The end of today

Rarely do I stay up or out late, and tonight's no different.  I'm late already. 

I made it through.  I fell apart several times only to have a friend call or text or post on facebook an encouragement.  Always exactly what I needed to hear.  Reassurance.  Love.  Admiration.  Things I don't ask for and don't know are there but that my dear friends are abundant with during difficult times.

Once out of the hospital parking garage, I called William.  I knew he'd answer, and always with a compliment that under normal circumstances would put a smile on my face.  "Hello!  How is my dear lady today."  That recognition that it's me.  No sense in wasting time with anything else other than our need to talk.

I managed to get a handful of words out before I began to cry to him, and I couldn't have asked for more support.  He knows.  He knows the struggles first hand.  I've cried to him before.  I've laughed with him before.  I admire him and the dedication that he's grown for me and for my children.  Without being told, he knows my need to be complimented.  He knows when I need support.  He knows when I need to bitch.  He knows when I need to be told what verse in the Bible to go to for comfort. 

And he crowned me today.  With his words.  With his support.  Understanding.  And fearlessness at my vulnerability.  Where in the hell are the men in this world who are men?  Things get dicey or out of their comfort zone and they're automatically putting up walls in places where none existed and where none were needed. 

I'm a strong woman, and I've seen sides of hell that most people have never and will never see.  I've seen them in my own life, in the lives of children, and in the lives of loved ones.  I have the ability to connect with those I don't know who are living in sordid conditions.  And I can do all of that without backing up, without getting scared, without slamming on the brakes. 

But sometimes, I need a man to man up.  William did for me today.  We talked less than five minutes, and I could tell he was in the middle of something, but my calls go straight through to be dealt with immediately by him.  I don't have to wait.  I don't have to translate.  He just knows.  And even though I knew he didn't have an hour to talk, and I didn't want to talk an hour, he gave me just the amount of time I needed. 

And then checked on me again tonight.  It's Friday night.  He's got plenty to do much of which I'm not aware and don't want or need to know.  But he took the time to do what he said he would do. 

That's a real man.  And to be cared for like that by a man like that is romantic to me.  It's not about sex.  It's about knowing how to meet a woman's needs without blinking an eye.  Without fear. Without hesitation. 

I love him.  I haven't told him, but he knows it, and I know he loves me right back.  Is it life changing love?  No.  Is it relationship changing love?  No.  Is it a facet of what I need and what many people in the world need and can't get out of their damn black or white boxes to get?  Yes.

There is so much gray in the world.  And it is in the gray that we find the true things our hearts need.  The black and white gets too complicated.  Too committal.  Too tied down. 

Gray. 

I have green eyes, a very unusual characteristic, and green is my favorite color.  But it's the gray in life that helps to save us from drowning in the muck. 

William. When we met, who would have known? 

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

 

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us;
It's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we're liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

 

By Marianne Williamson (often mistakenly cited as a Nelson Mandela poem)

Trying to Leave Things Behind

August 5, 2013

 

1:53 pm

 

At the mountain house….

 

Well, I’m seven minutes away from the time I planned to leave.  Even set an alarm.  Woke up before it (8:30) and I’ve got another good hour before I’ll be on the road.  Probably not a problem, but not what I had planned. 

 

I just had to turn the fans on for the first time since I was here.  AND hike up my skirt while I stood in front of the largest one.  Dear Jesus.  Part of the deal (or it should be) is that you clean up behind yourself.  With my mild (and I mean MILD) OCD tendencies, I HAD to not just hit the high spots. 

 

The entire time I was here, I had “sugar on my feet”.  Supposedly, that was what I told my Aunt Ruth when I was three years old and was visiting at her house.  Rural Georgia.  Dirt roads.  Country.  Dirt yard.  All to equal dirt on the floor. 

 

But I had lived with my mother.  And I had rarely felt “sugar on my feet”.

 

The “sugar” was sand from the yard.

 

Although that is a story that I’ve been told, not a memory that I have, I still don’t like the feeling.  I know why.  I know where the utter distaste for grit has come from.  And 44 years later, there’s still a neural pathway in my brain that reacts to sand, grit, whatever on my feet and elsewhere.

 

I have to quit a minute to go check on the damn bird food I’m cooking. <sigh>

 

I’m back.  It did not occur to me that it would take a freaking hour for a pot of water with some sugar in it to boil.  I CAREFULLY put the sugar in (none on the floor).  And made sure I was making enough to fill up the bottle in the frig for its purpose (a note on it would be nice, but I can figure things out).  And be damned if I haven’t been cooking for birds FOR-EV-ER. 

 

Why didn’t I do this last night?  I don’t know.  Because now it has to cool before it goes back in the refrigerator.  Be damned if I’m not going to be here….  Wait.  My IQ just kicked in.  I’ll put it in the jug and put the jug on the carpet in front of a fan.  That will cool it more quickly.  IQ.  Common sense.  Who knows?  Getting by and getting home is what I call it.

 

And a funnel.  There are more things in need of funneling here, and there’s no funnel to be found.  Food has to be put into hummingbird feeders (my current recipe).  The recipe has to be put into a jug.  I’ve found the blender and will use it to pour.  But there is a clear need for a funnel.

 

So back to the sugar on the floor.  We were the last ones here.  My oldest son cleaned and cleaned.  I had everyone cleaning at one point.  And I’m as neat as a pin.  So whence cometh the sugar? 

 

I swept the laundry room and kitchen.  I swept the great room and hallway.  I took rugs out and knocked the dust and dirt out of them.  Then, I got out the Swiffer that we’d bought for the cabin just last week.  “Leave it better than you found it” is one of the “rules,” so we bought the house quite a few things that probably won’t be noticed.  One was a Swiffer.  Dry pads and wet pads.  And the wet pad package we bought had two pads left.  That means my son used TEN last week.  Two was all I needed, though.  One in the laundry and kitchen.  One in the bathroom. 

 

Oh my God.  I'll post the pictures later when it's easier to do.  Not from a wifi but from home.

 

Now prior to this time my mild OCD had me not just cleaning up behind myself… (gotta go check the stove)…

 

What a hot mess.  For future reference, blenders are not good for pouring.  Some of the hot sugar water ended up on my hand.  So, I resorted to the coffee pot which worked perfectly.   Except that I’ve already washed it.  Now, I have a pot, a blender, and a coffee pot to wash PLUS the countertop and sink to clean.  AGAIN.

 

Anyway, when I cleaned the bathroom, I CLEANED the bathroom.  Like a woman cleans a bathroom.  My “leaving it better than you found it” even involved cleaning the inside of the shower.  Naked.  Indeed, some men probably would have paid good money to have seen that, but it needed to be done, and I couldn’t stand to leave it that way.  Peace and paradise must be clean.

 

The hummingbird food is cooling as we speak.  Damn.  I’m going to have to drive like a bat out of hell to get home when I wanted to. 

 

Anyway, I took pictures, mainly to show my son, of the last two Swiffer wet pads that I used.  Now, I’ve been here four nights.   I’ve gone out ONE time.  I am NOT responsible for what I saw when I looked at those pads. 

 

So, now, the cabin is out of sugar.  In great need of a funnel.  And I had hoped to have extra time to drive in to Spruce Vegas (thanks to my college friend for the rename) to the Walmart in hopes that those country folks aren’t attracted to the same color of lipstick that I use (since it seems to be in short supply in Columbia).  Hottie.  That’s my color.  And I’m in short supply.  And I still have to clean up the kitchen AGAIN.  Make the bed (sheets are in a dryer that is afraid to get too hot and therefore takes FOR-EV-ER).  And drag my stuff back down the stairs.  Along with closing up the windows.  Taking out the trash. Turning off the water (ewwww, in a scary place downstairs) and locking up.  That should do it.  Then, me and my newly rediscovered self will head home.

 

Spruce Vegas Walmart will require a trip BACK into this place to drop off what is needed.  Jesus.  Why am I like I am?  I can’t leave it without what it needs!

 

And I broke a wine glass.  I wasn’t planning to buy that from Walmart, but perhaps it would keep me from having to do it elsewhere and having delivered to the owner’s office.  Back where I’m from.

 

I’ve finally quit glowing (I don’t sweat).  I need to fix my hair. Possibly wash dishes again beforehand.  With paper towels so there is nothing left to wash. 

 

And it’s 2:49.  And I just learned something new:  my curling iron cuts off by itself.  Went to fix my hair so that when my husband and I discussed how we were going to “revive” our marriage I’d look like a sex pot (hell, why not), and the curling iron is cold.

 

But the hummingbird food is not.  NOT cold.  NOT cool.  NOT anything anywhere close to anything but still hot. 

 

Damn.

 

Okay, so real-life confessions here:  I haven’t washed a dish, a piece of clothing (to include linens), wiped a countertop, cleaned a bathroom, swept a floor, run a vacuum, or made up a bed in…I don’t know how long.  I seriously don’t remember.  I’ve only been able to keep myself together.  No way could I do anything else.  Am I spoiled?  Hardly.  I’m privileged.  I’m blessed.  I’ve been sick, and the world has gone on around me, and I’ve had to let it. 

 

Curling iron should be ready for me.  Note to self:  Google “how to store hummingbird food”.  

 

3:26:  Sex pot hair.  Check.  Dishes washed.  Check.  Bed made.  Check.  Towels folded.  Check.  Almost all windows closed.  Most of my things in the car. 

 

Damn.  Guest book.  And the valium makes my hands shake. 

 

And the good news is the hot hummingbird food.  Genius IQ comes in handy:  I put it in an ice bath in the sink.  It’s cooling now. 

 

Conundrum:  Spruce Vegas Walmart or not?

 

3:33:  Cleared that up.  Nope.  No need.  Called the office assistant, who is apparently my new contact, and left a list with her.  Forgot to mention the wine glass. 

 

Told her to tell the owner thanks.  Heard it in her voice.  She knows.  She knows my error.  She knows my….  Well, she knows what she knows, and what she likely doesn’t know is that I am just not like that.  That’s not me.  It’s me, indeed, because it came out of me.  But it’s only me because of the damage done to me.  Damage that I always control.  Except for this time.

 

Damn.  Damn it all to hell.  Because that’s where it came from.  And that’s where it belongs.

 

I’m going home to try to fix my broken marriage.  And to try to keep it fixed amongst my broken children.  God help me.  God help us.   

 

As for my broken friendship, I’ve done my part.  And I can’t fix everything.  And be damned if a delivery of wine glasses to the office, even by someone other than me (it would HAVE to be someone other than me) would probably be misinterpreted. 

 

So, I’ll just have to owe this place a wine glass.  I hate that, but I guess the lesson learned for me is that not everything that is broken gets replaced by the person who broke it.  I was broken and left that way.  I had to fix myself.  And to be honest, I’ve done a damn good job considering the circumstances.

 

Post.  Then home.  Home sweet home.  Going to make it that way with a man who worships the ground I walk on (minus a few incidences).  The man who thought I was beautiful even when I was fat.  The father of my children.  The man who has loved me through so much.  Now, I’ve got to love him back again.  And try to put away this brokenness that keeps me from fully investing in a relationship that is 17 years old.

 

God, please help me. Can’t do it alone.

So this was the product:

This was the result of the kitchen.

 

This was the result of the bath!  Ugh!

Enemy's Schemes, Where I Am Today, Who God Has Made Me, Encouragement, Ashton, My Faults, Ed, Mountain House, Prayers

Sunday, August 4, 2013

 

12:15 pm

 

Disclaimer from the author:  I write under a long-ago created pen name that has no connection to anyone I know.  It is a name under which the “real” me could never be discovered.  And I write to save my very soul.  This is raw.  This is me.  This is the kind of honestly that one could never get from conversation with me.  This is my vulnerability spelled out, word for word, and at times, it’s still surface-level vulnerability.  If I’ve led you here to read this, I either know or pray that you would spend the time to fully understand what I’m writing.  And to ask me questions if you don’t.  And to know that there is so much more but there are only so many hours in a day…

 

--from Arm Yourself Against the Enemy’s Schemes by Beth Moore:

 

“Beloved, your feelings of hopelessness and helplessness come straight from the enemy.  They are lies.  Surrender yourself to God, withholding nothing, and ask Him to do what seems impossible.  Humble yourself and receive the help He will send as you seek it.  He who called you is faithful, and He will do it.  (See 1 Thess 5:24)

 

“Everyone described a mental bombardment.  Excessive thinking is a clear sign of a fierce demonic stronghold.”

 

“So why does God allow someone with wholehearted devotion to Christ to get caught in the snare of demonic seduction?  Because, not unlike Peter’s case, something in our lives needs removing, sifting, or changing that an intense encounter with the kingdom of hell would best accomplish.  ….it is congruent with Scripture.” 

 

“Beloved, are you being sifted?  Has God permitted the enemy to launch a full scale attack against you?  God knows what He’s doing.  He isn’t looking the other way or being mean. Maybe this is the only way He can get you to attend to the old so He can do something new.  Grab onto Him for dear life!  Give Him full reign to remove in you anything that needs to go.”

 

“And, finally, remember that the Lord is always in charge.  You will never face a storm in which He is not willing to help you.  Be encouraged and sift, Beloved, sift!” 

 

“Beloved, you cannot get through the restoration process wholly on your own. You need members of the body of Christ.  Our brothers and sisters in the Lord are partially responsible for our restoration to Him.  Their job is to fervently lift us up in prayer that we might find healing, freedom, strength, and the determination to develop hearts and minds dedicated to living under the guard of God’s Word.”

 

WHERE I AM TODAY

 

I’m so blessed to still be in this mountain house TODAY -  this morning (afternoon already).  The wind is blowing, and it’s the first day there’s been a steady breeze since I arrived.  The occasional sound of chimes ring through my soul.  I feel a sense of my mother here today.  She would have loved this.  Getting up the stairs to where I am would have been nearly impossible for her, but she would have done it, and she would, like me, not want to leave.  Unlike me, she would worry about home and getting back there.  I thought I’d not gained her immense sense of worry, but it did finally jump on me. 

 

But it’s worry that is unnecessary.  It’s scriptural that all worry is unnecessary.

 

I’m ready to get back on track with the roles God has given me.  Wife.  Mother.  Friend.  Teacher.  I’ve spent countless days and nights in the past year or so isolated.  Literally under the covers in my bed.  When I wasn’t there, I was awake in the middle of the night battling insomnia.  But mostly under the covers, blanket over my head, for days on end.  Life going on around me.  Kids and husband bringing me food occasionally to the bed.  Me, who previously could not even nap, sleeping endlessly to escape the pain.  Literally shrinking and becoming someone unrecognizable from who I previously was (one positive in the middle of all the negative).

 

And when I could not sleep, taking Xanax so that I could.  Escape.  Running in place.  Not reading.  Not communicating.  Doing nothing but thinking, even in my sleep. 

 

The breeze today is intoxicating.  Like it’s blowing away all the things that need to be blown away.  Like standing at the bow of the Titanic, arms outstretched, regaining my power. 

 

WHO GOD HAS MADE ME

 

I AM powerful.  I AM strong.  I AM a survivor.  I AM brilliant.  I AM attractive.  I AM engaging.  I AM valuable.  I AM meant to be on this earth at this moment.  I AM NOT meant to leave this earth by my own means.  

 

I have been a wonderful mother and though I have stumbled, I AM working to get back to where I need to be.

 

I AM a wife and though I have stumbled, I am where God wants me to be, and I AM working to get my heart steadied and committed. 

 

I AM a gifted and teacher talented like few, and I will survive another year giving all I have to my students while ignoring the flack and fluff of the adults around me.  I will have my eighth year of “healing” one of my students.  I will have yet another student test from being intellectually disabled to having a typical IQ.  I’ve done it seven years in a row, and I’ll do it again. 

 

I WILL love and encourage the mute to talk.  I will support and love those children who think they cannot do.  I will create an environment where school is inviting, relaxing, fun, and where children are motivated to learn.  Where they find the intrinsic value in hard and steady work.   Where they don’t say or feel defeat unless it is momentary.  I am gifted at my work, and I was created to do what I do.  God will handle the obstacles to that.  He will not allow me to be hindered.

 

I will continue to shine light where it needs to be shown.  For in the dark, there is isolation, fear, and the things that should not go on continue.  Light exposes all things.  Makes all things seen.  I will shine that light fearlessly.  I will not ignore or give up on those causes that have been put in my path.  God put them there because he made my heart. He made it to understand and feel for the disenfranchised.  He made it to believe that I can heal the sick.  He made it to believe that I have the power to make a difference like no one else can.  He made me to be sensitive to the civil rights of others.  He made me to be an expert in my area.  I am standing back up.  Straightening myself and holding my head high.  And I will do right when no one else will.  I will do right when others are fearful to do so. 

 

ENCOURAGEMENT

 

“Don’t let someone dim your light just because it’s shining in their eyes.”  The world does not gain when I shrink.  The world gains when I know my worth.  When I know the value of my abilities.  When I do the right thing no matter the cost. 

 

“After a while, I looked in the mirror and realized….  Wow, after all those hurts scars, and bruises.  After all of those trials, I really made it through.  I did it.  I survived that which was supposed to kill me.  So I straightened my crown… and walked away like a boss.”

 

“The real challenge is not to survive.  Hell, anyone can do that.  It’s to survive as yourself, undiminished.”  -- Elia Kazan

 

ASHTON

 

I am extraordinary.  I AM extraordinary.  I AM EXTRAORDINARY.  Ashton has told that me at least 50 times.  I believed that HE believed that.  I could logically look at my accomplishments as compared to my defeats and see that he would find me to be extraordinary.  The missing factor was that I did not feel extraordinary myself.  Ashton felt it and I appreciated what I felt was an exceptional compliment.  The key is that I have to accept my own power, my own extraordinary-ness.   Otherwise, his words to me are compliments that wash over me and hold me together until the next time I see him. 

 

He has held me together for some time now.  Tuesdays have been a gift, a blessing to me.  I would not have made it without my time with him.  His generosity, his strength, his absolute belief in what he says to me, his enjoyment of me, and his willingness to tell me all that he sees in me and believes has been glue that has held me together.  His fearlessness when my mind tried to sexualize his commitment to me, and his willingness to forgive and move on without making me feel so much as a bump in the road from him – I could not ask for more.  What a dear friend he is.  Indeed, I pay him, but I know that when the time comes (should it ever) that he retires, he is still going to be there for me.  He is still going to be a rock, a part of my foundation.  And even when he’s gone, the thought of which kills me even now, his gifts to me will not leave with him.  I will hold them forever and remember him forever and know that I would not be who I am -- I would possibly not even be here today were it not for him. 

 

I remember the very moment when he asked me who told me that I was extraordinary.  I stared at him speechless.  I was 46 years old.  He pressed on asking who in my past life, in my childhood, could he talk to who would tell me the moment that I realized what I was.  And I remained speechless with tears in my eyes. 

 

I was told that I was extraordinary for the first time in my life by him at that very moment.  Before that, I did not know.  I was unaware.  I thought myself to be so very different from everyone I knew – that others knew a “secret” to life that I had failed to learn.  As my mother said, and Ashton loves to remind me of this, “Don’t forget that you’re not like those other people.”  She meant it to keep me down, in my place.  She did not know that it was a prophetic statement.

 

MY FAULTS

 

I have stumbling blocks that I have to either move or learn to step over.  I have to learn not to sexualize attention from all males.  Mainly, I have to learn to discern which men ARE intending and desiring that “sexualization” (I just made up a word) and which are not.   I’ve messed up some potentially good relationships with that behavior.  God, I hate that I do that.  Damn the past and the circumstances that brought me to behave in that way.  Damn them.  I didn’t deserve them.  I didn’t ask for them.  I was not responsible for them.  And I will be able to grind my foot in the face of the devil himself when I get to heaven because of all that I suffered.  I faced the devil himself regularly as a child from as early as I can remember.  While those who should have known did what was best for them and not for me. 

 

My responsibility now, though, is to let go of that and to not allow it to seep into my current life.  Although it was so long ago, it lives subliminally in my brain (thanks, Lenard Mlodinow).  I’ve never let it go.  It is a filter through which everything passes.  I don’t know how to let it go.  I don’t know IF I can let it go.  One thing I can do is realize it is there and that it is false and destructive and I have to fight against it.

 

God did bring good from my situation (Genesis 50:20). Several people did what was best for them and let me suffer at the hands of the devil himself.  From that, an extraordinary part of me was created.  The me that does right no matter the cost.  The me that puts children first.  The me that advocates for the best and the rights for children.  The me that adopted six children.  Six broken children who, like me, can turn their brokenness into a gift to this world.

 

I just need the strength to get them to that place.

 

ED

 

I am concerned about a recent relationship that I sexualized.  I did it subliminally, unintentionally, but it does not lessen my responsibility.  It does not lessen my guilt.  I’ve apologized, but I have not had word directly from Ed that he’s accepted my apology.  At least that’s what I’m feeling.  I’m left to talk to Christy, his office assistant.  She’s precious, sweet, and I so pray for my own embarrassment level that she doesn’t know what has happened.  Or if she does, that she understands.

 

But I mostly pray for Ed to understand me, forgive me, and to trust me again.  Without reservation.  And to let me know that he does.

 

My phone tallies texts up to 400.  As comparisons, I’ve texted 400 times with Rex, Marlee, Elizabeth, and Robert.  Amy is 318.  Tasha is 339.  Jo is 63.  Ashton, 331.  Danni, 230.  Holley, 196.  Amanda, 175. 

 

I’ve texted with Ed 214 times between July 21 and yesterday.  Two weeks.  I took comments from him such as, (1) “I’m a night owl” and (2) “I have enjoyed our conversation.  As Leonard Cohen’s song goes, “when it’s broken, it’s how the light gets in”!” 

 

As I looked up Leonard Cohen on You Tube, his songs were … sexual in nature in many ways.  Was I being led to view things through that lens?  Was I being encouraged to do so?  The song, “Secret Life” had me entranced.  It was what I was seeking.  Being in a situation that, to get out of, would cause more damage to damaged children is something that does not fit within me – within who I am.  But, late at night, to hear those words and see those songs – I wanted that. 

 

Also, (3) “Sometime I will have to tell you about my life’s journey and would like to hear yours?”  (4) And, “Got to go to bed early.  Well, we accomplished a lot.”  “I am so tired.  Hope to see you tomorrow.”  He hoped to see me. Really?  He hoped to see me.  I hoped to see him as well.

 

However, there’s also, “I can’t do that this weekend, already have concrete plans.  But in Columbia, it doesn’t have to be a date!  (5) We can just relax and I am (sic) still be the same person.  To be honest with you, I don’t think I would need to put myself in that vulnerable situation even if I could.  (6) However, I can be here for you being there any way I can.”

 

The  most honest and wise comment of all, “Vulnerable to me means you get so emotionally engaged and then you have to come back and deal with reality and sometimes that does not help of salvage reality.”  That is one of the truest statements I’ve heard recently.  But I missed it, or dismissed it, because I was viewing through my dysfunctional lens. 

 

“You need all the right support you can get especially with all I hear about your situation – husband and 5 children?  (7) And I want to be the right support for you to move to another place whatever you visualize that place to be?”

 

And then the offer to rearrange his schedule to have lunch with me. That was (8).  And out of order was a wonderful 35 minute phone call when I HATE to talk on the phone. (9)  And the offer for me to come by the office before coming to the cabin to pick up CDs including Leonard Cohen’s. (10)

 

Ten concrete things that I described as an “undeniable connection”.  God sent me a gift in a person like Ed, and there WAS an undeniable connection.  But it was not a sexual one.  And he was wise enough and generous enough not to take advantage of my vulnerability.

 

So, I sit here at HIS cabin.  I’ve written for more than two hours now.  I’m a writer, and I’ve lost the ability to write, but I’ve regained it here.  It’s a part of how my soul works.  It’s how I figure things out.  It’s how I figure myself out.  It is my only … (oh, the breeze is absolutely heavenly)…it is my organized way of working things through my brain and making sense of them. 

 

I haven’t written since shortly after finding out about Nicholas.  What a gift it is to be able to do it again.

 

I am fearful that in not moving that DAMN lens that clouds my view I have lost a valuable friend. I’ve likely scared Ed away.  When I go back to look at the 1 – 10 that I noted above, there’s absolutely nothing sexual in those actions – in those words.  There’s openness.  There’s connection.  There’s a recognition that I am hurting and in need of nurturing.  There’s evidence of a heart that wants to help others.  There’s generosity.  There’s evidence of the soul of a man who is a genuinely good person.  There is evidence that my company and my conversation is enjoyable.  There is evidence of someone who would not take advantage of me.

 

Why would I screw that up when that is what I want?  When that is what I need?  When Ed could be a valuable and dear friend to me and me to him?  I have so much to offer as does he.  We share a common bailiwick, and we could make some positive change in the world while we both maintain our current relationships with our “significant others”. 

 

Dammit!  How do I fix that?  What do I do to convince him that I “get it”?  And I was wrong.  And to convince him that in his generosity and desire to “help” me, he saw firsthand one of my vulnerabilities that is clearly in need of being extinguished. 

 

In his generosity, I get another day here at this cabin.  I cannot even describe what a gift that is.  How much I needed today.  How much I’ve needed the past few days to process through some issues that have locked me up.  That have tried to squelch me. 

 

WORK I’VE DONE WHILE AT THE MOUNTAIN HOUSE

 

In the past few days, in my mind, I’ve gone back to my house in Nashville on Setliff Place.  Where I lived alone.  Where I was on my own schedule.  Where I nested and healed and recovered.  Makes me want to redecorate parts of this house.  Rearrange the furniture at least.  And that’s a joke which may not come across in print.

 

I used one of the past few nights to get drunk.  Brought an excellent bottle of cabernet with me that has been waiting on me in my pantry at home.  And I’m a happy drunk.  And I was walking on my tiptoes through the house, playing Diana Krall on the stereo loudly, feeling like the woman that I am.  Beautiful.  Brilliant.  Fun.  Engaging.  Sultry. 

 

Several days later, I feel those things without the alcohol.  I’ve discovered those traits that Ashton has been feeding me.  I don’t need the alcohol to go there.  And some of those traits are reserved for my husband.

 

I’ve texted Rex about staying this extra day.  He generously understood that I needed to.  I told him I want to go to dinner tomorrow night and talk about getting our relationship back on track.  Marlee will keep the kids at her house. 

 

I’ve been convinced for some time now, at least a year, that he was not the man I was meant to be with.  We’ve been together for 17 years.  Our anniversary is September 28.  We met and were engaged in less than three weeks.  Married in 2 ½ months.  And are the parents of six children who need both of us at our best to get them through their trauma. 

 

I don’t know that he’s the man I was meant to be with.  I sometimes feel as though I was meant to be alone.  But, I’m going to try to revive this relationship.  For the sake of 17 years and six children.  If it’s not possible, Ashton assures me we’ll work it out where everyone will be okay.  I don’t want to heap another trauma on top of the stack my children already have endured.  So what I have to decide is whether or not the trauma is in our inability to be in a relationship where we are married and living together but doing it anyway.  Or if it’s in separating and working it out somehow.  I haven’t given it everything I have to try to revive it, and at the least, it deserves that from me.  If my all can’t fix it, we’ll work it out.

 

MY PRAYERS, HOPES, AND WISHES

 

Two and ¾ hours have passed since I began writing.  It’s time to rest my mind and turn it toward my “to do” list.  But I have some wishes and hopes that I have to write.  That I have to pray.

 

I pray that Ed can somehow forgive me in spite of my brokenness.  That he can trust me in spite of it and be who he said he could be to me.  And I pray that somehow he lets me know that so my spirit can rest.

 

I pray that my marriage can be restored.  I am tired and do not want to do that which I never planned to do.

 

I pray that the strength and peace I’ve gained in this mountain house in these few days remains with me once I return home.

 

I pray that my children, dear God, would become easier to live with.

 

I pray that I can shut out the negative from the world and surround myself with my children and my students and be who God meant me to be.

 

I pray that light is shown in the darkness, and that those things that should be revealed are revealed for the sake of the safety of my children and others.

 

I pray that this damn lens that trips me up will shatter. 

 

I pray that my to do list shortens tremendously.

 

I pray that Ed allows me to come to this mountain house again.  Right this minute, I don’t think my life will be as rich or as healthy if I can’t. 

 

I pray that I win the lottery (note to self:  play the lottery) and Ed would SELL this house to me.

 

I pray for internet connectivity in this house.  Lasting internet connectivity.

 

I pray that Ashton lives to be 100.

 

I pray that the hatchet that I can see on the ground outside the bathroom window here at this house does not become a real life nightmare before I leave.  (What IS a hatchet doing lying outside anyway?)

 

I pray that the hair that was in my food last night at the Chalet Restaurant at The Little Switzerland Inn was my own.

 

I pray that my “Handy Randy” gets the French doors installed as soon as possible so I can move Rex out of MY office and have the space back to myself.  (And I pray for forgiveness for my selfishness.)

 

I pray that I can find an inexpensive landscaper to do some minor work in the yard to make Rex’s life easier. 

 

I pray that Rex gets the job with the pay raise that would allow us to install an in-ground pool.  (Oh, dear God, please, for the sake of family peace and activity and for Rex’s self-esteem.)

 

I pray for Robert, Amy, Amanda, Jo, Jeff, Tasha, Marlee, Mitch, Ed, Linda, Ashton, Danni, William, Elizabeth, Diane, Betsey, Holley, Randy, Audra, Calandra, John, Rick, and all the people in my life who keep me and my family afloat and who make my life richer.

 

I pray that my extended family is restored and will accept our children as they are.  That they will want to spend time with them.  That they will not try to sow isolation between me and my father.  And that my father would see their schemes for what they are.  And that our relationship would restored as it was.

 

I pray that somehow I can accept that my father has taken up with the… with Paula.  And to learn to tolerate Paula better than I do.  And that if possible, Paula could find a boyfriend her age and be less of a constant figure in my father’s life.

 

I pray that my son does not tweet ever again and that no one shows up at our house for the free sex that he offered.  And that I can get the SSI application filled out for Matt.  And that we can get him to be more independent.

 

I pray that my daughter will stop her need to control adults (her lens from the past) and be happy, peaceful, and successful.

 

I pray that my son will be closer to normal when he comes out of the hospital.

 

I pray that my son will overcome his PTSD from his assaults and realize his abilities and not be afraid to try to succeed.

 

I pray that my son will manage his stress and his outbursts and will have peace and success.

 

I pray that my daughter will realize her intelligence, her Duke Tip Scholar-ness, and become whatever God intends for her to be.  Because I know he has great plans for her and all of my children.

 

And at 3:14, I’m going to get out of my nightgown and into my clothes.  And start my day. 

 

Thank you for this day.  In no order, God, Ed, Marlee, Rex, Ashton, Christy  --  all those who made this day alone possible for me.