning that faith was stronger. But where is the line between lying and speaking in faith? It doesn’t sit well with me, especially since I’m wondering if Central Corp. is in my future.

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And things still kept getting worse. I love my dog, honest I do. But this housebreaking thing has put me squarely at my wits’ end. Nothing has worked. To the point that I had to keep doggie diapers on her at all times. And then I’d take her for walks and young thing that she is, she’d be wanting to dart everywhere. She’s not the worst leash walker I’ve ever seen, that’s for certain. But even what she would do would just make me snap. I’d haul her back on the leash, practically strangling her and feeling horrible about it. I just had no patience. I’ve lost count of the times when I’ve felt a plume of anger spray out of me and said out loud on my walk, “I cannot have children.” To the point of saying, “I don’t think I can ever have children. I just can’t!” More thoughts I had to take captive.

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I realized I felt like a failure as a teacher, now a failure as a dog owner, and I already feel like a failure as a mother. What kind of mother would I make when the slightest aggravation makes me snap? I already realized that this was an area of healing for sure. No doubt about that. And that healing couldn’t start if I kept claiming that identity as a failure. But boy, did I feel like a total failure and feel like I would always feel that way. Lots of taking thoughts captive there, and quite frankly, God, I’m tired. Two nights ago, on my walk, I stopped in the meadow, the moon full above me, no one around, and I just yelled out, “I. Don’t. Want. To feel. Like a failure. Anymore!”

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I’d already been thinking that the most effective thing to do during this stressful time was to praise God. Praise him for who he is, for what he’s done for me, for what he is doing now for me. For the future he has planned for me and the ever-present help he offers me. For the freedom that is mine now. But when I would praise him in my prayer closet, as awful as it sounds, I just couldn’t think of a lot. I was just so damn tired! Then it occurred to me to pull out my praise and worship CDs which had been collecting dust.

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Now, I’m pretty picky with my praise and worship. So often it just sounds corny or overwrought. But I found some I remembered liking and put them on and just listened to them as I got ready for bed. Next day, after volunteering at the Georgian Manor, I went ahead and drove around like I like to do listening to music. Well, three hours later, I honestly felt better. Clearer. More hopeful. Less burdened. Thank the good Lord above, it was about time! And who knows why during that long drive, I got the idea to write a Bible study on surrender. Huh? But really, if I had to choose between Central Corp. and a job where I talked about what God's done in my life and mentored and helped other young women, dude - no contest.

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Well, [another] weird thing happened. Last night I had the urge to go for a run alone – hadn’t been going much to tell the truth, because I feel bad leaving Felene behind and sometimes I don’t want to deal with her – and who should I run into but Kim Fuller, who lived next door to me back when I lived in this neighborhood with my parents in my teens. I had run into him walking his dog two years ago right after I moved in and fecal matter hadn’t collided with the fan, and in two years I hadn’t run into him at all, even though we both go for walks frequently and at the same time of day. But I did last night. Weird. And almost right away we started talking about jobs and God. How did this happen? I don’t know. I had been feeling like I just wish I wasn’t still alone in this journey. Even though there’s no better teacher than God himself when it’s just you and him, it can still get lonely when you start thinking about all the people who aren’t behind you. And I thought if I could just have another human being hear my story and tell me they thought I was doing the right thing, it might make all the difference. Nothing like support right there beside you. Nothing like it. By the end of the walk with Kim, it had become evident that this was a divine appointment for the both of us. And he said something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. He was reflecting on a preacher whose testimony centered around being embroiled in a couple of lawsuits and God made it all work out, and he said compared with that, my testimony would really be something. To do something so risky, and in this life, he said, you can’t avoid risks, would really show what God can and will do. He said in his life, looking back, he can pinpoint certain times in his life that make him say now, “I wonder what would have happened if I’d just . . .” As he has been feeling frustrated in his work now, finding himself without the security he had expected to find after 29 years, I couldn’t help feeling that maybe he might be a little inspired by this decision of mine. Because it is risky. I am single, it is just me. No one else will pay my mortgage, no one else will pay my car payment, no one else will buy my groceries. I’m it. So to do what I’ve done is beyond risky. It’s just foolish. But as John Eldredge says, “In the past year or so I’ve made a number of decisions that make no sense unless there is a God and I am his friend.” Amen, brother. Amen.

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I cannot adequately express just how wonderful it was to hear Kim share his perspective. Oh God, there is nothing like not feeling alone. And as I continued to praise him, it became exponentially easier to take thoughts captive, to catch myself thinking negative thoughts and turning them around. It became easier not to have the negative thoughts in the first place. I no longer felt stretched thin, no longer felt resigned to waking up and going into a whole day of thoughts. And I began to see the truth: that this really is just God and me, and that’s enough. I realized for real, more than just my declarations and my tired eyes, that my spirit hadn’t objected to this decision about my job at all, even through this roller coaster, and that my God is mighty to save. He does delight in impossible situations. My situation should not work out. It should be impossible to find a job in this economy where headlines blare thousands of jobs lost. It should be impossible that my needs should be met when I have no – read it, no – income. But as I told Kim, it is only in the impossible situations that there can be no mistake that salvation came not by human effort but by God himself. And I find I dread less the confrontation with my parents. I can leave the anxiety and anger with them and reply calmly and joyfully that they better get ready because they’re going to see a light show soon to rival 4^th of July.

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I am (impossibly) full of expectation for this amazing life I want to live, where every day has something to delight me and sink my teeth into. I am confessing here and now that I believe in all 7,000+ promises of God in his Word. They are true. And they will be true for me.

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Weird, huh?

Memories - 8-21-10

When do memories start to lose their potency? When you cram in enough new memories? I don’t know . . . I think even if they get crowded, they never get crowded out.

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I got to thinking today about my odyssey through the treacherous world of dating. When I think of all the men now, they’re like ghosts – half-formed spirits, indistinct around the edges with only a pale glow to let you know they were there once. Against their vast, hazy backdrop, B____ stands solid, warm, whole, strong. Nothing indistinct about him. But they were there once, filling my vision one at a time like a horrible receiving line at a Tim Burton party. And I’m staggered again that I endured it for as long as I did. How can you go day after day into an unrelenting misery? Oh – that’s like my job, isn’t it? I endured dating for years and I endured teaching for years. Honestly can’t say which is worse. It’s like having my arm sawed off versus being splashed with acid: hmm, which will hurt less? How did I do it?

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I didn’t see that I had a choice.

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That’s how I did it. For years, hating every minute of it.

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But seriously, I can’t see how I did it with dating when I take into account the sheer number of minutes and hours spent in unmitigated dread. But I did. And shy, innocent, inexperienced little me went out with three times as many men as any one of my friends. Insufferably arrogant John who claimed indulgently that he had the “playbook” on women because he had so many women around him. Tom, the handsome, wired little Italian whom I met at a bar who chafed my tender skin as he ground a drunken kiss into me. Ridiculous Gustav who finally spurred me to call It’s Just Lunch to say that if they set me up with one more guy like that I was going to terminate my membership and expect a refund of my $700. Awkward, earnest Scott at the beginning of my online dating trek who was in such a different league than me but I had no way of knowing that until I stumbled on his creepy MySpace page. Slacker Will who had no real ambition beyond doing construction work but who seemed, oh, I don’t know, good enough, I guess, in all other respects because he’s at least better than the others. Just to name a few.

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I just shake my head in wonder at how honestly diligent I was in trying to lower my expectations. Everybody so glibly admonishes you “not to settle!” But boy, I sure did try hard to do just that. My crushing inexperience couldn’t support my bone-deep yet persistently repressed sense that this couldn’t be it! I went out with so many men and felt with all of them that I was behind colored glass and they didn’t even realize they weren’t seeing me clearly, let alone desired to do so. No wonder I got so smashingly depressed so many times. No wonder I saw a psychiatrist for months (not a psychologist, mind you, because this guy needed to prescribe drugs). No wonder I went on anti-anxiety medication to deal with my dread of dating and my swelling conviction that it was hopeless: both my ability to lower my expectations and my chances of finding anyone who could make me feel anything. No wonder I hit rock bottom as everything else in my life crumbled to the ground.

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And then came B____.

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And I knew. I knew suddenly that I could never make myself settle and that I never needed to. I knew that my mother was right when she said, “There’s a reason they call it ‘falling in love,’ because it literally feels like you’re falling and you can’t stop it.” I knew that everyone who said when it happens, you’ll know and it’ll be so easy, was right. I knew that all my sky-high expectations had for all my life been right on the money. I knew that it really did come down to one man and only one to awaken me with a kiss, to send blood rushing through my icy body. I knew that all the stories and songs and poems were right. I knew I was home.

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As far as the east is from the west is how different B____ is from all the dozens of men I had tried to date, had tried to match myself with.

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And at any point in this whole journey since B____ left, had you asked, I would have said without hesitation that the worst B____ had put me through, the worst that marriage would cough up, would still and always be better than what I had been through. And I can say that with even more conviction now.

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There is only one man for me.

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And his name ain’t Gustav.

Man In The Arena - 8-18-10

I’m all a-flutter. That is what the gracious ladies of the South called it, this feeling, this sense of being stitched to a butterfly’s wings, eyes wheeling and hands flapping, trying to regain your center and call your world to order. But I do not flit and sigh and wring my hands. Rather, I am very still and quiet as I survey the dust motes of my life, floating, hanging suspended where I flung them.

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I finally made public my decision to resign. And I wrote the letter to B____ and watched Kelsey tuck it into her bag to mail for me.

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Oh, goodness. My, aren’t we bold.

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I am standing on that precipice, hearing the wind pick up. I’ve come out from every other person and every other faith and am fully exposed on the crag. I am so alone in this decision, the only one ready to pay the price. And even though those I’ve told support me in this, they offer that support because my conviction has already set that this is what I need to do. That support of necessity is of a different mold than true support. I breathe deep in the longing for someone to look in my eyes, see deep enough to know what they’re saying and tell me, “I know you did the right thing. It’s all going to work out, I know it.”

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My parents will find out soon from my Facebook post that I resigned. I breathe. I wait. I do not tell them of this process because they will not agree. And practical people that they are, they will urge me with renewed vigor to pick up the job search out of desperation. And I will falter. I cannot afford to feel bad, I cannot believe that I am that adrift that I must grasp for any bleached piece of driftwood. If I listen to them, then the fate they so fear will be upon me and I’ll lose everything.

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Oh, God, I have really done it now. I have risked everything, my livelihood, my home, my heart, my future, my very life. This is what it feels like to throw it all in the fire and to see what will come out. I have thrown my self in the there, too. This is what it feels like to do all you have feared, all at once – completely sure you’ve done what you had to because there was no other course of action you could live with, and totally terrified.

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One way or another, my life is utterly changed now. And I will never go back. And now I’m off the land, off the shore of my home country. I’m free-falling. I’ve jumped to my death. This is my suicide note. This is the death of my old life, the death of the ordinary day, the safe choices, the banked hopes. I’ve withdrawn all my dreams and am throwing them in the street.

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It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

-- Winston Churchill

And Away We Go - 8-17-10

Throughout this entire journey, my feelings have been all over the place. I mean, literally visiting every possible location on the vast plane of the human heart that feelings can touch. Not just up and down, but sideways and diagonally and inside-out.

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Well, this month marked what has to be the final frontier of my feelings. I’ve gone through times where my feelings for B____ have become frozen, numb, and even just perfectly still. But ever since July slid into August, my feelings have been such that I honestly wondered if it’s too late. After all this, if it’s over, just like that. I didn’t even seem to have feelings that had frosted over. Because they didn’t even feel present.

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Of course, the logic was impossible. You don’t fight for as long as I have for the prize to merely dissolve so late in the battle, just when you’re getting close. God doesn’t work like that. Not when I’ve submitted all my feelings for B____ to him since the beginning, only to have him handed back again and again. If B____ was truly gone, never meant to last for me, God would have gently guided me in another direction if I had truly submitted my heart to him as I had.

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But even though the conviction was there, it simply felt like too much time had passed, like we would look like strangers on the inside to each other instead of old friends. And I had begun to wonder (the irony doesn’t escape me) if I had been alone too long and couldn’t respond, even to him.

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And I will assert this: I will not go through a rerun of previous episodes. I will not have gone through all of this only to end up hoping hopelessly and faced with a wall. Ain’t gonna happen. I have been through too much, dammit, for that to be the ending of this epic story. Oh, hell to the no!

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But nevertheless, while not really worrying and fretting about it, I couldn’t see how it would flow again. Maybe I couldn’t visualize B____ as discernibly changed. And if he’s not changed at all, then there could be no other plot, however I’ve changed.

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So when I was having the top of my head blown off by Kelsey and Jess, a part of me still wondered if it had been too long and if I was even capable of responding, of feeling anything. Of “working right.”

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Well, then, my imagination tripped along the path of fantasy and “what if”s and, oh Lord, wow. It actually surprised me at one point that I hadn’t sent the note yet to the response of “YES!” Like, he wasn’t actually here? That was just a run of my imagination? Oh. Whoa. Okay. I couldn’t even get to sleep till 2:30 last night because I was under the onslaught of dead, old feelings flaring to life.

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Oh, Merciful Lord, I’m flying high. I’m gone. You’ll have to take care of me because I’m already at the precipice. Forget just walking around the mountain to get a feel for it; I can feel the rocks splitting under my feet as I curl my toes over the crumbling edge of the cliff.

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Goodness, what a risk love is. And what a risk it keeps being. It won’t ever stop being risky, but what choice do I have? “My lover is mine and I am his” (Song of Songs 2:16). Oh, goodness, here I go.

Dude. Whoa. (Take 2) - 8-16-10

I talked to Jessica today. So interesting how just as I was feeling this summer – despite my times of weariness – that I am on the cusp of seeing all my seeds sprout, and just as I had really been feeling that my separation experience was drawing near to the end of its purpose, I’ve noticed more opportunities arising to share my journey. Opportunities arose before but I literally felt like Zechariah whose tongue was silenced until his old, barren wife, Elizabeth, gave birth to their son, John the Baptist. It was like I couldn’t speak of it. And a good thing, too. I needed this separation experience to learn God’s voice, yes, but also my own and also to know – to really, truly, experientially know – what it was to stand on my own conviction with no support. Because even as I’ve shared and received support or silence, no one agrees with the wisdom of my decision to hold onto B____. They can’t know it hasn’t just been me. They can’t countenance that great, misty, distant God actually guiding my footsteps, my decisions, even my feelings. So I’ve been able, through that time of utter silence and total dependence on God to the exclusion of everyone else, to share gently and confidently my story. And this separation experience has also been so very vital, too, because by this point, God himself has become an indispensable character in the story, and it’s mostly – all right, entirely – unbelievers (to one extent or another) with whom I’ve had the opportunity to share my life. I have gently but with conviction shared what God has done for me, what he’s been for me, what I know of him. I haven’t preached it, but neither could I have left it out for comfort’s sake. It would be like saying a sentence with only every other word – it wouldn’t make any sense. This year, this life of mine, is in no way just about me – about what I’ve done, how strong I’ve become, ways I’ve grown. Half of the words are mine and half are God’s.

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So as I’ve been pondering this question of action toward B____, mulling over Kelsey’s brilliant and totally unexpected perspective, Jess had the opportunity to share hers. And just as Kelsey shared a perspective on B____’s position to me, Jess showed me a perspective on me to B____. As I told her Kelsey’s thoughts on the letter, Jess agreed and then said, “You know, I know you pretty well, and so did Brock. And I know you’re the type of person to have very strong convictions, and once you’ve made them they’re not budging. So he probably took that letter as your conviction that it was over for good and you both had to move on."

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Wow.

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As soon as she said it, just as when Kelsey shared her perspective, I could practically hear another puzzle piece click into place. It made so much sense.

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And it got me to thinking: my main concern about B____ - to contact or not to contact, or rather to initiate or not to initiate – had revolved around what was best for him. Because it’s not just my life that would be affected; it would be his, too. And I knew one of the areas God would work on in B____ would be his inability to take a real risk without having some sort of guarantee it would work out. And I felt that once God worked on that, B____ would get to the point of missing me so much he would be willing to bust down the door to get to me. But after talking with Kelsey and Jessica, I started to realize something.

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When I first shared my journey with Mom and Dad in June, I had started thinking about their inevitable question of why didn’t I do something about it if I was convinced of B____. But I also started to consider for the first time the possibility that maybe I would need to make the first move. And now I’m seriously beginning to believe that is indeed the way here. Maybe that particular remodeling project in B____’s heart – the ability to take a risk – would manifest itself in his choice this time to actually respond and give it a real go, even if some questions and risks lingered.

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And I realized something I had not realized before about B____’s nature. While his inclination toward seeing to everyone else’s needs before his own (sometimes to the entire exclusion of his own) has been thrown way out of balance by the nature of his life (like an obsessive-compulsive being asked to clean out your pantry), it is nonetheless an inextricable part of his nature. The nature that God put in him at the start. God had a vision of the man B____ was meant to become when he was knitting him together in his mother’s womb. He didn’t just throw a few elements of human nature together and hope it would turn out. B____ was intentional. And while his care-giving and selfless nature has been thrown out of balance a bit, it was intended all along to be a part of him.

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Which makes it all the more logical that B____ would be the gentlemen he’s always striven to be. It is not his nature to barge into my life if he thought it would just set me back and screw up my life. And taking into account Kelsey’s belief that that letter closed every conceivable opening, and Jess’ thought that B____ would know enough about my own nature to accept non-negotiables as part of the package, it does indeed make sense that he would need an invitation.

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After all, God very rarely smashes in the door of someone’s heart or life. He “stands at the door and knocks.” He is a gentleman; he waits until he is invited. B____ is the same way.

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So the question shifts from, “What should I do?” to “What will I find when I do it?” I may have some preconceived notions of what I’ll find. I may have envisioned B____ just sweeping me up in his arms. I may have an image of him growing with God as I have. I may find him quite unchanged on the outside. It could be that this all has been a time of preparation and at the slightest tap from me, the old shell shatters like blown glass. So I’m not taking my expectations to B____. I’m taking them to God. Because I know what I’ll find there. I know how he is and how sturdily I can count on him. And I know everything will happen as it ought. After all these years of struggling with that declaration, I can finally stand on that.

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You know, last night, I was reading my Bible, just idly flipping through, and landed on a story of King David in 1 Samuel 25 that I had never heard of or encountered myself. When King Saul was pursuing David and his men, David was camped out in the desert. He was near another man’s land and decided to watch over and protect this man’s property, livestock, and servants. Then later, David asked that the man show him some hospitality and was rebuffed. He grew angry and said he had basically wasted his time and his resources and was going to punish the man for this unforgivable offense. Then the man’s wife, Abigail, showed up, just as David said this, and extends her hospitality and loyalty. And David realized all of that investment had been about to be wasted and God stepped in just in time to spare him that regret of waste. And it just struck me: how close I’ve come to throwing in the towel, or at least just going through the motions, compelled but without belief, and all of it would have gone to waste and this glorious life I’m standing for would slip back into the mists. But that’s what’s so great about God. He has his own purposes and he “knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust” (Ps. 103:14). And I’m moved by his compassion that even when we fail, or we’ve done everything and are still waiting to see results, he steps in and makes our efforts worth it, brings them to fruition. He is, indeed, remarkable and completely trustworthy.

Dude. Whoa. - 8-15-10

Hmm. Hmm.

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I went over to Kelsey’s today to plan for her second year of teaching and her first in second grade. I truly believe, just as Delayna made being in a sorority worth it more than a decade after joining, so has Kelsey been the sole reason I was called back to teaching one more year. Those two have been my most fulfilling experiences in their respective settings: sorority and teaching, because of the mentoring they have allowed me to do for them. And I know one of the reasons Kelsey has been moved to second grade is so that some good can come out of all those years of whole-hearted effort, so all the intense attention to detail and planning I put into my work does not go to waste. As I was getting out of my car at her insanely charming house, I thought how my coming over to plan is as much a blessing to me as to her.

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After we planned for several hours, we grilled up dinner and started to talk about things other than teaching. Maybe I had a premonition or maybe this is just the Secret at work, but I so clearly imagined talking to her about B____. And so I did. How lovely she was to talk to. She’s so much older than her years. She had very wise insights and really listened in a way I still struggle to achieve. I ended up telling her everything, from beginning to end as, really, I had never done. Even those who know everything were there when everything happened, so Kelsey is the first person I’ve talked to about it from beginning to end.

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Which brings me to my hmm.

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Ever since I had first shared my journey with Mom and Dad back at the end of June, I had seriously considered the question of what to do, actually do, about B____. I’ve thought, since mid-spring when I began to accept that there was never going to be anyone but B____, about the question of: “If I truly believe B____ is it for me, then why don’t I contact him?”

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Two reasons.

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One, the main one, has always been my concern for him. Ever since I first felt him pull away that June, I’ve basically been the one pursuing him. Even though he was the one to send that first text in July, I was the one putting myself out there, saying I wanted to try again, and when I left it at the end of August because he wasn’t giving himself at all and found through September and October that I still loved him, I was the one to email him and come to him on his terms as a friend, until he left for good with another woman’s name in his mouth. So for most of our relationship except at the glorious beginning, I was pursuing him, and feeling on some level that he was humoring me – that he genuinely liked having me around but also hated to reject me. So I’ve thought all this time that if I yet again made the first move, he would never realize what it means to reach that astounding, devastating place where you want something so bad you’re willing to risk anything. I felt that that is when God’s journey would be at the end of this path: when he could take the risk into the unknown. I’ve had no doubt that this whole time has needed to be a God-and-B____ thing, with no direct interference or distraction from me.

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In talking with Kelsey, though, I came to realize that his nature is not like that. He would never compromise what he would believe is my healthy, moved-on life for his own sake. God can change him for years and B____’s still not going to be comfortable or even aware of how to put his needs first. That’s something he needs a doted-on only child to show him, I think. Kelsey felt that that letter I sent him was airtight: that it shut all windows and doors to B____ and if anything were to happen, he’d need a little “in.” Maybe a big “in.”

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The second reason, far more hidden and insidious, has been the fear of what I’ll find if I reach out to him again. I can shout to the heavens all I want that I believe and declare that he was meant for me, and there’s still going to be a quiver or two at the thought of coming down out of the clouds and actually taking a step of faith on the hard ground of reality. My deepest fear was of finding out he was still with the other woman, or engaged, or worse. Such a horrifying thought kept slipping free from the tethers of pure faith. I could literally feel my heart melt away within me.

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So how interesting that on a whim I was cleaning out my email inbox a few days ago and came across B____’s first Match.com email to my personal email account. I had encountered it by accident a couple of times previously and skimmed right by it with a hard flutter in my belly, but this time, on another whim, I clicked on his profile link, just curious as to what I would find if anything. There was no picture – like he’d taken his profile off, but it said he hadn’t been active within three weeks.

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Within three weeks. Really.

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Hmm. Hmm.

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Now, I don’t know why he stopped with Match this time. Was it because he was just sick of it? I can imagine that of him. Was it because he found someone else? Could it be that I’ve ruined him for anyone else?

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At any rate, it doesn’t seem like my second reason for not initiating contact is viable anymore. And when I saw that a few days ago, I still didn’t think of contacting him. Not until Kelsey gave me her opinion and then helped me write a more direct yet concise note than I would have conceived, did I actually, truly consider that talking with her might be that sign I’ve been asking God for that would show me what to do regarding this decision. Everything Kelsey said seemed grounded in my spirit. I didn’t ever get that sense that she doesn’t quite know what she’s dealing with which would have given me serious reservations about any advice she might have given me.

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So now that note is burning a hole in my hard drive like my resignation letter did once upon a time, and I ponder this in my heart.

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What should I do?

Epiphany - 8-5-10

Epiphany. Like, total epiphany. I mean, you look up the word in the dictionary and you’ll see this entry.

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I actually had it the first week of summer and just hadn’t gotten around to putting pen to paper about it.

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I do not want kids yet.

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And I haven’t changed my mind with my moods.

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I was at Rachel’s house helping her out with her four kids. We watched a movie and just chilled out. It was nice. And her kids really are adorable. Like picture-book adorable. Funny with the twins stealing every flip-flop they could find and Braedon totally absorbed in his DS game, and Savanna settling in my arms and resting her head on my chest as we watched the movie.

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And I somehow left there with the dawning conviction that I absolutely, positively did not want children of my own yet. Rachel’s kids are just normal kids. They’re not demons or completely out-of-control kids. But Rachel still had to constantly redirect them, discipline them, negotiate with them, explain to them, remind them, warn them – oh, my God, it’s what I’ve gone through every frickin’ day of my job for six years! I can’t do it. I just can’t do it. I don’t care that they would be mine and I’d think their poo was precious. It ain’t happening yet.

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Now let me clarify exactly why this is such an earth-shaking revelation for me specifically.

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Every woman I know has said they want children, just not yet. That’s all I heard from every woman who didn’t already have kids: “not yet.” “Someday.” “Down the line.”

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I never understood that.

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See, I’ve never known a time in my life when I didn’t wish I had kids right then. But I was always too young or didn’t have the man yet or wasn’t established in my own life. There was always a reason (or two or three) why I “wasn’t ready.” But I felt ready. So all I’ve known is being held back by life. Like life just couldn’t – or wouldn’t – catch up with me. Never have I really known contentment in my childlessness. I only knew resignation. I knew about the frustrations and fears and stresses and sleeplessness. I just loved and wanted my unborn children more.

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So now, to actually say and believe that I do not want children yet . . . well, I can’t get used to the feel of the words on my tongue. I keep saying it, hearing my voice wrap around the words. I do not want kids yet.

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And that wouldn’t even be so noteworthy, even knowing the background behind the statement, if this newfound conviction wasn’t so passionate. For a long time now, probably two years or more, I haven’t been able to find children cute or charming. When they do cute kid things like holding their jumbo marker in their chubby fist and scrawling out backward letters, or skipping words in their oh-so-adorable baby sentences, or giving you sticky kisses – doesn’t matter. If it’s cute, I turn away. And turn away with an angry disgust. The sheer vehemence with which I instinctively stay away from all children is Exhibit A in the case against teaching for me. It is evidence for how badly scarred I am by this profession.

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This isn’t normal. It isn’t right. And it’s not healthy for me, because I was made to have children. That certainly hasn’t wobbled. My children are still and always will be the reason I have gone through all of this. This life of mine is my legacy for them.

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I just can’t stand to think of them right now in all their helpless grasping and arguing and whining and disobedience. Can’t do it. Sorry.

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My love for children is merely lacerated ribbons of flesh. I am wounded down deep into my soul. I need more healing in this area, by far and away, than in any other area of my life. I need God to restore me, to rebuild me, so I can see a child and soften, so I can smile. And I know with all certainty – no question, no debate – that if I stay in teaching, I will not heal. In fact, every day I am around children at this point is more damage done that will have to be undone. Even committing this job to God as I did last year will only do so much to arrest the gouging, and there will be no healing. I have to get out, and get out now, to begin healing because it’s going to take time. I can’t see having children inside of several years, and I’m already 31. I don’t want to waste any more of my time with my children.

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So this all brings me to the most direct, visceral test of my faith yet, a test I needed this past year to prepare for. I truly believe I need to resign my job as a teacher and trust that Central Corp will take me on “at need.” This goes against EVERY grain I have, and yet I feel so good about it. It feels so right. As soon as I really considered the idea, my heart took flight in the rightness of this unforgivably foolish decision. I’ve kept thinking for the past several months, when Central Corp got stirred back into the mix, that if I stayed until October and then left for the Management Training Program, that would be harder on everyone: my principal scrambling to fill the position mid-year, my teammates who would have to renegotiate the team dynamics with an unknown, my kids who would have just gotten settled into the way I run things, the parents who would have started becoming comfortable with me, and most of all for that poor new teacher who is getting thrown bodily into the deep end. Because it would be a brand new teacher – at that point in the year, every experienced teacher would already be under contract and the bright-eyed young lemmings would be the only ones left to jump off the cliff. And this year is going to be hard enough with even more SOLs and more pressure on the third-grade team for the scores from last year. I can’t imagine how hard that already tremendously difficult year would be if that untried newbie had to hit the ground running. And I wouldn’t be there to mentor him or her like I did last year, and no one else is really good at that.

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So just from that angle, it would be best for the whole school, the third-grade team, and the class of unsuspecting demonspawn if my replacement, bless her ignorant heart, had a fighting chance. And a running start. Even if she didn’t have the common sense to use it to run for the door.

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And for me, I need to get out. Just as Jessica finally bit the bullet and didn’t renew her contract so she could be a free agent for other teaching jobs, I have to do this for my own health. Because my perspective on all children, including my own, is far from healthy.

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And one thing I have learned from this past year is that God is worthy of complete trust. Not provisional, not conditional, not occasional. Complete. And as John Eldredge says, “In the past year or so I’ve made a number of decisions that make no sense unless there is a God and I am his friend.”

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An email I received a couple of days ago seemed to foreshadow this idea: “If someone wants ‘A’ to happen, yet they prepare for ‘B,’ they will always get ‘B.’ Prepare for ‘A.’”

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That is exactly this situation. As long as I’m holding on to this job I abhor with every fiber of my being, when I know it’s not God’s will for me, simply because it’s “safe, then what I’m really saying is, “God I don’t really think you’ll make Central Corp happen. I don’t really think you can take care of me unless I’m taking care of myself first.”

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Central Corp is what I want. I have persisted for two years, longer than I’ve persisted with anything except this cursed job. And I believe God will meet me at the crucible of my faith. I won’t see him do amazing things until my actions correspond with my enormous belief. This is not coming out of some foolish, rebellious, prodigal-son short-sightedness. I have always been sensible. Never in my life have I ever even casually entertained the notion of leaving a job unless I already had another one lined up. That’s just foolishness. But isn’t there that funny paradox that the world’s wisdom can be foolish in God’s eyes, and foolishness in the eyes of the world can be the direct command of God? Look at Abraham. He was called out of Ur, the only place he had ever known, to a land he had never been – the wilderness – based on a promise and his belief in that promise. Do you think he had a lot of people slapping him on the back, saying, “Atta boy, Abram!”? Uh, no.

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I know that I know that I know that I can’t be in a classroom one more day. I also know that I know that I know that God is my friend and is waiting to show off in an impossible situation. And I know that I know that I know that this act is an “act prompted by faith” (2 Thessalonians 1:11), not an off-shoot of immaturity and folly.

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It’s what I need to do, and I’m ready to leap into the chasm of God’s blessings head-first and blind-folded. The time for my freedom is at hand!