Reflections on Divorce

My brother-in-law and sister-in-law have separated. He moved into a little corporate apartment. He's just not happy. Doesn't know if he ever loved her. Even thought they have five amazing sons, and 21 years of memories. He just doesn't know.

And I sit here in my much smaller house, with my much smaller bank account than theirs. My kids are romping in the living room, sporting Australian accents while my husband vacuums. Our house is a mess. We are in debt. And I am lucky.

Divorce makes me nauseous. My parents divorced when I was 2. I don't remember them together, except a few fleeting memories of a phone ringing above my head while I sat in my high chair watching them prepare dinner. I remember running and jumping into their bed one morning. I remember I was wearing a night gown. I remember my feet slapping the hard wood floors. And that's it.

I do remember a lot afterward. Things that seemed normal at the time. They were just my life. I knew no different.

First of all, I was loved greatly.  I saw both of my parents on a timely schedule. My parents never fought in front of me or discussed their relationship with me while I was small.

I also remember many things that, as I've grown older and had my own children, shake me.

I remember banging on my mom's boyfriends bedroom door in the middle of the night because I was afraid of sleeping on his couch again.

I remember when I was about 4, Dad took me to the lake with a woman  with beaded hair who looked like Bo Derrick. I had to swim in my underwear because he didn't think to bring a bathing suit. I remember hating having to spend my weekend with her and purposely picking my nose on the drive home to embarrass him.

I remember another girlfriend sunbathing nude on the back porch of his condo. My dad was uncomfortable. I knew it. But he said nothing.

I remember crying as my mom drove away from Dad's condo because I knew he would be so lonely without me until our next weekend together.

I remember him taking me to the dollhouse store to buy me a dollhouse. I spent hours there, looking at dollhouses, dolls and miniature furniture. He spent lots of time talking to the pretty lady that owned the shop. He bought me the dollhouse. I never really knew what to do with the family of four. Mother, Father, Daughter and Son. I would put the brother away and then alternate between Daughter & Mother or Daughter & Father. I thought that was fair.

I remember letting both my mom's boyfriend and my dad's girlfriend into my life with childlike innocence. Loving them with a little 4 year old heart. And then one day they just didn't come back anymore. One of them had given me a dog. I loved that dog.

They were all good people. Trying to live life. Trying out relationships like various shoes. Except that I was tagging along.

I remember going to my friends' houses with 'whole families'. They were big and loud and messy. They shared rooms and had more than two chairs around their dinner tables. They wore hand-me-downs and squished together in the backseats of cars. The mom and dad held hands.

I remember my friend Amber's dad was a janitor. I thought it was sad that her dad was a janitor. Until I went one night we had a sleep-over and we went to pick him up in their one family car, her two sisters sitting on either side of me.  He walked out of the huge glassy office building in his washed-out blue coveralls to 4 huge hugs and squeals of "Daddy!!". He tossled my hair and took us all out for cheap Mexican food. I decided that Amber had the most wonderful family I'd ever seen.

I remember believing with wholehearted, childlike faith that they divorced because they didn't like me. I was logical... they were married for 10 years, had me, and then divorced two years later. I later learned that the majority of children of divorce think that the break up of their parents' marriage was their fault.

So, now, years later I am an adult. I am a good person. I have achieved what I wanted to achieve. I am married to a man who will stay by my side forever. I adore him. I have my big, loud and messy family. We hold hands. I am happy.

Yet, I know. I KNOW that I would be a completely different person if my parents had not divorced. I don't know who that person would be, what she would look like, or if I'd even like her. I know she'd be different. Because no child goes through the break up of a family unaffected. No child. Divorce tears a child's life apart. The pieces can fall back together nicely, even neatly and 'successfully', but never the same.

And so, today I will chat on the phone to my sister-in-law. I will pray for my brother-in-law and write him a letter. And I will try not to scream "NOOOO!!!" and the top of my voice. I will try not to overreact. I will try not to shake him and plead, "Do you know what you are doing to these boys you love so much? Do you really think that they will pass through this unscathed?"

Because, I can tell you. They won't.

They Overflow

It is the small things that sometimes make me stop and watch. Things that most of those who grew up in a typical, healthy family would not notice as beautiful. Maybe they do. I hope they do.

Today, I saw my two little girls heads. They match. Their hair. The color. The highlights, the lowlights, the way it swings this way and that.

Their feet. The color of the bottoms of their feet. The way their nails grow on their toes.

The way they sit so close to each other. If I sat that close to someone at a gathering I'd be imposing on someone's personal space. But these two, they share their space. They are almost sitting on top of each other.

My older two, they're just stretched out, darker versions of the little ones. The little ones will someday have their darker blue eyes. Their hair will be one shade darker as well. Their voices already copy the older ones'. The way they say something emphatically. The way they lecture each other. The way they express their joy.

They overflow.

I know they are individuals. No need for a reminder. Their uniqueness is very clear. And just as mystifying. I guess when I had children, and not having siblings of my own, I assumed that they would all be various versions of each other. The same temperament. Similar desires. A relatively equal level of social comfort. No.

They are as different as the four seasons.

But, still, they overflow.

It's so beautiful to have a sibling. Be thankful if you have one.  It is a beautiful thing to have someone with your same make-up, your same childhood, your same memories. I have just recently begun to feel a gap there. Maybe it is in getting older, having parents get older, having children without an aunt or uncle (on my side, at least) to jockey back and forth with. "Remember when we were little and got in so much trouble..."  "Ask Uncle John about the time grandpa..."

I feel an overwhelming responsibility to get it all down. To get it all right for my next generation. It's like the funnel got too narrow. I am a very narrow spout.  I feel that I can't absorb everything. There should be some other people with me on this. A brother (I've always felt I should have a brother) or a sister that could share the responsibility, memories, and the joy.

But, I am so very thankful for what I have been given. For this chance to see these four grow up together. To fight, to play, to love and hopefully, someday, to be friends.

I hope they will forever overflow.

These small people

I marvel at my children.

These small people that came from me. And my husband.
Day by day I go on, feeding them, clothing them, wiping up their messes, putting away their things, washing their clothes. On and on.

It's so easy to look past the amazement
that God wants me to see.

To look at the face of your child and see a bit of you and a bit of him.

The way my daugther's sense of humor is just as witty and biting has my husbands can be.
How she could care less about historical fiction and runs to fantasy. Just like dad.
She whispers her greatest fears to her daddy late at night when he snuggles her in bed. Just like me. 
The way my son refuses to watch someone else brush their teeth, because "it makes his stomach feel weird". Just like his father. (I had always dreamed of brushing teeth with my husband before bed. Never.)
How he has not just one, but two cowlicks on the top of his head. He and his father challenge hairdressers.
How they both love to conduct music blasting from the stereo. 
The way he writes his letters from the bottom up. Just like his dad.
My 5 year old has my freckled nose and my oldest has my ears that make her look like an elf. 
My son befriends the kid who has no friends, because he can just imagine how he feels. My friend-less friend in 3rd grade was named Abra.

I love them with my whole self. They amaze me. I want to know them as adults. See who they marry. What job they will hold. If they will love God. If they will think well of me or just remember my many mistakes. I hope they will remember my love for them. That they are amazing and wonderful. That they are a little bit of me and a little bit of him.

Another gift from Caryll Houselander

Mary Mother of God,

receiving the dead body

of Jesus Christ your Son

taken down from the cross

and laid in your arms,

receive us,

to whom He had given His life,

and lay us with Him

and in Him

upon Your sinless heart.

We are sinners,

but save us from the despondency

and despair.

Save us from morbidity

which kills the soul.

Save us from dwelling on the past.

Take our heads into your hands

and turn them gently

to look upon the light of God.

Let us feel the warmth and radiance

of that healing sun,

although we are still too weak

to bear the blaze of its glory.

By the dead body of Christ

laid in your arms,

save us from the death of sin.

Ask our Heavenly Father,

whose will is your will

to restore us to life,

to Christ's life in our souls,

so that in each one of us

you may see your only child,

the Child Jesus,

and give us the heaven

of your tender love.

By the passion

and death

of your only Son,

give us His life.

Make us new,

give us the trust of children,

give us the childhood of Christ.

Grant to us,

Virgin Mother,

a new heaven and a new earth,

because we see with His eyes,

hear with His ears,

work with His hands,

walk on His feet,

trust with His trust

in His Heavenly Father,

and love with His heart.

~ Caryll Houselander

and I find myself smirking at God.

Does your child ever do something so witty and surprising that you just shake your head and let a smirk creep across your face?

My son cracked out with a clever quip last week and I just burst out laughing. I don't often burst out into anything.

I like that feeling.

Over the past few weeks I have found my self smirking at God. Shaking my head once again. Surprised at myself for being surprised. That He loves me.

It has been long that I have seen his hand. I have my memories. Those stories (we all have them) of my own biography that 'prove' our relationship. The little things that have happened that show me that there is a God and He does love me and act in my little tiny life.

I cling to those like my daughter to her stuffed rabbit. She holds that rabbit's arm around her neck to make him hug her. I cling to my memories of miracles like that. I make them cling to me. They are my proof.

Because it has been so very long.

A few weeks ago I wrote about how I have no prayer life. That I have just decided to go 'through the motions', read the daily readings and jot down my favorite line at the top of my daily planner. And move on. I actually almost deleted that line later. Thinking how someone might think of me. Discounting prayer. So cavalier. Disrespectful. To thumb my nose at a relationship with the Creator like that. I'll read these little verses real quick, check that off my list, and move on. But, I didn't remove the statement. It's just where I've been. I'm not hiding anything here.

And now, I see how He has been clinging to me. Waiting for that littlest of gestures. Not caring about my attitude. Not minding if I'm not paying attention. Overlooking the fact that I blow it all off in my little self-indulgent blog.

I have reached out, grabbed Him is the smallest of ways. In this time of turmoil in our lives.  A meager reach at that. And He has come.

I read these Scriptures and they SPEAK. As they have not spoken to me since my conversion over 15 years ago.

I would tell you what they say, but I won''t. That would make it not mine. And that's all I want it to be.

So, I can add this to my list. The days when I can open the Bible once again and hear Him sending me a message. As if some wise bearded man centuries ago wrote down these words because he knew I would one day read them and sigh. Did he?

And I see how God only wants us to ask Him. Like my little one with the love of her rabbit.

That smallest of faiths: if she wraps his plush little paw around her neck, he really does love her back.

My God only wants that little child-like faith. And yet I let myself get so distracted, solving my own problems, reading books, studying, talking, thinking, mulling. All I had to do was stop looking at myself and take the littlest glance at Him.

and I find myself smirking at God. "Oh, you!"

Wisdom breathes life into her children

Wisdom breathes life into her children
and admonishes those who seek her.
He who loves her loves life;
those who seek her will be embraced by the Lord.
He who holds her fast inherits glory;
wherever he dwells, the LORD bestows blessings.
Those who serve her serve the Holy One;
those who love her the LORD loves.
He who obeys her judges nations;
he who hearkens to her dwells in her inmost chambers.
If one trusts her, he will possess her;
his descendants too will inherit her.
She walks with him as a stranger
and at first she puts him to the test;
Fear and dread she brings upon him
and tries him with her discipline
until she try him by her laws and trust his soul.
Then she comes back to bring him happiness
and reveal her secrets to them
and she will heap upon him
treasures of knowledge and an understanding of justice.
But if he fails her, she will abandon him
and deliver him into the hands of despoilers.

Sirach 4:11-19

digging my way out of la-la land

I have spent a good bit of time lately watching Jane Austen movies, re-reading some of her books, watching the epic BBC masterpiece, North and South, which is based on Elizabeth Gaskell's book of the same name. I am enamored with the recently released movie, The King's Speech.

And I have been lost in la-la land.

I spent most of my day yesterday researching authors, watching interviews on you-tube, reading the ending of Pride and Prejudice again. Just because.

And then, I'd look up.

At my messy floor. At my child with a snotty nose and hair that desperately needs to be washed. Plastic dishes in the sink coated with boxed macaroni and cheese. Kids staring at the television blaring a recent episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

There is a slight disparity here. I tell myself. But not as slight as I would like to think.

Why is it, I have wondered over the past few days, that I seem to drown myself in these creations... beautiful movies, books, poetry... and then burst out of the water for a gasp of air to be utterly disappointed in what I see around me.

This is reality. These are my blessings. I know that this is the life God has granted me, bestowed upon me, mercifully answered my prayers with. I have no doubt.

But, after a few days with Mr. Darcy, King George VI and Elizabeth Gaskell's story of love, work and sacrifice, I feel that this world I step in each day is somewhat lacking.

I start to doubt.

Is all this that I love not authentic? Not possible? A fantasy? A grown-up Cinderella story? In no way possible in the 'real' world?

And I almost convinced myself of that yesterday. I read the news. A Congressman quits over sending a quite ridiculous photo of himself on the internet. Lindsey Lohan steals a necklace? My daughter sings a stupid pop song she learned at a friend's house. My son negotiates his every moment for a few more minutes on the Wii.

Yes, it's all fake. No possibility. I convince myself. Almost.

Except that there is beauty. Why would we recognize it if is isn't possible? Why would we long for something that doesn't exist?

And then, the scriptures speak to me:

Yesterday's reading... and today's... from Genesis:

"The LORD God planted a garden in Eden, in the east,
and he placed there the man whom he had formed.
Out of the ground the LORD God made
various trees grow that were delightful to look at and good for food,
with the tree of life in the middle of the garden...
The LORD God said: "It is not good for man to be alone.
I will make a suitable partner for him." ...
The LORD God then built up into a woman the rib he had taken from the man.
When he brought her to the man, the man said:
"This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh;
this one shall be called 'woman',
for out of 'her man' this one has been taken....
The man and his wife were both naked, yet they felt no shame."

Ummmm. That is beautiful. Yes. And that is real as it comes. For it is what God intended... intends in the end. It is his original, and final, plan for us.

Scenic, pleasant, romantic, clinging, shameless, courageous, noble.

So. Now, the challenge.

Erasing the disparity. Bringing that passion that is caught between pages and on screens of the creations I love back to breathe. To reality. To me. To my marriage. To these children. To my day.

I need to bring beauty to my day.

"Beauty will save the world." says Dostoevsky.

Save my world, please.