when joy sits on your chest and squeezes all the air out of you



photo from here

So, yesterday was Rosh Hashanah...the Jewish New Year. I'm not Jewish, but I totally get that. This always feels like the time of year when things are starting new to me, too. I think it traces back to childhood and going back to school in the Fall. School WAS life back then. The world around me transformed in color and texture and smell. Getting dark earlier meant spending more time inside with my family, playing games or coloring or watching Barney Miller or Disney on a Saturday evening. As I selected my new clothes, shoes, pencils, backpack, and Trapper Keeper, it all felt like an opportunity to remake myself, decide who I was going to be THIS year as a 5th or 8th or 11th grader. Everything felt fresh and new and organized. Opportunities were seemingly limitless. Anything could happen. It was Fall.

*****And it still feels that way.*****

More than any other time of year, I seem to have such moments of clarity and peace and utter joy in the Fall. Like collapsing into a soft chair and being given a drink of cool water after crossing the long desert of  summer.

Just last Saturday, I was in the kitchen chopping red peppers to make my first batch of practically famous Chili. The house was freshly cleaned. Vince Guiraldi's Charlie Brown music was playing quietly on Pandora. The boys were in the next room watching a Halloween episode of Bob the Builder (yes...even my 13 and 11 year olds :) ). My lungs were still stretched and strong from the  great hike we had gone on with Dr.  Yummy that morning, and I was eagerly anticipating the drive we were planning out to the country to visit family and friends that night. So, I'm there chopping and chopping, when all of a sudden I have to stop and just have a short, happy cry... because I was so darned overcome with joy. With the sudden realization of how wonderful the world was and is, and especially my little spot in it at that very  moment. My bank account was still dwindling. I was still unemployed. My body was still not the size or shape I wanted it to be. My van still sounded like it was breaking in a million places. I knew within the next ten minutes, some squabble would probably break out between the boy squad. There would be a new mess to clean up. I still didn't have any real answers to the big questions in my life. But, in that moment--none of that mattered. Or maybe it all mattered. Maybe it was because and despite of it. But I was happy. Blown away happy.

Then, there was what happened on Monday. About a week earlier, I had mentioned (via Facebook) that I frequently left out paper hearts for my boys to find in the morning. Inside, I would write things I thought were great about them, or things they had done recently that I was proud of. The boy squad loves getting them. Anyway, I had mentioned that I could sure use a paper heart of my own that night, and wondered if I left one out, if God would write something in it. I came home from my run on Monday to find this....

My yard covered in paper hearts--each one saying something nice about me: Great Mother, Good Writer, Faithful, A Friend to All, Creative, Kind. And my favorite: "You're on the right path. Keep going."

I plucked each heart out of the grass one by one, read it, then stood there clutching the bouquet of them, and yeah...bawling.

Things are good. In the midst of the scary and the unknown, things are still so, so good.

The leaves are just starting to yellow and red. The smell of dirt being turned over by tractors and chaff being burned by the farms at the edge of town is just starting to fill the air. The mornings and evenings are just starting to require fluffy socks and a blanket thrown over my shoulders like a shawl. The possibilities of this time of year still feel sort of magical and limitless.

Thank you, Fall.
Thank you, secret heart leaving friend.
Thank you, little moments of joy.
Thank you, perspective from God.
Rosh Hashanah.
May all things be new for you, too.

all i want to say is this (and this and this)...

*that I've had some punches of good luck over the last two days. I don't want to say anything more about it and jinx it, but I hope to have good news to report to you at some point in the near future.

*that you should not buy those triple/double Oreo things with the three cookies AND chocolate filling AND vanilla filling. You will not want to stop eating them.

*that I got my first magazine article published(!) Two of them, actually. If you want to have a look...go here for an online sneak peek. I'm on 58-59 and 84-85. Can't say I especially liked working with an editor for the first time. She added some stuff that didn't sound like my voice, and took out some good stuff that I'd put in, but I'm still pretty thrilled that I now have a fairly major, non-poetry publication under my belt.

*that I am so happy it is Fall, even if only the mornings and nights are cold right now. Soup and hot chocolate and fluffy socks and cute hoodies and leather pants and scarves...I have missed all of you very, very much.

*between watching Top Gear and Arrested Development on Netflix and figuring out how to finally use Pinterest...I'm enjoying the occasional lazy afternoon. And I love it.

*my boys make me happier than anything in the whole world.

*that epsom salt baths work wonders for hips a little strained by rounds of continuous round kicks in kickboxing class. Of course, since only the boys bathroom has a tub, I have to pull all the toys out first, scrub it down, and light some candles so it doesn't smell like a hobo...but then the epsom salts do wonders.

*that every time I find a maxi skirt I love, I end up looking less like this...

and more like this...

(that's Mrs. Roper for those of you who don't recognize her and her house dresses :) ) Some fashion trends were just not made for every body. Also, enough with the skinny jeans already, please?!

*that, despite the rough patches, these last 6 months really have been spectacular. I have taken some huge risks and accepted some huge defeats. I have ran head-long, full-steam at love and just sat quietly waiting for it to come at me. I have had the highest highs and lowest lows. Some good friends have sadly grown more distant, and some new good ones have stepped in to fill the gap. I have grown to know my extended family better. I have learned to say no when I need to BUT also to say yes even when it's uncomfortable though still the right thing to do.

*I have learned just what awesome, adamant-like stuff I am made of, just what I am capable of accomplishing. And while I would still love my life to find a more settled, less scary place to hover for a while--even for just a few years while I catch my breath; how can I also not be grateful for this time when I've learned so much about myself and life and people, in general? I know what difficulties might still be ahead, but I think they will continue to serve as stepping stones to get me to that place I'm really supposed to be. And I'm ok with that.

Of course, check with me about those feelings in a week...who knows how I'll feel then ;)

*that I am looking forward to some fun, less intense blog posts

*that I am very tired now.

Good Night :)

bumps in the road

A few days perspective since my last post...and I admit I'm still afraid. BUT, the blessing of  a little time, prayer, and  words of encouragement from those who are always so generously mindful of me have gone a long way to making me feel hopeful again.

You see, when you're dragging emotional baggage/damage from past experiences around the way I am....sometimes bumps in the road can seem more like catapults.

And I hate admitting that. Because I really do feel strong, healed, healthy, happy, forgiving, loving, loved, and able to trust 98% of the time. But like a combat soldier still rattled by sudden gunfire or the thwapping of helicopter blades, so too, do I have things I'm learning trigger my repressed fear. Things that make me throw up a wall as quickly as I can to keep from being hurt.

Dr. Yummy and I hit the first bumps in our road...and necessarily so. In fact, I was starting to worry that things were too ideal. I mean, I loved it, but I know that's not real life either. He expressed some concerns and insecurities--ones I fully expected him to have--but they still scared the bejeebers out of me. I didn't want to be hurt or rejected again, even though those were not his intentions, it just brought up a lot of yucky emotions from my divorce, from past relationships that ended less than ideally. It intensified the strain of my unemployment and reminded me again of how scared I am without family to lean on, how alone I really am or could be in the worldly sense. I did a lot of nothing but crying and feeling sorry for myself for a day and a half, feeling very heavily my own vulnerability.

I got angry at myself for falling for him so quickly. For getting swept up when I didn't mean to get swept up. For letting myself look too far forward and assume too much. For the complicated nature of being 36, divorced, in the midst of rebuilding my life, following my dream of becoming a writer, poet, and professor, and having 4 kids that tend to get as easily swept up as I do. I got especially angry at God for continuing to give me such wonderful things, situations that come together ideally and mercifully, only to seemingly yank them back and say, "ha! ha! Pscyh!"

All of that was and is me doing defense.
                                               defense.
                                               defense.

There's more to the story,too. Not about Dr. Yummy, but about me and things I'm struggling with in my life and in my testimony. Things that justified the intensity of my last post.

Anyway, long story short--we decided not to give up. Not yet. We figured out how human both of us are, even humorously borderline neurotic at times. We learned some stuff about eachother's weaknesses. We figured out (hopefully) better ways to communicate with one another. We threw fear out on the metaphoric table in front of us for the first time and gave it a good, hard look.

I learned just how quickly my wounds can be re-opened and what I need to do to seal them up a bit better.

During the awful first days of my separation, I remember my beloved, stalwart, usually quiet father-in-law just weeping and weeping, holding his face in his palms, apologizing for the actions of his son. He said of he and Mom Peterson's 50 plus year marriage: "Marge and I have had our share of fights, bad ones even, but I was never afraid that when she walked out the front door, she wouldn't come back."

That's what I want.

That easy, safe understanding of knowing, no matter what, you can count on that person you love the most to come through. You can trust them. Explicitly. You know they'll tell you the truth. You know they'll always be cheering you on. You know they'll be doing their part to make sure your marriage stays strong, just as you are. You'll be there for eachother. Happily. Willingly. Peacefully. You may not always like them...but you'll always love them.

I think it's worth waiting to see if Dr. Yummy and I can find our way to that point. And, just like I said in the post where I introduced you to him...if it doesn't work out, I'll have no regrets for trying. For walking, without fear or distraction, for once, towards the thing that has made me the happiest I have been in three and a half years. 

Thank you for your prayers and encouragement. Once again, you've made more of a difference than I can express.

Here's to pressing on...and on still.

things we do not choose

It's the year 731. Abbess Eusebia and the 40 nuns under her care at the ocean side monastery in Marseille, France receive warning that Saracens of Arabia have invaded. Knowing that they could not escape, and knowing of the infamous cruelty of the invaders, Abbess Eusebia and those women under her make a drastic decision: In order, they hope, to preserve their sacred virginity--which they view as an integral part of their covenant relationship with God--they cut off their noses, believing their disfigured faces would thwart their would be attackers. And do you know what happened?

They were raped. So far as the historical records indicate, all of them were raped. Then killed. And their monastery burned to the ground.

Yup.

Hard to understand, isn't it? It's one of those stories that makes many throw up their hands and say, "there is no God. If there were, how could he let such horrible things happen to those who love and serve Him most?" It's a question we believers have some answers for---but that we can't fully reconcile in our hearts either. We try, I'm certain, but we fall short, knowing that there are so many questions we will never have answers for in this life. But that we have faith WILL be answered one day, somehow, by the only One who can answer them. Perfectly. Usually, that explanation doesn't go over so well with those who don't "get it."

So, it's one thing to hear a story like Abbess Eusebia (now a saint) and think, yeah, well, she was a nun. That's practically like signing on to be a martyr. We reason the same for the apostles who met horrible deaths. But not us, right? We just want to be humble followers. We agree to give, even to give until it's uncomfortable---but certainly God will never try us to the same ends as abbesses and apostles, right?

Well, I am not being asked to cut my nose off, nor being asked to endure torture and imprisonment for my beliefs. But, I do worry God is calling me to pass through more than I am able to, more than I am even able to comprehend passing through. And I am struggling desperately to figure out why?!

Why does God say, Here are things that I have sent to make you most happy: security in a family unit, marriage, the blessing of raising children together as a couple, prosperity in order to be able to help others. Yes, these are the very best temporal blessings I can give, says God. Look around you and see evidence of that everywhere.  But you....you cannot have them. I know you want them more than anything, and that they're righteous desires but they are not meant for you. No you, you will be one who has to walk a different path, a lonely path. I will walk with you, and you will feel my divine presence when you need it the most, but you will also feel terrible, horrible loneliness that you will need to find a way to crawl on top of so it doesn't eat you alive.

And what do you say to that? You can't run away from what you know and believe--you'd forever be a shadow of yourself (ask Jonah!) but how, too, do you find the courage inside yourself to answer, "Well, I've lived my life in faith and devotion to you hoping one day you would deliver me, in a sense, in this life, and set me in a blessed and secure place, but you are now saying you're not going to do that and that this is my 'fate'? Well, that's ok, Lord. I'll still follow you. And be happy about it."

I'm not to that point yet.  I can't answer with that surety. For as strong as my faith is, I'm just not there. I'm like the girl on the pinnacle of the largest hill on the roller coaster screaming, "STOP! STOP THE RIDE!" all the while knowing there's no getting off at this point. Not without a lot of damage. And haunted with the sick feeling that , although it's a roller coaster, I'm not going to 'enjoy the ride' all that much.

Cryptic post? Yes. I'm sorry about that. But even without being given all the specifics of how it relates to my life, can't you feel how it might relate to you? Do you ever ask yourself, what would I really give up to follow my faith? I mean, really , really? And what is your answer...?

friday fotos: foto roulette

L was sitting on my lap this morning while I was looking over my blog, and he said, "where are all of the pictures?" Which reminded me...it's been a long, long time since I've done a Friday Fotos post. So, for today, I thought it would be fun to just open up my picture files without thumbnails and choose 8 random pictures from all different time periods (my computer files go back to 2003), and see what I come up with...


This one made me smile right away. Here is the same L who sat on my lap this morning, a big boy all ready for school....only this was 7 years ago, when he was just learning to sit up :)

This one was from just last spring--hiking with Ninja and the boysquad. This is a pretty famous hike to go on around here, ending with a spectacular view of the valley....and this very worn out bench :)

My Z and E...back when I tortured them with bowl cuts. This was after finishing a homeschool lesson. What wonderful days these were...

 My sweet baby J in his binky days....

This one is from the vacation the boysquad and I took to Mammoth Lake with Haute Cakes and his family, August of 2009. We were sniffing the bark of a special, high-elevation redwood that smelled like butterscotch :)

Here I am spinning my baby L at the park...before my hair went gray :)

The "mantle" wall of my old house, probably 2004. It took me 27 hours of painting to create that stucco-like texture. And I remember that art project on the table I was working on--using paint swatches long before others figured out that they're free and fabulous :) I also made the dining table with my now deceased Grandpa. It wasn't big enough for my new house and growing family, but it still waits in my garage for the day I can re-make it into a desk. Love it.

Guess I couldn't have played roulette with my pictures and not come across one with Brad. This was the last family camping trip we went on. I think he and J were listening to a football game on the radio.

And finally, one of my most recent favorite pictures. Dr. Yummy and I at our date to a live taping of Prairie Home Companion. And yeah...I'm as happy as I look :)

And that's all I got folks! Get out there and do some ~Happy Weekending!~

entwined

I got a letter from Brad the other day accusing me of taking pot shots at him on my blog. It stemmed from the statement I made on my last post about his request to pay me half of what he currently does in child support and alimony (which is true, but which he has informed me he has postponed  until I am employed again.) Money has been a point of discontent with us for at least a year now. He says he pays too much, I say that as far as I'm concerned--unless he is paying me every penny he earns, which is the condition I would have been in in our marriage--it isn't too much. I am NOT looking to go after every penny he earns, I'm just saying that IS the way I feel. Money is a poor, poor substitute for the husband and full-time father that the boys and I lost, but it's all we have to fill the gap.

I think what Brad was really looking for was some praise from me--some acknowledgement  of what he has and is doing that IS good. And I can give that. Easily. Thankfully.  I know he loves his children. He has never just not shown up to get them when it's his turn to take them. He does about 98% of the picking up and dropping off. He has worked with me if we needed to change nights or weekends because of class or other obligations. I have always received birthday, Christmas, and Mothers Day gifts or cards from the kids. He tries to spend one on one time with each of the boys. So far as I know, he always speaks kindly of me to them. We treat each other with a degree of respect and civility I know is missing in a lot of divorce situations. We can be in a room together if we have to be. I'm certain a large portion of the stress he is under right now stems from the deep desire he has always had to be a good provider, which I'm sure is more difficult than ever with his money and time and efforts spread between two families.

In his own way, I know Brad is still a good man. He is good to those around him. I know he loves his family and serves generously. I think he still loves God. He is, somewhere inside, still the sweetheart I married. On the other hand, I must live with the fact that he is also the man that did terrible, horrible things to me through his deceit--who hurt me deeper than I ever imagined one person could hurt another. Who refused to try again. He made me want to end my life rather than try and go on with him here, but not with us. He nearly put out the light in me.

I will never be able to make him understand what it is to be the one left behind. To be the woman he covenanted to care for all through this life and eternity, and now be reduced to an ugly, dark burden on him--one he would love to pass off onto someone else already. What it is to ask myself every single day what I did wrong, what I could have done better, and how I could have changed things, and to find so many answers, find so many things wrong with myself, but none of them awful enough to justify having done to me what he did. Or what it is to have to shoulder the sadness and confusion of our children trying to understand what marriage and family are in the context of a broken home.  To be afraid and alone in the earthly sense. I don't think he has ever had to be afraid, or at least not alone.

I never have nor ever will never wish ill on Brad. I am glad he is happy in his new life. There are times, though they are much less often now, but times still, when I miss him. When I can still see his smiling face, and those kinds blue eyes in front of me. Times when I hear his laugh in the other room, then realize it is our  oldest son who is growing to be so much like him. Brad will always be a part of me--the companion of my young and happy years, and I am glad he is the father of my children. I wouldn't change that. I wish I could just live with those pleasant, lingering memories--and not have to keep depending on him for all I do. But I do. And I don't know what more I can do about it. I don't know how to live on less than we already do, nor how, right now, to earn more. So, for the time being, I will have to keep depending on him, and appealing to that man who cares for me--for us--the one I know still exists in some form, pleading with that portion of him to not give up quite yet.

I know there are some of you who would like to hop over to my side and say a few not-so-nice words about him at this point--but that's really, really not what I want. I don't want there to be "sides." I have never wanted there to be sides. I do want, even NEED, kind and caring support. I need to be able to write through my emotions and come out the other side. I need to know there are people who stand behind and with me, and who are cheering me on, but that doesn't have to be to Brad's detriment.


It's also never been about retribution of any kind. It's about coming to terms with my life in the present--what it is and what it is not. It is not the one I would have chosen. It is not the one I worked for. But it is. And I honestly love it. And since Brad chose not to be a part of it as my husband, I will find a way to live it in a parallel way with him.

Like a Slinky that accidentally gets all tangled up, so is trying to untangle two lives that were fully entwined for 14 years. We might be able to do it...but not easily. And not without the bent coil-type evidence to witness we were once part of each other.

unemployment agrees with me

As a young girl, maybe 7 years old, my favorite day of the week was Wednesday. The bus doors would squeak open, I would bound down the metal steps, then run--as fast as I could--all the way home, my best friend, Emily, yelling at me to slow down. Down one street I would go, zoom by the canal, down the hill, around the corner, and then past one, two, three houses, to my home. So, so excited because...Wednesday was my mom's day off. I knew she would be waiting for me at the table, working on a crossword or paying bills. I knew the house would be clean, vacuum tracks still fresh across the carpet, and smell of dinner cooking. I knew my brother and I wouldn't fight, or fight less, because she was there to intervene. I knew she'd want to hear all about my day and look at what I'd made in school It all felt so safe, so put together, with her in the middle. I remember how my little heart broke in silence when she told me she'd have to start working Wednesdays because we needed the money.

Were it not for the whole "we need money" thing, I would say I am about the most content woman alive right now. A week out of work, and I couldn't be happier.

Taking 25 credits last semester (equivalent to an 85 hour work week), followed by graduation and immediate employment, it really had been EIGHT MONTHS since I'd been at home for more than 2-3 hours a day. I hadn't realized how 'bare survival' our lives had become--nearly everything focused on what HAD to be done: meals, cleaning, homework, yard work, grocery shopping, baths--until I had something to compare it to. Now, suddenly, I have this thing called "time" again. Not that I'm without things to do, in fact I've still been as busy as ever, but it's a different kind of busy. It's a *happy busy*.

I run errands at less than breakneck speed. I'm reconnecting with my home and yard--cleaning and purging, even scrubbing baseboards and decorating for fall (which I don't think I've got to do in two years). I'm taking a few hours in the afternoon when all is clean and quiet to work on my writing. I'm baking fancy desserts for friends (including raspberry bread pudding with homemade vanilla sauce for Dr. Yummy). Last week, I actually sat down for an hour each night and watched TV (introduced to the world of Top Gear on the Netflix Dr. Yummy installed on the wii). It had been months, maybe even a year, since I watched an entire show without worrying what else I should be/had to be doing. Also, my laundry now gets washed AND dried AND folded AND put away. I know, right?!

Best of all has been the looks of joy on my kids faces when I wake up early with them, make breakfast, and have prayer and scripture study before sending them off, and that I'm still here again when they come home from school. Their faces remind me of what mine must have looked like on those Wednesdays when I was 7. The other day, L showed me some pictures he'd made on the computer and told me it would be neat if I hung them up like an art gallery in the hall. "Maybe you could even put a sign here," he said (pointing to a spot on the wall) "that said THIS WAY TO SEE THE ART." Normally, such a request would have gotten lost in the hustle and bustle of my day. Not saying I wouldn't have gotten it done, but probably  definitely not right away. But, on that day--I got it done. Right away. And the first thing out of L's mouth when he came home was an excited, "Look, J! Mom did it!"

My heart smiled.

I think I remember this woman, remember this life. I can vaguely, happily recall what it was to be able to give my life and my time to my family, home, and service. This always felt like the life I was created for. Unless I spontaneously win the lottery which I don't play, I know this can't last. Especially with Brad requesting now to pay me nearly half of what he does in child support/alimony, I have to be able to support myself and my boys. We will have to return to the survival only mode. It wasn't ideal--but we made it work and can again. 

For now, however, I am enjoying every second. I'm giving myself till Monday before I hit the ground running sending out applications. In the mean time, I'm going to finish getting everything cleaned and purged, wipe off the top of the refrigerator and scrub beneath the stove, play a few more extra games of Hi Ho Cherry-O with my little boys, go on a few more longboard/scooter rides with my big boys. Enjoy a few more quiet, still moments where I get to just sit, observe, and listen...and remember. Grateful to my Heavenly Father for this blessing wrapped in a trial.

changing directions

From age 6 to age 11, I used to spend nearly every Friday and Saturday night at the local rollerskating place. Round and round I'd go with all the other kids, and the teenagers with their hands in each other's back pockets, clapping and singing along to Kool and the Gang's "Celebrate" and Prince's "Little Red Corvette," the disco ball throwing flecks of light across the worn, wooden floor, the scent of lemon disinfectant spray heavy in the air.  Every half hour, a loud bell would ring and the DJ would announce, "It's time for everyone to turn around and skate in the reverse direction!" And, obediently all of us would drag our rubber-stopped toes along until we had slowed enough to turn and go the other way...never giving any thought as to WHY we needed to change directions...just doing it, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to completely reverse directions on a regular basis, as though it were interesting and even....fun.

My nearly perfect summer is coming to an end in several ways, but only one that I'm ready to talk about.  As much as I wanted it to last, it really has felt like I've been waiting these last two months for that bell to ring. That mandatory call to switch directions. Things had been far too easy. Far too happy.

Sooner than I thought, and even sooner than they'd expected (due to budget rearrangements), my freelance internship job at the PR/Marketing place came to an end yesterday. I did great work, and I go with stellar recommendations--they'd even hire me if they could--but, like everyone else, even the  best companies are hurting and having to stay slim for a little while longer. I have loved every minute of it--my co-workers and their creativity, my boss and his high fives, my orange desk and comfy chair, free parking, ping pong tournaments, the vibe of being downtown every day, lunch breaks where I got to walk to some great little cafe and sit and observe and read or write. I think most of all , though, I will miss the security. And the money.


Yeah. Money and security are nice things to have. Especially with four children and a mortgage. And no one to fall back on.

I'm not doubting, mind you, nor feeling sorry for myself. Knowing I did my best,  I'm surprisingly at peace about the whole thing. I picked up another design job to get me through October. I will continue to do what I can to help Fusion magazine (whom I write for) take off to the point they can start paying competitive rates. I've updated my resume to now include strong organizational and research skills, work with nonprofits, and solid training in social media marketing. I put together a list of possible leads and contacts. My job will now become to find a job.


I have no idea what will happen...but I hope it will be something good. I have to trust there's a reason and a time for everything.

Am I weary of living in this constant state of uncertainty--physically and emotionally? You betcha. Years of it can take a toll on even the best of us. But, just like the call to skate in the reverse direction, if I don't stop and turn when I'm told to, I'll get ran over. Skating upstream is no good. So, I continue to make the best of it, to see the adventure in it all, to embrace the possibility. To try and be strong and optimistic, especially for my boys.

And when I feel the most threadbare and worn and doubting, I picture myself wrapped in my Savior's arms--much the way Brad used to hold me when I was afraid--and Him holding onto me for all He is worth and reassuring me, "It's ok, Jen. I'm the one asking you to do this, and we're going to get through it together. Trust me." Then, because I am ever prone to silliness, I even picture the Savior wearing roller skates. And Mr. Roboto playing in the background. And I smile. I think He's fine with that :)

Here's to my reverse direction. My next adventure.