Great Expectations, Managed

"Don't put all your eggs in one basket."  It applies to lots of stuff, least of all marriage.  But young girls are silly, with great expectations of how one single human being is going to some day swoop in to fulfill all their dreams.  Friend, lover, confidante, sharer of dreams.  One egg, two egg, red egg, blue egg.  Into the basket you go.

It's a recipe for disaster, but a small one that's easily fixed.  Broken eggs are pretty easy to clean up, and after the first few, you realize that maybe filling the basket to the top was a bad idea in the first place.

I've given this advice to countless married women over the years.  "Lower your expectations.  It's not healthy to put all of your dreams on one person's shoulders."  Their husbands are grateful as these lovely women stop smothering them with neediness; supportive, even, as their wives stretch beyond the bounds of marriage to develop friendships and nurture their hobbies with friends.





A good marriage is a balance of things shared and things individual.  What joy when your passions overlap, and what relief when you're no longer bugged to share every single interest.  Overlapping circles create a whole other color, an exciting new dimension of a relationship, without swallowing up one member by demanding sameness.

Great expectations, managed.




The trouble comes when one member is destructive.  Unreliable, critical, controlling and harsh.  You start taking eggs out of the basket on a daily basis.  No support?  Goodbye, egg.  No encouragement and one more drops to the floor.  Untrustworthy and a full dozen fall away.  A half full basket can still maintain a relationship, but an empty one?  Eventually, after all needs have been outsourced to loving and trustworthy friends, you're left staring at an empty basket, thinking, "Why am I still carrying this around when it plays absolutely NO PART in my life anymore?"





So I set it down.  Not out of anger, but filled with the steady assurance that dragging around an empty basket is only draining my finite resources of love and perseverance.  It's a tragedy, all right, but not my tragedy.  After all, I'm free of the burden of carrying it around, constantly determining what it can hold and what's too precious to risk putting in.

Great expectations are troublesome, but there's still hope to manage them.
       Realistic expectations are amazing, because they give freedom to both people.
               No expectations are sad.  Laying down the basket is liberating.

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)

A Friendship Manifesto

There's no doubt about it:  I wouldn't have made it this far without my friends.  They have been more faithful than my spouse, more consistent than my accountant and more intimate than my dentist.  (I was going to write "my gynecologist" there but thought it might give you the wrong impression.)

And boy, have I needed them!  Probably more than most Christian wives, as I battled through 14 hellish years of an abusive "Christian" marriage and the constant emotional hemorrhaging that resulted from abuse/confront/forgive/counseling/repeat.

It's not one-sided though.  Not only have I made a slew of 3am phone calls; I've received them from my friends as well.  We've talked, laughed and cried our way through marriages, infidelity, same-sex attraction, financial woes, prodigal kids, health scares and diseases, the list goes on and on.

I'll admit, there were times I went to meet a friend for coffee with no idea of what to tell her.  Who am I, to have any kind of answers, and what is it exactly that God wants me to speak into this dear one?  Does letting her vent constitute gossip or slander, and does listening to her sometimes sinful reactions and coping mechanisms give my silent approval of her choices?  How to be a friend who can bear burdens while at the same time holding up the high standards of godly behavior?

These questions have led me to write the following Friendship Manifesto.  So if we are blessed to be friends, here are my promises to you:

1)  I will let you be yourself.  Struggles, flaws, idiosyncrasies accepted.  You do not need to hide anything from me.  After over forty years, nothing is shocking to me anymore.  In addition, I've probably done a lot of the same shameful things you have or am close friends with someone who has.  What you see is what you get with me, and you have the same freedom to let it all hang out over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.

2)  I will be your sounding board; no editing necessary.  You are welcome to emotionally vomit all over me while you are venting your feelings and reactions.  You do not have to pause to edit your thoughts, and cursing will not make me blush.  Get it all out, sister, and then we'll sort through the ugliness together and make sense of the facts once the emotions die down.

3)  I will laugh and cry with you.  And howl and stomp and cackle if necessary and/or helpful.  I will celebrate to double your joy and cry to halve your sorrow.  The winners of three-legged races are successful because they hold tight to each other, and that's the kind of friendship I want with you.  I will provide the kleenex and will blame you the next day when my stomach muscles ache from laughing together.

4)  I will be honest with you.  Who needs a friend who only knows half of what you're going through?  Shame won't keep me from admitting my sinfulness and it shouldn't silence you, either.

4a)  ....including gentle rebukes and reminders.  What kind of friend doesn't speak up when you most need it, when your emotions are taking over and you're struggling for sanity?  If a friend is brave enough to disagree with you and tell you so, they're the kind who loves you enough to offend you with the truth.

5)  I will be patient with your struggles.  Studies show that abused women "leave" their abuser (only to return) about 8 times before making the final break.  Just ask my friends and family how maddening it was to watch me waffle and waver year after year.  But there are some decisions that can only be made by the person involved, and the hardest ones fall into this category.  So I may advise you and possibly bug you to do something, but I will never dump you out of weariness over your struggles, no matter how long they drag out.

5a)  ....but I won't approve of sinfulness, because I love you.  This doesn't mean I'll judge you or condemn you.  I'll love you and pray for you and celebrate with you as you gain baby steps of victory.

6)  After all of the above, I'll remind you to come to the right conclusions.  Conclusions are absolutely necessary.  Venting is momentarily helpful but doesn't lead to change.  Conclusions do!  So once you've spilled your guts all over my coffee table, I'll always ask that leading question:  "So what are you going to do?"

6a)  ....and the right conclusion is always JESUS!  Our thinking needs to line up with His thinking because He's the Way, the Truth and the Life.  Conclusions that aren't completely based on His Word and His Will will not be sufficient or satisfying.

7)  I will keep your secrets.  No cold sweats in the middle of the night that your secrets will be exposed to the world.  They won't be exposed to my spouse, my other friends, the internet or even my cat.  This is true regardless of the status of our friendship, because my commitment to you is based on my own integrity and nothing else.  Even if we have a WWIII kind of falling out, I still won't share your secrets.  (But really, how likely is that?!)

8)  I will pray for you.  I will share your secrets with the only One who knows you completely, pretty and ugly alike:  Jesus.  I promise to place your needs before His throne regularly and earnestly.  Especially when I have no idea what wisdom to share with you or how to pray.  When times are so dark that you can't pray for yourself, I'll do it for you.

2014 is The Year of Friendship for me as I anticipate divorcing and making some really huge changes.  I am going to need my friends more than ever before and am excited to see what amazing things God is going to do in our lives.  So take my hand, Dear Friend, and we will walk this journey together!

The Joy in a Four-Way Stop

My Favorites List is short and sweet:  sunglasses, chapstick, puzzles, cardinals, and four-way stops.

Yes, four-way stops.  Picture it:  four cars arrive at an intersection mere seconds apart.  Four completely unrelated individuals going four different directions, all with their own agenda.  No names are exchanged, there's no transaction of any kind, not even a nod of the head, though occasionally a gesture of deference.  It's fairness in its truest form.  You arrive first, you go first; be the last to arrive and by the time you've come to a complete stop it's usually your turn to go anyway.  There's even a guideline if the order is questionable -- the person on the right has the right-of-way in cases too close to call.

I marvel every time this works and my girls are used to my gushing praise.  "Do you see that, girls?  Do you see how everyone following the rules benefits all of us?  Do you see how simple and smoothly this works?  Now what would happen if every person who pulled up to this intersection made up their own rule about when they should be able to drive through it?"  Rolled eyes are the general response, and I'm okay with that.  My youth was spent with the same undercurrent of rebellion.  Rules are stupid things that keep me from what I want.  Life would be so much more fun if I didn't live under this tyrant of a parent.

Rules seemed like constant hurdles to be jumped or at the least circumvented.  They stood in the way of my wants and desires and even the simplest ones were an irritant.  And so I rebelled against the rules in large and small ways and discovered the pain of consequences.  There might be pain in living under the rules, but there's certainly no long-term pleasure in living without them.

It takes time and maturity to discover that it's much easier to obey the rules than to deal with the consequences.  Pick one, rules or consequences, because you're going to have to be reconciled to one or the other.

"I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free."  Psalm 119:32

The Holy Spirit had a different highway in mind when he first drafted the laws to be written on our hearts.  Not a path filled with inconvenient hurdles, but laws that form the borders of the track, keeping out unnecessary hurt, pain and heartache, allowing us to run the race without anything to trip us up. 

"....let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us...."  Hebrews 12:1

Running a trail race this weekend was a visual reminder of how much easier it is to stay on the marked path, following the route markers.  Though I didn't know what to expect around the next corner, I was able to keep my pace, confident that someone familiar with the area had gone ahead and marked the easiest path with the fewest obstacles.

So run your race, Dear Daughters, with the confidence that comes from staying in the path of His commands, for He has set your heart free from all of those nasty consequences that lay outside the marked path.  And no rolling stops, please, because police officers are also interested in your driving habits at a four-way stop -- though not quite as concerned as your Earthly Mother and Heavenly Father.