Two Months Alone

The conversation began with a different question. Usually, it’s something related to science or the meaning of a word. This night the churning in a young man’s soul surprised me:

Mom, do you feel divorced?

For sixteen years I have never been apart from the man who taught me to relax, to dream, and to accept myself. He gave me a confidence I never had on my own. He struggles, like we all do, but his every cell oozes love for his family. I know this. I live this. I bask in it, and it exists even without his arms around me.

No, son, I don’t feel divorced. Just lonely and stretched.

Dylan’s strength and joy buffer my moods. Fixing the car and cleaning rain gutters have never been on my list of chores. Small problems glare that he would fix in a moment. I wonder what else I take for granted.

Perhaps, my own delusions of strength. I think I’m consistent and determined and patient. My tendency is to blame any issues in our family on my husband.

Reality reveals otherwise. There is no one else here now. I am exposed.

The press squeezes out the best and the worst. The satisfaction of facing a fear or the joy of cuddling with my kids. Other times it is the frustration of yelling or the guilt of laziness. I haven’t suddenly changed because my husband is gone. I was this way while he was as near as his dirty shoes on the kitchen floor.

He loved me then and he loves me now. A blessing that snags in my heart and knots the words. Those scattered shoes look different in my mind now. I see with a new grace for him and for me. Love covers.

Wordless Wednesday- Mesmerized

Sunshine tugged me through exhibits at the Kimbell Art Museum until she was arrested. Mesmerized by the largest painting she’s ever seen.

The oil paint glowed only to reflect the delight in her eyes.

Wordless Wednesday

Where Is Home?

I don’t want to think and process right now. There are too many unknowns. Papers on the table carry the weight of hope, but a mere cough can blow them away. Dare I breathe? Dare I plan?

Determination wanes during the arduous separation. Twice I pleaded with my beloved to come back. Twice my cries were overshadowed by good news. This time it was Dylan who needed hope. As my words sank in, he confessed,

I was praying this morning about coming back. We need to be together…

Our steps have faltered. We’ve wondered if the time is right. Doubts try to smear our joy with shadows. But every time we try to turn back our steps are confirmed. Life in Idaho won’t be easy, but neither is waiting.

Instead of pondering my lack of patience, I focus on the tasks of moving. I go through boxes of Christmas decorations months too soon. Piles of cast-offs grow. Paintings are removed from the walls.

The open space reminds me of the flurry of cleaning and painting it took to get this place move-in ready. As I collapsed on the lawn, I wondered if the vultures overhead were circling for me.

A year later paint rollers came out again. We needed to switch bedrooms. A new little girl was joining our family, so Brother moved to the smaller room he carpets with Lego daily.

This house taught me so much. About repair, maintenance, and contentment. I no longer lust for the perfect house. The frustration of living in a fixer-upper has more rewards than just sweat equity.

I now know what home truly is. I enjoy the beauty we’ve brought to this shelter, but it’s not our home. Home is our family, not a house, not a city, not a state.

Right now our home is lacking the strong arms of Daddy. My heart aches, and I can only imagine the agony for other families separated even longer…

After praying with my son last night, he stated,

This isn’t our house, we just manage it for God.

That’s right. This house is a gift. It is a trust. We’ve cared for it well.

May the new management be embraced with peace and strength. I pray they discover home.

Resolution

Tomorrow morning Dylan starts a new job. I thought our separation would be a month long. The month is over. I wrote pleading with him to come home and help. And then the answer came.

I’m relieved. I’m tired.

When Dylan left for Idaho, he didn’t realize how much work there was to do. I didn’t either. The things we ignored scrawled across five pages. With the help of friends, five pages have whittled away to one double-spaced sheet, but before the check marks are finished a new list begins: packing.

Our tentative moving date is Labor Day weekend, three weeks away. Three weeks to paint and hammer. Three weeks to pack. Three weeks until I embrace my beloved. Three weeks to say good-bye…

The merging of endings and beginnings is uncomfortable. Sometimes I can’t wait to start the next chapter. These pages are heavy though. Trying to shut them strains my determination and my persistence. I want to just sit here with words spread around and peruse the reminders of all that has happened and all that we have imagined.

The climax of our decade in Texas has already been written though. I’m living in the dénouement, the resolution. May I finish strong with arms lifted toward Heaven praising God for all he has done.

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I hesitated to publish my last post, but your prayers encouraged me and your stories touched me. Thank you.

The Light in the Shadows

My stomach gnaws on worry. My mind races trying to beat the fears down with truth. I know we aren’t supposed to be anxious. I shared Proverbs 16:9 with a friend just last night:

A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.

So why does it seem harder to trust God to direct someone else’s steps?

It’s been a long two years. My husband lost his job in 2007. Everything he’s done since then has been fits and starts. Temporary work, part-time jobs, continuing education classes. We thought provision had finally come.

On our trip to Idaho, he heard about a job driving from Southern Idaho to Seattle once a week. He applied. He was told to keep in touch. Then confirmation came, “When can you start?” Two weeks later, Dylan left.

He’s been training. But were words misunderstood or enthusiasm misread? Whatever the reason, the door slammed shut.

Now we grope along the wall looking for another opening. I long to escape this dim gray fog. I want to see where these steps will take us. The path behind this door seemed so perfect. So comfortable. I could paint and pack knowing the bills would be paid.

Plodding past hope still swinging on hinges, I try not to look back.  I must trust God to lead my beloved.

There is light in the eyes of Providence. He beckons us to continue walking, searching. He will open a door we don’t even know exists yet. He will expose the beauty in the darkness. He will reveal the other side of the glass.

Until then, the mist reminds me to look to the one who radiates the full spectrum and scatters my path with glimmers of the rainbow.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. (1 Corinthians 13:12)