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Today I watched my son serve at church for the first time.
Watched a baseball game.
Walked with a friend.
Took a nap.
Washed baseball pants. Twice.
Made spaghetti squash for the first time.
And did the Carlton while singing “let it go” for my youth group kids…
Happy Sunday.
…I’m exhausted.
Today was our only day this week with mostly nada. And I felt it, as my body relaxed and the spinning circles of times and schedules slowed– and now all I want to do is sleep. So I tried to be kind of effective.
I sat under the sun and let my face feel the amazing Vitamin D. I kept score for Micah and Daniel’s back yard baseball game. I kind of worked out. I kind of did laundry. I kind of weeded. And as I’ve been attempting to kind of write today I know my tiredness is coming to play- as I pray and the Bible verses all seem to run into each other.
And then I stumbled across Chronicles. And started to read genealogy…and name after name. It is amazing how well they kept track of families. Reading it is like talking to my grandma, she always talks to me as if I know people and tells me who they are related to, and which road they lived on. It is one of my favorite things about her.
So I’m hoping this will kind of make sense…we don’t really know much of our history these days. I’m not meaning the big things, but the little details that come down to names and stories. Often, we know some details. But how often do we take the time to really learn about who we are. Who are children are becoming. And who we have come from really. And rarely we focus on the right now.
As these names swim, I was listening to my kids talk and I realized how often I tune out the real. How often I miss the little things…which may be the big things. So I had a kind of moment and I decided that though we are right smack in this crazy stage of very busy I need to focus take my eyes off the calendar, and focus and listen for the stuff that matters. And see things. Not allow my busy to let the important details swim by.
So maybe I’m tired. And maybe this didn’t make a lot of sense. But the details in the real can tell us things. And if we stop and listen, sometimes we really see. And it’s kind of important.
To God be the Glory.
(joyfulmysteries note: I have had more trouble posting this post than any before…it keeps cutting parts out but this is a real you need to read. It won’t include a link or let me edit. But it’s real. It’s the hardest one I’ve read so far. Because for months she has been working on this and for months wanted to make sure it was a story of survival. She chose this week to send it to me. She is my sister Erin. My little sister. She is the ultimate story of strength, and rising above years of pain. I will never stop feeling guilt for the years she cut me out and was fighting for her life. I should have known. I’m her sister! But I didn’t know. That’s why this topic is so critical- it comes with so many layers and faces. My sister is the strongest person I know. After he went to prison, she walked away- now she is a successful VP in a big city with the love of her life as they raise their five daughters. I love you Erin. You are beautiful and amazing. Thank you…)
Let me start by saying I’m not the kind of girl that would get abused. But was the kind of girl who got out alive.
Every time I started to write this post for my sisters blog I would psyche myself out. I don’t like what I’m saying so I stop. But I know what it’s like to take years to heal from abuse, and I do believe that my story is a story of survival and strength.
For a long time I never understood why I stayed…what kept me there. But by the time I had stayed too long I had completely isolated myself from everyone.
I led this completely double life. My relationship was separate from my family and my job. At the time Lucille the woman I cared for knew…she would tell me “it will get worse” and “things will never change.” I thought and feared she would tell her husband my boss, or her daughter, but she never did.
So it stayed a secret.
The bruises always had an excuse. And always came with a lie. One of the worse incidents came with a story that I was in a car accident. It got to the point where I was starting to believe my own lies. Because the secret was too much too bear.
I told them “he” was such a nice person and worked so hard. But actually “he” never worked, he was an alcoholic, would pop pain killers, or snort cocaine, and drink some more.
He was an addict. And an abuser. For five years I stayed with the mental, emotional, and physical abuse- each just as damaging.
It’s crazy because sitting here, writing this makes me feel guilty. Because I’m telling the secret. I feel like at any moment he’ll walk up behind me and know, “I told.” I’ve spoken about the secret.
I hate hearing about other people’s abuse. It’s too hard to hear. And writing this is reliving it with each word. And I hate it because I think- how could I be so negligent? How could I have ever stayed. There were kids in the home. How could I?
I have so much guilt. For staying so long. For allowing the abuse. I have so much guilt. But most of my guilt is as a mother. What kind of mothers allows her children to feel that much stress? Allows them to witness that sort of violence.
I won’t even write his name on here. Because it makes me sick to my stomach. I’ll call him/he but I won’t write his name…
I am writing this, and putting my heart in these words because if I could help anyone, or give anyone hope who is going through the same thing.
Abuse is a tricky thing. There’s something so sick about someone tearing you to shreds only to build you up again. Over and over.
But that was me. I was that girl.
It didn’t start out that way. He was different from any other person I’d ever met. I don’t even know why I liked him so much looking back. I do know he filled a very lonely empty space in my life right then. He wanted me, and it was so nice to be wanted again.
I had two kids, and there’s a lot of want to be in a relationship. To not feel so alone.
I had heard he was abusive to his other girlfriends in the past. But I didn’t believe it. They were liars.
And then I saw him. The real him. And he was a monster. It didn’t matter what I would do to prevent what I thought of as blow ups, whether it was the drugs or him…but the monster would come out.
He always ruined holidays, so I would plan ahead, so carefully. I would make sure he had an outfit. That the kids were all taken care of.
But he would still blow up. He’d chase me, and I’d have to hide under the tall bed. He’d say he was going to kill me.
I started to take my keys and hiding them by the front door. So I could grab the girls and run. Get away. But then he figured that out and would stand in front of the door so I couldn’t leave.
He was worse when it was just us and our baby, if the older girls were home it wasn’t as bad. I got really good at hiding under the bed with her. It became sort of a game to her and even years later she would ask if we could play the game where “we hide from daddy under the bed.”
There were so many times…where he hurt me.
But I will only write about the last time. The time I got out alive. It was the night I decided to leave for good. I had been with a friend all day. I had done nothing wrong. But I came home and he just kept yelling at me, and nothing he said made sense. It was midday which was different because usually he only blew up at night and only attacked me in the bathroom where no one could see him. But this was different. And it was so bad that today I only remember some of the parts. He kept yelling at me and chased me up the stairs. He caught me by my hair before I hit the top step and dragged me all the way back downstairs into the bathroom.
He kept punching me in the head, grabbing my face, and spitting on me– calling me stupid. I remember my face was in the shower and he just kept banging it and i felt like my head was going to crack. And there was blood. He kept saying “I’m going to kill her.” And “This stupid bitch just doesn’t get it.” And I didn’t get it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. And then the world got fuzzy. And I thought I was going to die.
I really thought I was going to die. I was going to be beaten to death…
The next thing I remember is banging. I was still in the bathtub. There was someone at the door and they kept banging. It was the police. And I called my Mom.
“I need help. I need help.” I kept saying.
That day was the day I decided he would never put his hand on me again. Ever.
Because I saw this person in the mirror I didn’t recognize. Her eyes were swollen and she had finger prints bruised into her neck and face. Her lips were huge and face was bruised. And they were there as soon as they knocked on the door, already there.
I kept that sweater I was wearing that day, covered in blood for years as a reminder that I would never ever go back. And I would remember that day.
I don’t know why I stayed for so long, only that maybe it was after the blow ups, I was so wanted. He would beg and be so wonderful and promise it would never ever happen again. And I wanted to believe that was true. But eventually I knew it would happen again. And it did. And then I left…
My brother in law told me a revelation once, that what I had was my normal, but it wasn’t normal because that’s not what love is. Love doesn’t hurt you. But it had become my normal because I had gotten used to being hurt.
For a long time I was afraid…
I lost friends because I stayed. Because they didn’t understand. But abuse comes with many faces. And sometimes people forget that their normal, isn’t healthy or normal. My normal was because of fear. I was afraid. And fear is a liar. Fear told me I wasn’t good enough. Fear played off my insecurities. Fear kept me there.
But then I left the fear behind. It took years, and still is with me today when I think about it but then I remember that fear is a liar…and I’m not afraid.
I learned that God is good. And that God loves me. My children love me. My family loves me.
And I met Justin. Who told me my normal was never normal, and showed me what real love is. Who looked at me, and saw me.
And I have forgiven him. I haven’t forgotten. The scars will always be there. But I have forgiven.
That day. That day before the police knocked- I pretended I was dead. I pretended to be dead so that he wouldn’t kill me, and he got scared and called 911. And then left me. Left me there.
But that day I lived. And chose to leave. And I have found strength in my life. I am strong. And God loves me, and showed me how to save my life. You see, Im not the kind of girl that would be abused.
I’m the kind of girl who got out alive…
Where did April go? I blinked and this month flew by…
I’ll have to admit that I haven’t been the best friend recently. Because I’m working, volunteering and watching a lot of baseball. And at the end of the week I’m pretty fuzzy- but I know where my kids are and I am loving this season of life with them. Even though I am exhausted.
We conquer and divide, me and Dyp hitting however many games are on any given night. He is in his white truck and me in my suburban. And once in a while we get to end up at the same place. And usually are the last to leave.
So here’s to nights where he gets off on time, and we leave a game at the same time…where I stare at the blurry picture and realize we are right in the middle of a beautiful messy-crazy-busy season of parenting and kids. And I am thankful for that.
Also I’m glad that thIs blurry picture hides the fact that three people in this photo are peeing…revolution of real yo.
Today was an “I am” sort of day. A day where somethings were good, and somethings were hard…where the feelings were on the surface and we felt them.
I’ll start…
I am overwhelmed with all the busy busy busy of this season of life. And so blessed. It’s an overwhelming blessing of busy…
I am…scared. 
I am so in love! 
I am blessed by my Blue Family. 
I am Frusterated!
I am excited for my parents visiting for my Daughters first Communion this weekend.
And I am thankful…For another Wednesday to share in your real with you. To pray with you over these words in all seasons of gratefulness and emptiness. Thank you for joining me in this revolution.
“The world was not worthy of them. They wandered about in deserts and on mountains, in caves and in crevices in the earth…Yet all these, though approved because of their faith, did not receive what had been promised. For God had foreseen something better for us…” Hebrews 11: 38-40
What if it could be better?
What if these places we’ve been hiding and resting in aren’t where we are meant to be?
What if it doesn’t mean we are failing, but we are learning to actually live? Maybe for the first time.
What if the ugly could be washed away by finally stepping into the light?
By showing our real…
Our Faces.
Our burdens.
Our Hurts.
Our Secrets.
What if this place and space, is not where we were meant to stay and we are called to crawl and run beyond what has defined us?
Yes. It’s going to be scary.
Yes. It’s going to be new.
But what if every single moment and memory… Every defining part of the intricate beauty of our souls are at a new beginning…right now?
It’s going to be hard.
But God has foreseen better.
For Us.
To begin again. To start.
To live.
Today I had to take real in small doses.
I had a feeling today would encompass lots of prickly places that would poke at me. And make little jab-filled comments.
I got some bad news. My head is filled with rioters and hatred. I fear the safety of friends and families. I heard some sad news. A friend was attacked on duty. And someone was mean to me, which seems pretty minor compared to the real of today.
I was already spent, and the absolute perfect target for the jabs. I gave my God my all this weekend- and he confirmed it over and over again. And I’m still feeling that beautiful exhaustion…
I could have folded but…I felt Gods grace.
With each jab, I said a prayer remembering that the bad may jab, but I needed to search for the good.
To be honest there wasn’t much, but I know that God is good. I know that my God is placing his hand on my racing heart- and slowing it beat by beat…So I give him these doses of too much.
I can’t fix this real.
But I can pray. I can raise my hands and my voice and I can call to the One who calms waters and hearts…
And allow him to give me moments of beautiful real. Big and little doses of gratefulness fill my soul.
My friend is home safe.
I watched a baseball game, and felt the sun on my face.
I hugged each of my kids. Hard.
I worked for a friend, and was rewarded by seeing some beloved people.
I heard from some beloved people from this weekend.
My love is finally on his way home. Secure.
I watched some boys play in the dirt, two of them mine, all who I love, and watched them run around without a care. In hero socks with big smiles, where good outweighs the bad doses…and it gave me hope.
Hope in the goodness…because right now a big huge Dose of God and his miracles are needed to span this country.
A big dose of God to take the hatred out of people’s eyes, and bring protection to us all.
God, tonight I give you my children, and my Love. I give you his coworkers and all the peace makers across the country under attack. I give you the families living in terror and those whose city is under attack. God, I give you this big dose of prayer and know that everything is small compared to your greatness. I give you a hurting friend. I give you the prayers of those I love. And I thank you…
For little boys in hero socks and mismatched socks, and a fancy little girl, and a life that shows me Love.
This I know..
“When my soul fainted within me, I remembered my Lord.
My prayer reached you…” -Jonah 2: 8
I want to tell you all about my weekend…about how I saw God clearly working and speaking, and alive in hearts.
I want to tell you about the broken, and shattered, and the tremendous love and gratefulness Grace that was poured over faces and hair, and mixed with tears.
I want to tell you how speaking my real out loud was scary, and amazing, and blessed, but others real was what changed me.
I want to tell how I felt so incredibly honored and humbled, inadequate and unsure of if I was doing it right.
Was I listening to you Lord?
Did I speak your truth in which I only get little glimpses of?
But right now…I am just going to let it sink in.
All in.
Right now, I’m going to sit and rest, and relax in the presence of His Word and let Him push the waters of Grace over my head, and cover me as I sink, down down down into Him.
Thank you God for the women I met this weekend. Thank you for calling us out of our comfortable. Thank you for hand picking each and every one and bringing them before you…
I am SO blessed that you called me out into these waters.
The Unknowns of your Love have brought me so much more…than I ever could have foreseen.
But you saw me.
You saw them.
And called us all.
Upon the Waters. You led us here…
I have friends who love coffee shops. They always try out the new ones.
Other friends are always looking for the best ever brand of workout pants.
I used to be that way about Mascara…
And my daughter, Grace is obsessed with public restrooms.
My boys were never that way.
They’d pee anywhere.
Which was a blessing.
Except when Jonah(4) peed right after church in front. And then Daniel (2) decided that moment was perfect for trying out potty training…
But I digress.
Everywhere we go…as soon as she sees the sign, she HAS to go. Right then. And to her credit, she typically follows through.
I swear she holds it JUST in case there’s a public restroom she can use.
I have seen more porta potties and gas stations bathrooms in the past three years than in my entire life previously.
So this morning, as I got up, away from my family, to speak with an amazing group of woman about God and Worthiness…I thought of my Grace.
She has never ever doubted her worth. Or the worth of others.
So of course she’s not afraid of something that terrifies the rest of us…she holds no shame. She is proud of who she is.
And she knows the Truth.
We all have to go.
And we have all to eventually face that fact that ALL of us are worthy of God’s Grace.
Grace knows God loves her.
Grace knows life is meant to be “In Use.”
And she also knows when she has to go…
And if it’s a public one– its a total bonus.
Happy Saturday.
Please pray for me and these woman, that I speak the truth and point to Christ constantly and fully…
Ps. We all poop. And I’ve peed my pants every time I’ve been on a trampoline since I had kids. So there.
(joyful mysteries note: I don’t even know how to share about my friend Brit. How to even explain how seeking each other out because we liked each other’s hair when our boys were 8 was great, and finding out with in minutes of meeting that we were both passionately in love with Jesus, our husbands, and our family. But. But. Then she moved away. And I thought maybe we’d drift a part but we stayed close…and when she came back we had more things that bound us together than ever. Our lives are different, she is back in school and home schools- but we speak the same real. We sit at coffee and lay all our cards out. She has seen me at my absolute worst. She was the first person I told I had PTSD, and she wasn’t surprised. She had coffee with me every week last year…and I don’t remember even a quarter of them. But she was there. She showed up. And she stayed. And she is one of the biggest stars in my life. I love you so much Brit. Thank you for sharing your real today. Thank you…for everything.)
Gold Star Days
“Mom, you earned a gold star today!” With a twinkle in her eye she pressed a shiny gold sticker to my raggedy PJ t-shirt. This girl. The one with the uncanny gift of encouragement always has an eye on me.
It is easy to forget that we have a personal audience. The people closest to us are watching and taking note of how we are navigating life. They see both when we are taking steps of faith and those times we are not trusting God. When we are being complacent or when we are truly thriving. I am realizing that the purpose for my life is not what I would have ever expected or even thought I had the capacity for. One of the greatest things I can do for my children is to let them see me live out those purposes and pave the way for them to do the same. I want to understand how I am uniquely and wonderfully made so that they can understand that for themselves.
I had had one of those weeks. You know the ones. The kind of week where you feel defeated, deflated, and you just want to run away to Target. (Ok, maybe that is just me). This year I decided to take a wild leap and go to college, AT THE AGE OF 32. This whole idea seemed a little crazy with a husband working nights and homeschooling a middle schooler and 9 year old, but eh, why not? Well this particular week was intense – the homework was endless, the kids had state testing ,the husband got brutal food poisoning and I had the worst test of my life. We were all just one big happy family! With giant bags under my eyes, an even more giant pile of laundry to do and the whole having to feed and educate everyone thing – I began to feel overwhelmed and like a big old loser. I began to question what the heck I was doing in college and should I even be there? Then my little girl, my personal admirer, places a gold star on my shirt while I tuck her in.
As I proudly wore my gold star I was reminded of why I was doing the things I was doing. For one, I want to honor God with my life and for now that means, in part, pursuing my education. Words I NEVER thought I would say. I desire to run hard and squeeze out every ounce of purpose possible in this life. I want to chase crazy dreams and see God move in ways that are bigger than my piddly little schemes. I want my children to witness this! I pray that my kids will want the same for their lives. I pray that for you too.
Most of the time I am on the brink of utter exhaustion. FOR REALS. In all honestly, I am ok with that. I am learning that it is OK to let life be hard – That the truth is, life is not about my comfort or safety or really me at all, but about so so much more.
Today is a gold star day – What will you do with it?
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I am a Jesus follower, proud law enforcement wife, homeschooling mama, full-time student, and lover of bargain hunting. I love feeding people baked goods, sipping on snobby coffee & date nights with my guy. My desire is to champion women to walk in their life with purpose – to know that their dreams matter! My current project is convincing my husband that having pet ducks is completely normal….can I get an Amen?! My husband has aptly nicknamed me the “One Woman Circus” and I wouldn’t change that for the world!
My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real 