#separation

The End

/ Hope and Dave / Leave a comment

Rocky

Posted By Dave

“How did I end up here?” was the question that the voice in my head kept asking. I came home from work to see only my clothes and open space where some of the furniture used to be. Sadness, anger, frustration, it all washed over me. I was like a fighter who had taken a right hook that I didn’t have a chance to brace for. As I crumbled to the canvas, I was pissed and hurt. How does 13 years of marriage, three children and a home together, a life built together, end up here? Sometimes there just isn’t an explanation. Sometimes there just aren’t any answers. Sometimes bad stuff happens to people who tried to do everything right. It doesn’t make any sense.

After the separation began, my boys would go spend the agreed-upon days with their mom. Instantly, a house that was full of the sounds and activity of a young family was as quiet as a funeral home. Appropriately, I felt like I was dying inside. Toys left where they were played with last. Their clothes in the laundry, Capri-Suns in the refrigerator. The TV left on the last channel they watched, the baseball laying in the front yard. I couldn’t wait to talk to them, but despised having to tell them “Good Night” over the phone. I missed them so bad, I felt like someone was using a vacuum to suck the life out of me. I would lay there in bed and be enveloped in the silence. It made me sick to my stomach. It was in those times that I began to experience the love of my heavenly Father like I never had before. I have been a Christian since 1997, yet I discovered during those lonely nights that my faith had never been tested like this. I began to beg God to make His presence known, I was having a real crisis of faith, wondering if all of the stuff I had said about Jesus through the years was really true or if I was just repeating what everyone else was saying.

I know now that it is all true. I can’t explain it in words so that anyone else would understand. I just know because I’ve sensed the presense of my Savior in times when I just wanted to curl up in a ball in the floor. I know because I was broken down and stripped of everything that I held dear, and yet still knew that there was a reason for it. I know because He waited for me to ask Him for forgiveness before He began to reveal His new plan for me. I don’t ask “why?” anymore. That’s because I know the answer. It wasn’t so I could start over. It wasn’t so I could get answers to all of my questions. I’ve learned over time that the specifics don’t matter. Who did what, who said what, who was wrong and who was right, none of it matters. I spent plenty of time being self-righteous about my circumstances, and it still left me empty. The reason I don’t ask why anymore is because every day I live this life completely differently than I did prior to the day my first marriage ended. It is encompassed in this quote from author Ken Gire:

“When suffering shatters the carefully kept vase that is our lives, God stoops to pick up the pieces. But he doesn’t put them back together as a restoration project patterned after our former selves. Instead, he sifts through the rubble and selects some of the shards as raw material for another project – a mosaic that tells the story of redemption.”

The End was The Beginning for me. I made the choice to get up off of the canvas, spit the blood out of my mouth and get back in the fight. The fight for me was to figure out what I did to cause what happened and fix it. I went to counseling for months to open up those places that were in the shadows and bring them into the light. The fight for me was to lead my sons through a traumatic situation. I could not leave them behind as I jumped back in the ring, I had no choice but to be a healthy Dad for them. I fight for them every day, even when they aren’t with me. Someday they are going to have to fight too. It is my job to be their Mickey, to prepare them for the day they are going to step into the ring. Now the fight for me involves my young marriage to a woman who is my Adrian. I refuse to let my past or my enemy win, and that means fighting for what is good and right. Even though my greatest fears were realized, they were also defeated the moment that stopped trying to control what wasn’t mine begin with. Freedom and power are my assets thanks to Who I serve, not who I am.

It all began the day that it ended.

Step By Step

/ Hope and Dave / 2 Comments

footprints-in-the-snow

Posted By Hope

It begins with one step. One foot in front of the other. This is what it felt like to start over.

After ten years of marriage, I found myself unpacking in a tiny one bedroom apartment in Charlotte. Not in the nice part of town, but not exactly in the bad part. I used up every bit of fight I had left as I unloaded the trailer with the last of my furniture. The drive out of my old neighborhood was a mixture of loss and hope. As I opened the door of my new place to begin moving all that was left to begin again, I began to run out of strength. It was the last half load that was the hardest. I remember carrying in a box that was heavy and as I carried it through my living room and out onto the patio storage, I began to cry and felt like I couldn’t make one more trip out. As the tears began to fall, I stopped in the doorway and couldn’t fight them anymore. I felt a small whisper tell me to keep going. He said, “Just take one step at a time. Just one step Hope. One step gives way to another and you make your way to that last box.” I made my way through the living room and out to the trailer and picked up more and carried on slowly and with tears. With that last box, I depleted the reserve tank and collapsed into a spent, crying mess. As I sat there recovering on my couch, I realized that I had kept going for another hour, with the strength from one step at a time.

That wasn’t the last time He gave me rest in that concept. There were moments of such loneliness and rejection when I felt so completely lost in my divorce that I questioned if He even remembered me. I cried so often and for so long that it felt like I would always be sad. That the idea of life turning over a new leaf or that cloud having a silver lining was not for me because I had sinned by going through a divorce. For me, the hope of full joy did not apply any longer. That season ended. Thankfully that was not the case. I just needed time. What He taught me in that place was that we prepare for what is next, in the now. He carefully showed me the concept of one step at a time. I didn’t have the strength for more than that during my broken season, so I listened. As I began to heal, I saw that the concept applies to every season. Even when it’s good.

As I face the challenge of doing life as an awkward semi-quasi-partial parent, I apply this principle often. When I get selfish, when I get rejected, when I am overwhelmed and when I just plain don’t want to do this anymore. In my planning, in my waiting, in my hope and in my fear, I recognize that all I have light for is the step I am currently taking. Living like this means that I have no idea where the journey will take me, but I know from experience that I’m not alone and the destination isn’t the part that matters.

Finger Peepers & Facebook Creepers

/ Hope and Dave / Leave a comment

Finger Peeper = It’s what I look like when I’m watching the Walking Dead.  You hear the music change to a minor key and watch with trepidation as long as possible until you can’t take it anymore and you cover your eyes but then get brave and extremely curious and spread a finger, or two, and take a peek to see if anyone survived. (spoken really quickly followed by a big dramatic breath)

finger peeper

Facebook Creeper = People who never post anything on Facebook but emerge randomly from the shadows.  You know, those people who will never like or comment on your posts, but will approach you with input about something you wrote weeks ago.  What about that odd co-worker (or family member) that you were guilted into adding as a “friend” but you’re pretty sure they stalk you.  Oooooorrrrr how about those folks that don’t feel like they have anything clever to say but will share their story or experience and blow your mind.

After I settled into my 750 sq ft apartment from my two-story home, the adjustment really started.  The shock of separation and pending divorce had passed by that time and the work to heal was well under way.  I chose to disengage from the internet all together.  Watching social media was torture.  My relocation meant new friends, new community, new history.  This was a giant blessing in my mind because that meant that I didn’t have to explain anything.  I didn’t have to hurt when someone asked me what happened to us.  It meant that I didn’t have to cry as much. In my mind, it was less painful that way.  You see, my life as I had always known it, as I had planned it, came to an end.  In a matter of weeks, what had carried on for ten years as normal, dissolved into a lifeless shell.  As I browsed my news feed and saw life went on for everyone else, it made me feel completely alone.  Pictures of landscape projects completed, birthday parties, family vacations and date nights seemed to show me that what “they” had, was no longer mine.  It got too painful, so I unplugged.

It was this same kind of pain that kept me from attending church.  Seeing families walking together, dining together, holding hands and being together, hurt.  I noticed how couples interacted.  What they did and didn’t do.  I was searching for clues as to what went wrong in my own marriage.  I listened as women described their relationships and watched as men accompanied their wives.  I tuned in to the language, both spoken and unspoken.

As I healed and life continued one day at a time, something began to happen.  Instead of being hurt by the normalcy of the pace of life, I began to miss it.  I logged back on after several months to learn of new births, new relationships, new jobs….and new separations.  I smiled at the good news of the lives represented that continued to plunge forward in their normalcy.  I also hurt with a new empathy at the news of broken hearts.  The shadow of obscurity seemed less of a protection, and more of an excuse.  I began to hope.  I began to understand the beauty of community and the joy of sharing my experience.  I could feel the life returning to me.

You know someone in your life who is doing what I did.  They have disappeared into the shadows and withdrawn.  Some people do it for a season, but others do it permanently.  Know that your life is unique.  Your story matters.  Your experiences help others.  But it is up to you to give them a voice.  Don’t ever underestimate the power of sharing your hurt.  You have no idea what your survival could mean to someone in the midst of a raging battle.  There will always be haters, but know this, haters have been hurt too.