Two Questions

Question One.  Would you rather get hit by a bus or get Alzheimer's?

The bus option:  relatively painless but completely unexpected.  A tragedy that plays out like a tsunami, sudden and overwhelming.

Alzheimer's:  slow and steady with lots of time to negotiate the details, even though the conclusion is imminent.

Question Two.  Would you rather your marriage die by getting hit by a bus or by Alzheimer's?

Getting hit by a bus looks something like this.  You are in love, it's been 10 wonderful years and you expect many, many more.  You're past the petty fights and settling into a relationship as comfortable and dependable as your favorite sweater.  Until a random Thursday afternoon when you discover a second, unknown e-mail account filled with years of illicit e-mails and appointments between your husband and hundreds of other women.  SMACK.   The bus hits you full-force out of nowhere, and you are suddenly hemorrhaging anger and grief out of every pore.  Everyone is astounded and the funeral is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, so you'd better get cracking on the deviled eggs for the luncheon afterwards.  Life must go on, you know.

Alzheimer's.  The day after the diagnosis is the same as the day before.  As are many months and maybe even years following.  One day he forgets your address but you're there to remind him.  A month later he doesn't know how to work the microwave.  A year later gets off at the wrong bus stop.  Three years in forgets his middle name.  Later, your first name.  Much later, that you have children together.  You grieve the gradual losses a little bit every day, like a stone gets smoothed over hundreds of years at the bottom of a stream bed.  Finally, you're changing diapers and spoon feeding, staring down the end you've always known was coming.  The funeral has been planned for over a year and friends who have watched the slow demise are sad but just as willing to celebrate freedom for both of you.

Ask any woman who has survived an abusive marriage and she will tell you to take the bus option any day.  It's also the reason abused spouses are walking on air the day their divorce is finalized, rather than looking like they just got home from a funeral.

I understand people's hesitation to celebrate divorce and would never expect it from them.  So think of it another way, and raise a glass to freedom.  The grieving is long since done, the rough edges of pain smoothed down by years of coping and adjustments, and I finished making the deviled eggs two days ago.  Show up with a bottle of wine and we'll toast to new beginnings!

~Sarah

This post would be incomplete without a HUGE Thank You to the people who helped me tend to a dying patient and keep my sanity intact for the past 14 years.  You know who you are, and I am eternally grateful.  :)  And to Jesus, who sees everything done in secret, provides the strength and grace to bear our burdens,  and prepares a crown for us all the while.

The Amazing Uncle Dan

My daughters are in awe of their Uncle Dan.  He has been a forever fixture in their lives, since his marriage to my sister in 1992 predates their existence.  Because we live 6 hours away, Uncle Dan is a strange curiosity to them.

But regardless of the distance, he is a super hero to all three of us.

The girls watch their Uncle Dan like hawks, and they're amazed.  He does all kinds of crazy things.  Wakes early to cook breakfast for the whole gang when we visit.  Offers to help his wife with dinner without being asked.  Prods his children to go ask Mom what they can do.  Never allows his family to be put into a situation that he deems dangerous.  Knows when to be serious and when to lob a water balloon at an unsuspecting kid.  Rounds up his family and gets them to church.  And my personal favorite:  spends HOURS making peach cobbler at a campground IN A DUTCH OVEN OVER THE FIRE as a surprise for his sister-in-law.  Yum!

I don't know if Uncle Dan realizes that three sets of eyes are constantly noting his behavior.  Two of them belong to the girls, who have only seen this kind of quiet servanthood from their Papa.  The third set is mine, filled with admiration, plus a heart full of gratitude on my sister's behalf and about a million prayers for Uncle Dan as he unknowingly shapes my girls' hopes, dreams and expectations.

"Uncle Dan would...."  Those words have been whispered again and again in my home and each time they give me hope that the girls know there is a better way and that love isn't so much hearts and roses as it is sacrifice and selflessness.

Bless you, Uncle Dan!  For not only being a wonderful husband and father to your own family, but a super hero to mine.  I pray for you daily, because I know that where there are two little girls watching, there are probably a hundred more keeping tabs on how well you love.

Forget a knight in shining armor, darling daughters of mine.  Hold out for a quiet gentleman like your Uncle Dan.  And if you're lucky, he'll have a dimpled smile as well.

No More "I Love Yous"

Ahhhh, Valentine's Day.  For the past 15 years of my life, a day traditionally fraught with anxiety and angst.  Until this year.  

< Insert mental picture here > Sarah skipping down the card aisle at the grocery store, past all of the other shoppers huddled around the pink and sparkly V-Day cards.  Pushing the cart ahead of me, headed to the candle section for a new fragrance called "Alone and Loving It" or "Finally Free of the Nightmare."  

My anthem as of late is the Annie Lennox song "No More I Love Yous."  Here's the line that most grips my soul: "I used to have demons in my room at night.  Desire.  Despair.  Desire.  Sooooo many monsters."

Apart from the fact that I'm a Christian and I believe that there literally *was* an entourage of demons assigned to my abusive marriage, I can completely relate to this warped definition of love.  Desire.  Despair.  Effort.  Expectations. Discouragement.  V-Day card buying immediately necessitated a trip to the therapist.  How to find a card that is both honest and kind?  Most years I chose a humorous one with cartoon characters and jokes, or the ones with no text, labeled "Simply Stated."  

Simply stated:  You are slowly and inevitably killing me and our marriage.  Stop it!  (That's the G-rated version.)

Oh, the games that have to be played by a Christian wife who is cautiously holding the hands of both hope and despair at the same time.

This year the final papers are to be signed on February 15.  The date was originally today, V-Day, but a huge snowstorm ruined my intentional and ironic plans, so the 15th will have to do.

Everyone who hears gives me their sad faced apologies and must be puzzled when I break into a huge smile.  I understand.  God hates divorce and rightly so -- it's a wrenching amputation of one flesh, devoid of anesthesia and a sharp blade.  So while I'm not celebrating over my divorce, I AM celebrating freedom from abuse and a horribly warped definition of Love that almost swallowed me whole.  

No more "I love yous."  The language is leaving me in silence.  No more "I love yous."  Changes are shifting outside the words, outside the words.

Hear the full song here.

If you listen to the song you might think it's sad for this poor lady who is no longer speaking the language of love.  But for women who have been forced to speak Satan's twisted and evil dialect of love, it's pure FREEDOM to breeze past the V-Day displays, intent on learning and speaking pure love -- with Jesus, Love Himself, who sings His pleasure over us every single day!  

"Changes are shifting outside the words.   Outside the words."

I'm Proud of My Humility

"I'm proud of my humility."  These words were delivered in sermons by my father on more than one occasion when I was a child.  They stuck in my mind because I liked the play on words.  They remained there because I wrestle with the sin.

It's no surprise, since the Leader of the Rebellion, that old snake, satan (whose name I refuse to capitalize), has pride to thank for his downfall.  "I will ascend to the heavens...."  (Isaiah 14:13).  Just like me, in an attempt to appear humble, Satan only thought those words in his heart, but the One who perceives every thought from afar (Psalm 139:2 ) called him on the carpet and then threw him to the earth.

I have been rescued from satan's kingdom (Colossians 1:13) but my flesh is still pulled in his direction, and because pride is so easily hidden in my thoughts while my face fakes humility, it can grow like a root -- under the surface for months before finally bursting through the concrete into the light of day.

Pride over things under my control, which seems understandable considering the effort I put into this life.  But pride over things completely undeserved, as well.  Pride over gifts that God has given me -- gifts given only by His grace! Wonderful, godly parents who I did not choose.  Along with them, genetics that have thus far kept me disease-free and healthy.  The time and place of my birth, chosen by God (Acts 17:26) for His reasons and which blessedly saved me from other times and places in history which would have been my undoing.  Along with a host of other blessings, none of which I can take any credit for.

And then there is my pride over God's grace itself, a pride which tempts lightning bolts to strike from heaven -- which would be well-deserved! -- and over which God continues to show me mercy and grace (Eph 2:9).  This is one of those circular conversations along the lines of "I know that you know that I know that you know...."  God shows mercy and grace over the fact that I am prideful that He shows mercy and grace over my pride....

And so I finally come to the end of myself with the realization that my pride is tempted to boast over all things and in all ways, and the final truth of the matter is that nothing I have is deserved, but everything is a gift, all of it straight from God's gracious hand, the ultimate Source of All Good Things (James 1:17), no matter whether they seem to spring from heaven or earth.

And once again all things complicated boil down to simple truths, clarified by the words of wiser men in Westminster's Catechism:  My chief end is only to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, free of pride and full of eternal gratefulness for every good thing that He has lovingly bestowed on me.  These men simply echoed John the Baptist's cry to once and for all put pride to death:

"He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less."  (John 3:30)

So that even blog posts that tempt me to pridefulness are considered garbage compared to the surpassing worth of knowing and being found in Jesus.  (Philippians 3)