Elisabeth K. Corcoran

Moments for Mom - February

2012-01-30T17:18:00.000-06:00

My daughter, who I’ve been writing about in this column for over ten years now, just got her drivers’ permit. I took her to the DMV yesterday and watched her take her written test. We high-fived and jumped up and down when she passed. And then we went driving around a parking lot. My baby is not a baby anymore.

My son, who I’ve also been writing about for over ten years, just got mad at me for the first time for walking into his basketball practice to pick him up. Apparently that embarrassed him. Apparently I should’ve waited in the car even though practice had gone fifteen minutes over. My baby is not my baby anymore.

(In case you’re wondering if time flies…yes, it does.)

So I’m now working on letting go, something I have no desire to do whatsoever.

What I want is for my kids to stop growing up. What I want is for everything to stay the same, for just a little while please. What I want is for neither of my kids to know how to drive, for both of my kids to light up when they see me.

Because here’s the thing. I remember growing up and moving out. I remember saying goodbye to my mom when I went off to college and how she clung to me a little longer than I clung to her. I know the feeling of no longer feeling, at the ripe old age of 19, that I needed her as a mother figure anymore. That I was all set, good to go.

And I am so not ready for my children to feel that way about me. I know it’s inevitable. I know it’s natural. But I don’t want it.

But even though I don’t want it, and even though I may fight it emotionally and deep down and with my friends, I will walk through intentional acts of letting go with my kids. I will take my daughter driving, a lot. I will smile when she slams on the brake and I will ask if she wants to go around the parking lot one more time. I will not walk up to my son when he’s with his friends. I will smile from across the room, but stop yelling “go, baby!” when he gets the ball during one of his games.

In other words, I will start stepping back. I will start handing them the keys in all areas of life. It will kill me, but I will do it. Because that’s what mothers do.

Redundant Goodbyes

2012-01-20T16:47:00.000-06:00

My children were just picked up by their father again, as happens every other Friday afternoon. There were discussions on whether to bring the sleds, did they have their snow pants, Sara telling me she’d text when they made it to the other house, Jack saying only goodbye to my I love you.

I shut the door behind them, locking it, and I sit on the new purple and gold bird settee (it’s much more darling than it sounds), looking out the plantation shudders of my new home. The truck pulls away, with a little bit of my heart in the backseat, and I keep sitting.

It seems colder when they’re not here.

My heart feels hollow, not so much out of anticipatory missing of them, though I will, but because this new routine is just that. A routine. A part of our lives now. We made some choices, he and I, along the way that have brought us to this place of having to make our children move back and forth between two houses, perhaps not feeling like either of them are completely home.

It’s snowing a full, heavy snow and I won’t fall asleep knowing that my babies are just a few steps away tonight.

They say it gets better but right now I don’t know. The redundant goodbyes are killing me.

Give

2012-01-20T11:07:00.000-06:00

The Holy Spirit is messing with me. I’m not a fan of him doing this.

So my church and small group is doing a study on generosity. I’m all for that. I like being generous. Some of my most precious memories have been times when I’ve been able to give a gift that surprised a friend or stranger. But this is already taking a different turn for me.

This isn’t going to be about money for me. And though I originally thought it would be about my time and how I can tend to hoard it selfishly, I don’t think it’s going to be about that either.

I’m pretty sure God wants me to be generous with my enemies. No, not send them flowers or anything. Not hang out with them against their will (though that would be kind of funny in a totally awkward way).

He wants me, I think…if I’m discerning correctly, to be generous with my words, with my actions, with my attitudes.

I think he wants me to forgive lavishly. To let offenses drop to the ground instantly. To stop my venting to others about them. (Or at least curb the venting…look, I’m not applying for sainthood here.) To offer things that I have no obligation to offer. To look the person who is being unkind to me in the eye and just take it, knowing, of course, that all will be set right in the end; knowing that I’m being fought for in the heavenly realm so I don’t have to do my own fighting; knowing that the person who is hurting me doesn’t love me but I’m already fully stocked in the being-loved department so it doesn’t matter really. To start speaking truth, even in small pieces, as respectfully and steadily as I can. To stop the rabbit from going down the trail each time a snarky thought comes to my mind. To pray for the people who think awful things about me, who are refusing to mend bridges with me. To wish them well. To ask God to bless them. To surrender them to him.

It’s interesting. Part of me so doesn’t want to do this. Part of me thinks that the high road is like extra credit and just the fact that I’m not, you know, egging their houses is pretty darn Jesus-y of me. And yet, part of me saw this coming. Part of me had already been choosing small acts of rebellion against my sinful nature. I have been using the phrase the high road for a couple months now already, so I think I was primed for this.

Plus, hell-o, Jesus always, always took the high road. So, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to as well.

My expectations are low, or at the very least, realistic. I do not expect a turnaround in these relationships. I do not expect them to come to me begging for my forgiveness for all the harm they’ve done to me. What I expect though is that something will happen to my heart that would not happen to it if I clenched my fists and told the Spirit that I want to try to be generous another way, thankyouverymuch. In fact, my heart is already changing, with compassion sneaking its way into the crevices, as only the Spirit can do. And I’ve just gotten started.

Living in Fear

2012-01-15T15:59:00.000-06:00

I’m pretty upset with myself right now because I am literally scared of my future, as I await the figurative other shoe toppling to the ground. I’m upset with myself because I know better.

My head knows every single thing about worry and fear that there is to know.

That it doesn’t add even an hour to my life.

That it isn’t this proactive barrier that will make the potential bad news easier to bear.

That it takes my mind off the present.

That it’s basically saying I don’t believe that there is a loving God guiding my life.

I know, I know, I know. I know all of these things. And, for the most part, these truths do make their way to my heart and reside there.

But just not this week. Because this week I had one of those perfect storms of circumstances sweep through that have left me a little off balance and trying to hang on for dear life. Nothing huge, mind you, but enough things thrown together that I’m a bit breathless, just waiting to see what happens next.

I told my Good Husband (aka God) in my journal this morning about all the things I was afraid of. I ended with, “I’m scared your will for me will be yucky and the opposite of what I want.”

I know, real mature.

So I went on to ask him to remind me of his goodness and to help me want his will even if it’s hard and no longer resembles the life that I have and want.

There is a reason, I’m sure, that Jesus says “do not be afraid” like a zillion times. It’s because, in part, that he knows our tendency to jump to fear as our default reaction. But I think it’s also because he knows something that we keep failing to truly integrate into our lives. That his Father, who is also my Father, really loves me. That our Father is not out to get us. That he’s not coming up with wild schemes to mess with our heads and leave us feeling untended. That anything that comes our way – and I really mean anything – has been lovingly sifted through his hand before it enters our lives.

We have a good God. He loves us and cares for our every life’s detail. His will may sometimes be difficult but he wants us to trust in his love and to lay down our fear, because it’s in those moments, when we can truly experience that love.

Moments for Mom - from a long, long time ago...

2012-01-09T12:11:00.000-06:00

A repost on the morning my daughter begins driver's education...

Moments for Mom - August 2001

My 4-&-1/2 year old daughter, Sara, just asked me the other day if I would give her money for college. I asked her to clarify if she meant spending money or if she wanted to know if daddy & I were putting money away for her education. She said she was interested in the latter. I assured her that we were, and that seemed to satisfy her curiosity. But now my curiosity was piqued. Where does my daughter come up with this stuff? She’s not even in preschool yet and she wants to talk college.

I must admit that this tiny little question made my mind wander down the road about 14 or so years to the time when she’s actually heading off. On this end, it seems like ages away. But I’ve been told a number of times, just recently in fact, that it goes so fast…to truly remember how much my kids love me right now, because they won’t always act like they love me later. I do know that time goes fast – I cannot believe that it’s been over 5 years since finding out that I was pregnant with Sara…and now look, she’s getting ready for preschool, gets dressed by herself, needs little help in hopping up into her booster carseat and buckling herself in, and is even pondering her higher education plans.

But I’ve been reminded (and warned) that this is just the beginning…first days of school, bullies, dance lessons, questions that will knock me off my feet, waiting up into the night for her to come home, driving, dating, broken hearts…basically letting go a little more each day until one day when she really does jump into her own car that she will have purchased after getting her own after school job (and a little help from mom and dad because of all those straight A’s!) into the sunset towards college and a future that does not hold a daily dose of her mommy and daddy anymore.

So, I think I’ll settle in for the right now…the time that I so desperately want to rush through because it can be so tiring and frustrating sometimes…I want to just remember these precious moments. It won’t be long before both Sara and Jack stop jumping into my lap, stop running to kiss and hug me each morning, stop holding my hand on purpose and without embarrassment, stop telling me ten times a day that they love me…but for now they still do…and I want to remember.

One Word

2012-01-02T15:52:00.000-06:00

Over the years, I have come up with seriously long lists of goals, of both the practical and spiritual nature. I have come up with annual theme verses. With dreams to shoot for. With tasks I would be super mad at myself if I didn’t accomplish. I did not do any of this for 2012.

Instead, I have one word.

Heal.

The interesting thing about this one word, I’m realizing, is that in all the years’ past, for the most part, everything I committed to or wrote down or wished for, I had a huge part in being able to bring about.

Take, write a book, for instance. Well, I didn’t just go to bed every night and ask the word fairies to type away while I slept. I actually, you know, had to write the book.

Or, become more like Christ as another example. Though, yes, the Holy Spirit has a ton to do with this one (don’t get me wrong), I will not just magically become more like Jesus because I write it down on a piece of paper. Sort of like, when you pray for patience, God doesn’t automatically make you more patient; he places you in situations that test and stretch your need for patience, and as you allow the circumstance to work in you and you respond in more gentle and kind ways, you slowly but surely realize that you’re becoming a more patient person.

But this one…healing…well, if I have learned anything, I have learned that I cannot heal myself. I cannot make myself heal. I cannot muster it up on my own no matter how hard I wish.

My responsibility is two-fold.

First, I need to determine honestly if healing is what I really desire, or if I’m deep down pretty okay with staying stuck and sad and ever-so-slightly pitied. Let’s be truthful…everyone’s expectations are lowered when you’re in a depression or in the middle of a really difficult circumstance that is beyond your control (again, not that you can just wish it all away). But if everyone feels sorry for you, it can start to feel like a drug. That people still think it’s okay if I show up at their house in my pajamas is a double-edged sword…sure, abundant grace is an amazing gift, but then again, it’s also not a huge motivator. So, my heart motives need to be checked.

Assuming that I do in fact want to heal, I move to the next step, which is simply this. I must place myself in postures to be available for healing when it comes.

For me, this means that I need to pray. I need to spend time in Scripture. I need to read books that are light- and life-giving. I need to spend time with friends who fill me up. I need to spend time in worship. I need to serve. I need to be open to gentle words of correction and advice from people who know me and love me. I need to take walks. I need to get enough rest, even the occasional nap.

And as I take these small daily what-seem-like-nothing-that-has-to-do-with-healing-my-heart steps, I will begin to start to see myself being healed. This will not all happen in 2012. But it will happen.

I'm going to give this {woman} a thorough renovation, working a true healing inside and out. I'm going to show {her} life whole, life brimming with blessings. I'll restore everything that was lost... I'll build everything back as good as new. –Jeremiah 33:6 (Msg)-

Fresh Starts

2011-12-29T14:00:00.000-06:00

I love January 1. I like to pretend that it really is a new day, different and set apart from the rest. That I truly can walk into a new year with a sense of anticipation, and a relief that the past is fully behind me, in deeper, purer ways. (This is especially true after particularly difficult years…and people, 2011 has won my prize as worst year to date.)

I love packing things away. Throwing things out. Shutting doors. Moving on.

I love clean slates. Square one. All things new. Beginnings. Tabula rasa. Fresh starts.

God does too, it seems. He says in Zechariah 10:6, “I know their pain and will make them good as new. They'll get a fresh start, as if nothing had ever happened. And why? Because I am their very own God, I'll do what needs to be done for them.”

As you head into this coming year, do you feel a need to start over, in any area of your life? Does your heart soar, like mine, to be reminded that God sees and knows our pain? That he promises to make us good as new?

Then here’s where you start. 2 Samuel 22:21a says, “God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I cleaned up my act, he gave me a fresh start.” So it begins with an honest assessment of your heart and life, confessing where you’ve found yourself off-track (to God and to another person if possible) and then determining changes, no matter how small, that need to be put into place. Accompany this inside look with a simple prayer: “Bring us back to you, God – we’re ready to come back. Give us a fresh start.” (Lamentations 5:1)

Remember that it will come to us only one way. I Corinthians 1:26 says that “everything we have – right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start – comes from God by way of Jesus Christ.” Jesus is our new beginning, each and every time, no matter the circumstance or depth of pain.

And through this process, hold onto this promise from 2 Samuel 22:21b, “I feel put back together. God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.” When you come before God - as a woman, wife, mother, friend, daughter, employee, child of his – and you bring him your truest self in all its complexities and missteps and heartache, he will gently restore you. It will not be overnight. It will not always be painless. But if a fresh start is what you’re after, he is the only path to moving forward.

Happy New Year and happy new beginning.

Something I Wish I Had Written

2011-12-28T19:53:00.000-06:00

i believe that God has made this day,
that it's good,
and you can have joy in it.
even if you're limping.

can you make this confession with me today?
can you say with me 'i feel like i'm just getting started?'

you can be old,
you can even be over 40,
you can have a lot of life behind you,
and yet you're being renewed,
you're being reborn,
you're wide eyed and filled with wonder,
you've tasted and you've seen in such a way
that you realize
you're just getting started.

the past and the present and the future begin
to meld into one giant eternal now
and you understand in that moment
what Jesus was talking about when he said
he came to give us that kind of life.

i feel like i'm just getting started.
i feel like i'm just getting started.
i feel like i'm just getting started.

-Rob Bell-

I have felt this alive before, and I'm trusting I will again. We are just getting started.

Reflection

2011-12-25T10:19:00.001-06:00

I have been asking myself some of these questions at the end of every year for over fifteen years now. It's a wonderful way to take in with gratitude all that's happened and to prepare your heart for the year that's coming. (I wish I could say I came up with them on my own; however, I've gathered them over so many years the sources have blurred.)

Who were the most stimulating people in your life (and why)?

What was your most meaningful spiritual experience?

What were your most significant family moments?

What was the biggest contributor to your personal growth?

What was the biggest blunder you committed?

What caused your greatest sadness?

What was your greatest joy?

How is my heart toward God?

What’s going well? What can you celebrate?

What are you trying to ignore?

What’s boring you?

How do you want to be remembered? What’s the ending you want to write for your life?

Who do you love?

So, what’s next?

Enjoy some time alone with God over the next few days thinking through your responses, and praying and wishing about what's up ahead.

Welcome to Our World

2011-12-24T15:33:00.001-06:00

Tears are falling,
Hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God,
You've been promised
We've been waiting,
Welcome, holy child

Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known,
But long awaited Holy stranger,
Make yourself at home

Bring your peace Iito our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled,
Word now breaking heaven's silence
Welcome to our world

Fragile finger Sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart Whose blood will save us
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured Flesh around you
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect son of God...welcome to our world

-Amy Grant

Playing the Fool

2011-12-23T10:39:00.000-06:00

Love hopes the best. If I heard this phrase once, I heard it a hundred times, coming from the heart of a well-meaning, dear friend. He wanted me to apply it to a situation that he didn’t know the intimate details of, so in the early stages of our friendship, I whispered in my head, “Please stop saying that.” As the years progressed and I felt more comfortable with him, I’d yell, “STOP SAYING THAT!” (We’d both laugh.)

The sentiment behind those four words is honorable and good, very Jesus-y. If you want to love someone, you do not look at them through narrowed, suspicious eyes. You hope the better thing. That their motives are pure, that their hearts are in the right place, that they mean well, that they’d never intentionally hurt you. Yes, love hopes the best.

In most situations. But I’m learning, not in every situation.

Because what I’m learning is that there is a fine line between naïve and hopeful. Between playing the fool and expectant.

I find myself, someone who is pretty self-aware emotionally and a self-proclaimed expert on my family dysfunction, continuing to be tricked and snowed.

It seems to me that there are several responses to a person who continues to hurt you.

Be blindsided at every turn. Continue to hope that the person can and will change and assume that you will never be hurt again.

Do nothing. Let them keep on hurting you.

Hurt them back out of anger and sadness. In other words, seek revenge.

Or, be realistic. You will continue to be hurt. Now what? Protect yourself and your loved ones emotionally to the best of your ability. Minimize the importance of the perpetrator in your emotional life. Take legal steps if necessary. Prepare your heart for the repetitive hurt. And, wait for it…pray for this person.

I know, I know…you want to yell at me just like I yelled at my friend. I want to yell at me too. Just last night, I cried hard, loud tears over being hurt yet again, over an injustice that I can do next to nothing about. Did I want to pray for the person who was hurting me? Um, no. I won’t tell you what I really wanted to do, but it wasn’t very Jesus-y. I will say though that in the middle of my despairing last night, I sobbed out, “bless him”…and then went back to crying.

And this morning, after many solid hours of sleep and feeling physically better, though not one thing in my circumstances has changed from last night and part of me is as angry as ever, I will choose to pray for him. Because to look at the situation humanly, he has proved that he will never change, that the constant, intentional wounding will not be ending anytime soon. But prayer isn’t looking at a situation humanly, is it? We pray because we know we need divine help.

So I will pray for his hurting heart to stop hurting those around him. And I will pray that my compassion will grow, continuing to replace anger and any bitter root from growing up inside me. And I will pray that if I have to play the fool from time to time, that I will remember that Jesus will set every single thing right in the end.

On the high road, you walk with Jesus. On the low road, you walk alone.

Coward

2011-12-19T10:45:00.000-06:00

I’m about to walk into a situation where hard, dangerous words need to be said.

I’ve written them out. I’ve rehearsed them. I am longing to have them fill the air between us. I am desperate to be heard, finally, and understood, hopefully. To have the other look at me and nod, truly getting it for the first time. Conceding. Even, in my wildest dreams, apologizing.

The thing is, I already know I’m not going to say them. I’m not going to say what I feel deeply needs to be said. I’m going to allow awkward silences and insignificant small talk to reign, and I’m not going to do anything about it. I’m going to choose to not move this relationship forward in any way.

When I was thinking this through earlier, I said to myself, out loud, “Coward.”

I’ve always thought it’s the mature, the strong, who intentionally pursues mending conflicts and patching up wounds and reorienting misunderstandings.

But I’m beginning to see, a few years into a chosen tongue-holding on my part, that sometimes it’s the quiet path that is the stronger one.

I have some questions to ask myself. Do I want a bigger mess on my hands? Am I willing to risk saying the hard seemingly necessary things only to stir up more misunderstanding? Only to make the gap bigger? Only to realize that no matter how I paint the picture, we will never, ever see eye to eye? Which in turn, of course, will just make me feel worse, lonelier.

Or. Instead. Am I willing to admit surrender? Closure will not be coming. Not every word needs to be said. Not everyone can understand me, nor will they even try to. I believe in my deepest place that I am right and the other just needs to hear me out one final time and then the skies would break apart and everything would be so much better and kinder between us.

But I am choosing to see things clearly, in reality. And the reality is sometimes choosing not to burst forth with more words is the better thing to do.

I’m not choosing cowardice; I’m choosing, for now, an unspoken treaty. I’ll lay my invisible weapons down. I’ll talk about the weather. And I’ll know it’s okay.

I don’t need to desperately fight to be known and understood anymore by this particular other, for a few reasons. First, I’ve been living under the misguided assumption that I need this someone’s respect, support and love. When in reality, I simply want those things. There is a huge chasm between need and want, and now I can lay this down.

Secondly, I’m known and understood by many others who are so dear to me that they make up the sweetest parts of my life. I don’t need to be known and understood by everyone else. I already have their respect, support and love. My heart is full.

And finally, the Maker and Lover of my soul knows me completely, better than I know myself. And if I am truly precious and honored in his sight, and accepted just as I am, then I don’t need to convince anyone else of who I am and why I feel the way I feel.

Love is letting me let go.

Ask Me Next Year

2011-12-15T14:32:00.000-06:00

I remember having a revelation a few months before my wedding. I had spent years dreaming about it and months planning it and thousands of my father’s dollars creating it and it hit me…that six hours from ceremony’s beginning to reception’s end would move at the same pace as any old six hours. Just because it was my long-dreamed of wedding day didn’t make the actual day and time stand still, or even slow down a bit.

I do this to other occasions as well. I expect (still at 41) to actually feel different on my birthday. Each year. And I assume vacations will have an otherworldly slow pace to them, with deeper-hued memories being burned into my subconscious.

And then there’s Christmas. It’s one day and yet we build it up as a culture now starting just after Halloween. For two months you hear, “Are you ready for Christmas?” People only mean one thing when they ask this, “Have you done all the shopping, card-writing, and baking you need to do before the big day comes? Because if not, well then, you have failed at Christmas.”

My personal expectations for Christmas aren’t along the material or cookie lines but I do have some nonetheless. I want the month of December to be magically more peaceful. I want the day of to be divinely ethereal with the presence of the Baby Jesus ever at the forefront of my mind and my children’s minds.

I expect and hope and want things out of a day that a day was never intended to give.

This year, I’m learning something new even though it feels like I’m learning nothing at all (which again adds to the guilt as every year I should be learning something new about Jesus at Christmas if I don’t want to fail at Christmas…)

I sat in a room of women this morning, some I knew, some I’d just met. The question thrown out was simply, “Share something about Christmas, what it means to you…”

I listened to several women, practically hoping I wouldn’t have to go. That no one would notice if I didn’t say anything. But I finally spoke up and said something like this, “I’ve been sitting here trying to think of something sweet or sentimental to say but this year, I’ve got nothing.” I went on to say that this year, my husband and I are officially apart and not getting back together. This year, I don’t know if my kids will be with me on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day at all. This year, it’s just been quiet and not building up to anything because I don’t know what I’m building up to. This year is just hard, I said.

And then I paused because I desperately like to wrap up my thoughts on a better note than that, especially at what was supposed to be a sweet Christmas get-together, and I said, “But Jesus is still perfect. And he’s still coming. {Pause} But ask me this question next year…”

I am not giving my kids a typical Christmas this year. I’m just not. I know there’s still time, but if I were to all of the sudden “get in the Christmas spirit”, they’d know it would be fake. This year I’m limping into Christmas. No huge gifts. No huge gatherings. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Just getting through.

But some things don’t change. I still know Jesus is on his way and, mysteriously, is already here with me and with us. I still love him with all my heart, even if I don’t get to be with my kids. I still want the three of us to get it. And maybe that’s why it’ll be okay that Christmas is different this year…maybe how I’ve been doing it - with all that revving up only for an actual regular day clouded with too-high-expectations to come and go and maybe disappoint – isn’t what my kids should be learning to carry on anyway.

So this year, I don’t have a Christmas miracle to share (other than I’m still standing, which, I guess, is a miracle) and I’m not filled with an over-the-top out-of-the-ordinary sticky-sweet kinda-fake glee, but Jesus and I have each other. And I’ll wait on him as long as it takes.

Broken Girl

2011-12-09T09:55:00.000-06:00

As long as I can remember, I’ve felt just left of center. Just a tiny bit off. I’ve attributed it to being a child of divorce, as I’m convinced that shifts foundational elements in a person that cannot be restored no matter how much time passes.

And I took my off-ness and walked headlong into a dangerous place, looking for something I would never find. And twenty plus years later, here I am.

I think there’s a chance that I might not recover from this. I need a whole new me. Not just a restored version of the woman I was at nineteen before all of this happened.

But a healing in my deepest parts, in ways I don’t even know. A reconstruction. Words to paint over other words that cut me til I bled. That left me limping through my life, walking wounded, hurting others along the way.

I am not a liar. The truth is setting me free.

I am not a moron. I know a thing or two and can stand on my own two feet, or so I keep telling myself.

I am not crazy. Much of my behavior, not to make excuses, looking back, was reactionary and protective, not based on an imbalance inside of me.

I am not full of, well, you know. I am a sinner, yes, but I am filled with Christ. Not bad words.

I need to learn to breathe again. To walk through the halls of my home and not be afraid. To stop searching the eyes of each person around me for validation that I am really okay, that I am liked. That I am loved.

Will I always feel this way? This ever-so-slightly-in-need-of-help aching within me? This sense deep down of being sadder and weaker than the next person? Will I always feel like there are huge pieces of me missing that I will never find again?

I’m told healing will come. I’m told I’m being healed even as we speak. But how will I know? Will I wake up one day and feel healed?

I hope so. We’ll see.

A Morning with Jesus: Fresh Starts

2011-12-07T11:48:00.000-06:00

You are invited to
A Morning with Jesus

If you are looking for a morning away from your regular routine specifically to focus on your relationship with God,consider a guided retreat.

~at the home of Elisabeth Corcoran*~

Simple breakfast provided.
Bring Bible, notebook, pen.

9am      Continental Breakfast
9:15      Brief message
9:45      Small group discussion
10:15    Solitude time
11:30    Dismiss

Fresh Starts
Do you ever feel like you need another chance with God? As we kick off another new year, we’ll take a look at a variety of situations when a clean slate is what you’re wishing for and how to go about getting one.

Identical sessions held on Thursday, January 5^th & Saturday, January 7^th
(your choice),
both from 9-11:30am.

Space is limited to eight women at each session, so claim your spot soon!

$30 per person.

Contact me with any questions or to make your reservation at elisabethkcorcoran@gmail.com.

*Address and directions provided upon RSVP.

Loving Even Though

2011-12-05T11:06:00.000-06:00

I have people in my life right now who love me with no strings. It’s not that they tell me only what I want to hear but overall they like me and make me feel as if I bring some joy into their lives just by being me.

Within the span of people who love me is a smaller collection who have some strings attached to their love, but not without cause and only circumstantially. They are sad about my current life’s reality. Not that the first bunch I referred to are happy for me by any means, but they just seem to be accepting things for how they have turned out with a bit more ease. But this other group I’m talking about wish something different for me. And I totally get it.

But here’s what makes their love different and special to me. Despite how they feel about my life right now, they have still shown up for me. They have still helped me. Offered me encouragement. Done kind things for me. They are loving me despite how they feel.

I want to be this kind of friend. The kind who doesn’t have all the right words but shows up anyway. The kind who only can fill a card with “Jesus loves you and so do I”. The kind who offers to go to a meeting simply as an act of coming alongside. The kind who has the courage to say I have no agenda, I have no advice, I honestly can’t speak into this situation with any wisdom or unbias, so I’m just going to sit beside you and hold your hand and pray with you and for you.

I need these kinds of friends. I have these kinds of friends. And I want to be this kind of friend. I want to love even though.

Advent: Are You Ready?

2011-11-30T08:20:00.000-06:00

Advent. I love this word even though I was not raised in a tradition that observes it. A simple glance at the dictionary shows me why it resonates with me.

n. a coming into place, view, or being; arrival

A coming into. We head into the holiday season and into the month of December bringing with us a list of expectations and to-do’s as long as our arms. We want the best holiday ever. We want to create sweet memories. We want our family to feel loved. We want lingering time around the tree with hot chocolate in our hands and contented smiles on our faces.

But if only we could remember, even before we rush into the season, that it is about a coming into, an arrival.

It’s most certainly the arrival of our Savior, but even before that, it is the preparation of our hearts as we come into his view, as we come into being, deep in our souls, at a place that is ready and willing to look and find and experience this Christ.

Yes, he came as a baby. We celebrate his birth. But he didn’t come to stay as one. He arrived with purpose for you and for me. He came into our view, anointed by the LORD, so that he could share good words with those who were poor in spirit. He came to bind those of us up who are carrying broken hearts with us into this season. He came to tell us that we who feel imprisoned can actually be set free. He came to cover us with comfort if we are in a mourning season. He came to share his beauty with us, to replace our despair with his joy.

Jesus does not come on Christmas morning simply to stay in the manger and to smile angelically over our present-opening. He arrives each holy season to heal you. To set you free. To bring you deep joy.

Are you coming into? Are you ready? Will you be prepared when he comes into view and finally arrives?

Repost: One of the Many Goodbyes {on the eve of my moving day}

2011-11-25T08:11:00.000-06:00

I hate goodbyes. And I just realized that I’ve started a long one. With my home. We moved here – to the sweetest place on earth – four years ago.

Ironically, I didn’t want to move here. It was not love at first sight for me, like my last house was. My last house was my precious little dream home. But this house was my husband’s choice. I have since fallen in love with it, though, a little more each day.

I took a walk up and down my driveway last night, just after the rain, pink sky, drops of water hanging off evergreen branches. It occurred to me that Jesus knew, when we moved in four years ago, that this was the home my marriage would be ending in. Where I would be saying my largest and weightiest goodbyes…to my husband, to a marriage that I had vowed to stay in no matter what, to a vision of a family that I had intended to never walk away from.

A dear friend said to me a couple years ago, upon seeing my home for the first time, “If you must be sad, this is a beautiful place to do so.” And she was so right. Surrounded by eighty-some trees, with a pond to one side, there is beauty from every window, coziness in every corner. Though each of my first four homes since getting married hold very sad memories, this stretch has been the most difficult, has held the most tears. I have prayed the most desperate prayers within these four walls. I have surrendered the most basic of dreams in this place. I have fought the ugliest fights. I have laid down my weapons here and have said, in so many words, “enough”.

So I’ve begun the quiet process of letting go, preparing my heart to leave this place that I had at first thought would be literally my final home. I go knowing there is something sweet waiting for me. But that doesn’t make the goodbye any easier. There were first days of school here. There were a few books written here. There were two trips to Africa taken while here. There were innumerable gatherings with friends and family. There were sleepovers and movie nights and laughter that rang through the rooms. There were sweet moments with Jesus while looking up at the stars or sitting in the yard listening to the birds and nothing else. There was dancing in the kitchen and charades and catching snow on our tongues and thirteen cats and the unexpected deer or two and beauty upon beauty upon beauty.

This has turned out to be a quiet, peaceful, gentle place to close out this chapter of my life. I will be forever grateful to have treaded lightly on this land for a short season. And I will say goodbye with a changed heart for having been wrapped up in this place, even if I leave sooner than I ever expected.

Happy Holidays

2011-11-21T19:49:00.000-06:00

Dear Friends & Family,

I’m not sure which it is but it’s either the older I get or the more pain that comes into my life, the more grateful I am for what I’ve got. This has been one of the most difficult years of my life…there’s no getting around it or trying to paint a prettier picture. It’s just been plain hard, filled with lots of waiting and a lot of events that I never would’ve guessed could unfold in this sweet little life of mine.

And yet, I look around my life and I cry grateful tears. I seriously love my life. (Crazy, I know…)

My children are amazing. They are both kind, funny, smart kids who are on their way to adulthood. Sara turns fifteen tomorrow, led the freshman homecoming team this year, has done a lot of babysitting simply because she loves kids, and starts driver’s ed in January. And Jack is now a teenager, in eighth grade, raised over $3000 for Feed My Starving Children last summer, and loves being on the basketball team. For some reason, my love for them has grown exponentially this year. It’s been an oddly sweet season for the three of us.

We have lived in a beautiful place that we will miss, and as of today, we can say that we will be moving into our new home very soon and it is more than we could’ve ever asked for. We are surrounded by beauty. My kids love their school. I love the writing and speaking work I am privileged to do. We each have friends that love us and take care of us and that make our lives so much richer. People who loved us well before this tough year have loved us deeper and better than ever. We have everything we need and everything we could ask for.

And all of this…every moment, every gift, every character-forming trial…comes from or through God. I have never been more convinced of his fierce love for me and my children as I have been this year. He is making himself abundantly clear to me as Heavenly Father, as Husband, and as Friend. He is our shelter. He is the giver of every gift I’ve listed off and every gift I’ve forgotten to mention.

My hope for you and your family during this Thanksgiving week and through the holiday season is that no matter what is going on in your life this year – whether it has been a year full of blessings or a year rife with heartache, or something in between – that you know and experience the love and peace of Christ. It’s real, it’s available, it’s powerful, and it’s overwhelmingly sweet and good.

Happy Holidays from Beth, Sara and Jack

Stay Wide Open

2011-11-19T18:26:00.002-06:00

I am feeling super raw this week. A tear at every turn. I’m looking at the bare walls of my office, with U-Haul boxes packed up and filling each nook and cranny of my home. My kids and I are moving next weekend. I’m exposed and fragile. I’m saying goodbyes to every little thing. Last time sitting outside on that bench with that view. Last time riding my John Deere. Last time ordering pizza from our favorite in-town place. Last Saturday night together, the three of us, on this couch in this house.

Add to that, meanness continues to follow me. From people I know and people I don’t. It’s been several weeks of feeling attacked, accused, knowing I have actual enemies. It’s quite unsettling. This is chaos to me. And I hate living in chaos.

I was sitting at my desk a couple days ago, procrastinating from packing yet again, and I looked up at my sweet little pond view to see a deer walking down my driveway, right past my window. I jumped up with glee and ran upstairs to try to get a better look, but I was too late. Moments later, he came walking the other way, something startled him, and he leapt and ran down my driveway. He leapt. It was gorgeous. I was grinning from ear to ear, and clapping, and thanking Jesus for one final deer spotting before we move.

A couple hours later, I came home to see that my one neighbor had put up a wire fence blocking the entrance to her driveway, along with a cd. (She has cd’s hanging all over her yard to keep deer away…yeah…) And I was so struck by our completely opposite reactions to the deer sighting. I had seen the deer and practically danced with joy, and she had seen the deer and erected a fence with a clear message to the deer and all his friends…keep out.

I don’t know what deer have done to her in the past to leave her not only not enjoying them, but trying to keep them away, but it’s so sad. And there’s a lesson in there for me.

My response to the deer might’ve been naïve and childlike, but I will take naïve and childlike over skeptical and hardened any day. My response to my move might be considered melodramatic to some (goodbye, last drive from this house to the library; goodbye, last trip down my long driveway in cold weather to get my mail, etc.), but I will take melodramatic and in touch with my emotions over apathetic any day. My response to all the judgment and harsh words might be foolish and a waste of time…actually, it is. Every moment that I continue to waste stewing over the words of people who have never met me or are out to get me or prove me wrong and who do so with disrespect and without an ounce of love behind their actions, is a moment I can’t get back, and I do not want to be foolish or a time-waster.

So, may my heart, that is so naïve and is so raw from goodbyes and so tired of being hurt, never erect jagged fences around it to keep the good things out, and may it stay wide open, always looking for the joy and fun and the emotion and the good of each moment, but most importantly, for Jesus in it all.

*I will be taking some time off from my blog for my move. My wish is a peaceful and gratitude-filled Thanksgiving holiday for you, your friends and your family.

I Would've Disagreed with Me Too

2011-11-14T18:42:00.000-06:00

I decided to follow Jesus when I was fifteen years old, knowing nothing of the Christian sub-culture or what awaited me. I just knew my life had changed forever with those simple words whispered in a chapel at a local teen hangout. One of my first stops was a Christian bookstore as I needed a Bible of my own (that wasn’t Precious Moments) and some music that wasn’t Twisted Sister. (Okay, who am I kidding? That wasn’t Richard Marx.)

Enter Amy Grant. Unguarded was recommended to me and I fell in love with her. Really, there’s no other way to put it. With each collection of music that followed (Lead Me On, Heart in Motion, House of Love, Behind the Eyes, Simple Things, along with a couple hymns and Christmas albums thrown in there), I became more and more enchanted. Twenty five years and at least a dozen concerts later, and she is still my absolute favorite singer/songwriter, as real as they come.

But man, in the mid-90’s, did I ever get mad at her. You see, she hadn’t kept it a secret that her marriage was difficult, and my marriage was difficult, which endeared me to her even more. I would literally tell myself, if Amy Grant can stay married, so can I. (Probably a tad too much pressure to put on someone I didn’t actually know.) So when news broke of her separation and subsequent divorce, I was devastated. Truly. I felt she let me down. I felt she let all of her fans down. Didn’t she know how many people were watching her life? And what the heck --- she didn’t even have “biblical grounds”. No cheating, no abandonment. I was ticked. And totally sad. And, frankly, a little lost. So, wait, if she can’t stay married, how can I?, I would secretly think.

Twelve years have gone by since she divorced. And in that time, I can think of at least ten other “Christian” couples that I know (either personally or from afar) who have gotten divorced without the typical biblical grounds. And each time has angered me. And each time I secretly judged. And each time I wanted to smack them around.

But here’s why. It wasn’t because I was outraged with the unrighteousness. It was because I thought to myself, I’m staying…and my situation is way worse than yours…so you should have to stay too!

Why am I telling you this? Because now that I’m on the other side of things, though I may still think that some of the divorces shouldn’t have happened, I can tell you a couple things that I know now that I didn’t know back then.

First, no one but Jesus, the husband and the wife can know the full story. No one. And because of that, only the husband and the wife will stand before God and give an account.

Secondly, no one but Jesus, the husband and the wife know the pain. And that is why no one should stand on the sidelines throwing things at us as we walk this path.

Thirdly, it’s one thing for me to speak difficult truth into the life of one of my best friends. They expect it and want it; I expect it and need it from them too. But it’s an entirely different, and inappropriate, thing for me to speak difficult truth into the life of someone I have never met (thus the refraining of sending Amy Grant a letter pleading with her to change her mind).

And lastly, it’s one thing to share your two cents before something has taken place. In fact, I remember meeting with a friend maybe ten or twelve years ago and begging her not to divorce her husband (and she didn’t). But once it’s done, it’s done. There is no point whatsoever in walking up to a wounded soul and pouring harshness into something that is desperately trying to heal.

So, yes, even five years ago, I would’ve judged me, and been mad at me, and maybe even had the gall to say unkind and unhelpful things to me. But not today…not anymore. Because I know that pain cannot be helped or healed with more pain…it can only be helped and healed with mercy, grace and an abundance of love.

Goodbyes

2011-11-14T08:08:00.001-06:00

I have lists all over my desk right now. This week’s to-do’s. Insurance choices. Handyman priorities. A what-I’m-taking-with-me list and a what-goes-into-what-room list. Because I’m moving. It’s almost here. Three months ago we found our next home, and then we have sat and waited for it to come to pass, and soon it will be.

So now I have paint to buy, furniture to order, utilities to shut off, utilities to turn on, mail to forward, things to clean, things to throw out, things to pack. I’m overwhelmed. I’m reminding myself that in a couple months, I should be settled into my new place and all will be well (figuratively speaking).

But the other morning, as I was walking up to my front door, leaves crunching under my feet, I felt Jesus say, “It’s time to start saying goodbye…” I know, I said, immediately longing to sit on the bench that I brought from our last home. But before my thoughts could get too far down the road on how much I’m going to miss this home, he continued, “…and I don’t just mean the house.”

Oh.

Right.

Because once I move, well, that’s just about as officially over as it can get. There will be no more limbo. There will be no more old life minus one person. This will be a complete leaving behind, a moving forward, a starting over, an entirely new life. It’s time to really say my goodbyes.

But how do you say goodbye to a home? To the place that sheltered your soul? That you thought would be where you would live out the rest of your days? And, in the exact same moment, how do you say goodbye to a husband? To the man you loved and had children with? To the man who has hurt you? To the man you have hurt? To the man who seems so very angry with you?

I sat on my couch, the couch that has held hundreds of conversations with Jesus, the couch that I am not taking with me but wish I were, and I glanced at the artwork on the wall, given to me by a friend ages ago. It has mocked me this past year and I’m surprised I haven’t taken it down yet. It’s the ‘love is…’ verse from I Corinthians 13. My eye stopped on ‘love never fails’.

My love did fail, I said through tears. I was selfish. I was critical. I wasn’t strong enough to look for help earlier and insist upon it until we got it. My love was not enough for him. He felt he needed to desensitize to bear with me. My love failed. And now, more tears, I am getting a divorce. (That was the first time I actually said that phrase out loud…I’ve said we’re divorcing and my husband is divorcing me and I’m attending DivorceCare, but I’ve never said, until today, that I am getting a divorce out loud.)

I don’t know how to say goodbye to all of this at once. I don’t know how to walk away. I do not still love my husband but I’m not a monster. We have been in each other’s lives for twenty five years. We have two children together. Though a lot of our relationship was very hard and extremely sad, not every moment of it was. I do still care. I do not wish him ill, even if I continue to feel hurt. I want him to be the best father he can be. I want him to heal and live a good life.

I am breaking up my home this week. My children are excited about new rooms and bigger spaces but I am wounding them.

So, in a simple, quiet act of farewell, because I do not know what else to do, I placed two sheets of paper on my kitchen counter. One said at the top, “God has done great things for me (here), and I am filled with joy.” The other said, “I thank my God every time I remember you.” I spent a couple days filling those sheets of paper with sweet memories and parting gratitudes for the home that has sheltered me for over four years and for the man who was my husband for almost eighteen.

I will thank God over these lists. I will cry. I will let Jesus walk me through this grieving process as I pack and reminisce, as I watch things die and be buried and change. And then I will wait for the new life to come, for the new thing he wants to do in me that I cannot yet see or believe.

Humble Me

2011-11-09T11:36:00.000-06:00

When I first felt deep down that my story was not mine alone and I knew I was being asked, if you will, to share my heart and life with more than just my friends, I didn’t fully know what to expect. I knew after ten years of public speaking that there were women who would come up to me after a talk and whisper, “My marriage is hard and I don’t know what to do,” or “You’re the first person I’m telling this too, but my husband…” I knew there were women out there who were hurting, who might gain something from hearing how I’ve walked this road, or at the very least, that they aren’t alone (which, as it turns out, is a very powerful thing to know).

I got some backlash from people who disagree with me and my story, which we’ve already discussed. But I wasn’t expecting the floodgates pouring open from women and men who are hurting.

These are just some of the things I’ve heard over the past week:

“I have been SEARCHING for a blog like yours--even prayed, "Oh, Father--if you can just show me ONE woman out there who is having to suffer through this hell, I know I can make it."

“I will translate your article into Spanish to share it with my daughter so she can read it and try to learn the most she can.”

“Your story has been a source of encouragement to women who have kept silent about their pain.”

"You have refreshed my spirit to actually meet a Christian woman who is willing to be real.”

“An email about your article was in my inbox this morning and I can only believe that it was God's hand. I desperately needed to read your story.”

"I'm eager to learn and listen from this journey you are in. Thank you for sharing your bleeding heart...”

“My Dear Sister--- I came right to your blog. The Lord led me right to it and as I read it...I was moved and I knew it came right on time...I am an adult son of a mother who is really going through the thick of it....my parents have been married for 40 years. I showed her your writing today and she wept and wept.... You are Beloved of the Most High."

Side note: when I told my daughter this morning that someone was going to translate my article into Spanish for his daughter, she said, “Mom, you’re changing lives…I’m so proud of you.” (Frankly, those are the only words I would’ve needed to hear this week to overlook the unkind ones.)

But there have been more. In fact, for every one horrible thing I’ve seen in the past week, I have probably read five or more stories like this. This hurts my heart because so, so many people are in pain. This encourages me to keep writing because I want to reach out with the comfort I’ve received. And this humbles me, because all of those moments sobbing on my bathroom floor had a purpose. Brokenness turned into freedom. Freedom turned into comfort. Comfort turned into healing. Healing turned into redemption. Redemption turned into helping others who are broken. And the cycle, so I pray, will go on.

Judge Me

2011-11-08T21:36:00.002-06:00

For over fifteen years, I have been quietly living a horror story underneath the reality that I showed the world. As the final chapter is currently being written, I have felt a nudging and a releasing to share that story with others for one reason and one reason only:

{He} comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. –I Corinthians 1:4-

The painfulness of this story, along with the shame and controversy it has carried, had pushed me underground for so very long, and yet I believed one day I would be able to reach out to others and proclaim that they are not alone and that there is hope.

My story is of a broken marriage. If I were not a believer, I would not have felt the need to keep it to myself all those years, but because we as followers of Christ sometimes do not know how to handle each other’s pain, let alone with overflowing grace, I kept for the most part silent.

Also, I had asked for help from the Church and did not receive it until recently. That was another compelling force to share my story. Surely, I am not the only woman who loves Christ and was in a destructive marriage. And certainly, I am not the only hurting woman who turned to her church community and was rebuffed in some form.

So, I’ve been sharing my story, mainly to a specific and focused audience…for the most part, I was writing to believers of Jesus. I was writing, basically, to the Church. To people who claim to know, follow and love God. I wanted the quiet, hurting women to feel understood, and I wanted those who have no idea what it feels like to hopefully catch an empathetic glimpse.

Now, I went into this predicting there would be some backlash. I went into this knowing that some might not understand. Some might have differing opinions. Some might think I was wrong and maybe even let me know.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the cruelty and harshness from other self-proclaimed Christians. Here are just some of the words that my fellow brothers and sisters wrote to me and about me:

"The statement: A Christian marriage unraveling is a contradiction. A Christian marriage would never unravel. Someone needs an exact definition of Christian."

“Your influence on women to ignore scripture in order to pursue self is not an influence that is in concert with God's spirit.”

“I hope the writer does not plan to remarry, if so she will be committing adultery."

“How can you hate men?”

“Aren't you supposed to be a light for the world?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You are a heartless woman.”

As you might imagine, these bitter and disturbing words have been rolling around in my mind and heart this week, and I’ve had to fight against any of them taking root. My faith was questioned. My values were questioned. My sanity was questioned. My future choices were questioned. I was chastised, condemned and appraised by strangers who read about two thousand words of my life story.

Now, my knee-jerk reaction was to plaster this verse on my blog and walk away for a while:

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” –Matthew 7:1-

And even though I was able to find innumerable verses that sound just like that one, another rattled in my head that I just couldn’t shake:

“What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside?” –I Corinthians 5:12-

You are supposed to judge me, so it seems. I am supposed to judge you. We are not supposed to judge those who don’t call themselves believers, because God will be their judge, but we are to judge each other.

How I wish that weren’t the case, trust me. But it makes sense if you think about it. We are supposed to guard ourselves from false teaching and protect each other from going astray and hurting each other. How can we do that for each other if we do not, from time to time, speak those difficult words of judgment?

However, with the Spirit reminding me of that Truth does come another point. There is a reason why I was so very hurt by those jagged, haunting words from my spiritual family.

Because they were mean.

Scripture speaks of a principle that I do not believe was practiced when these hateful words were typed at me:

“Speak the truth in love.” –Ephesians 4:15-

Telling me, from behind your computer, knowing you’ll more than likely never have to look me in the eye, that I am heartless is not a truth veiled in love. Telling me that there’s a good chance I’m not a Christian if my marriage is ending is not allowing your gentle spirit to be evident to all with the remembrance that our Lord is near (Philippians 4:5). A dear friend wrote as a response to a commenter, “Don't write anything to this dear sister that you wouldn't say to her face, with Jesus standing there listening. Because he is. For his sake, be nice.”

I am not asking for apologies for the cutting words. I am not expecting them. In fact, I am assuming that the people who wrote those words feel quite justified in their stances and in their presentations and are probably about to shoot off a response to these words as well.

But I have two final thoughts to the writers of such unkindnesses, who call themselves Christians.

First, you must be in such pain. There must be something in your own life, some past abuse, some unresolved forgiveness, some bitterness that has grown deep down, that you would write such a thing to a stranger without thinking twice. And for that, I am so sorry. I am sorry if the Church is who hurt you. I am sorry if another Christian hurt you. I am sorry if something has a hold of you and you can’t break free. You were my enemies this week and I prayed for you. I am praying for your freedom, and for a softening of your spirit and a healing of your soul.

But secondly, I have a plea. It was words like yours that kept me silent and imprisoned for so long. If you know someone who is hurting and if their circumstances don’t fit into your black and white views of God and Scripture and how life is supposed to work, please, please do not speak harshly to them. You may not realize this, dear reader and commenter, but this week with your pointed words, you kicked me, very hard, while I was down. I can walk away and not take on your wounds as my own because I do not know you personally. But I am begging you, that if all you have to say is filled with ice cold judgment, please keep it to yourself. Because remember, Jesus is right there, listening and beckoning you to be gentle with the ones he loves.

Hell And...

2011-11-07T09:07:00.001-06:00

This has been one of the longest waiting seasons of my life, but something is being burned out of me that I wasn’t expecting. My impatience.

I am separated but not divorced.

I am in the process of purchasing a new home, that sits there empty and ready, but over two months past my original closing date.

I can do nothing about either of these things. And yet, I find I am not tapping my emotional foot.

David’s words in Psalm 66 are my backdrop for this yet-another-waiting day:

Didn't God set us on the road to life? Didn't he keep us out of the ditch?
He trained us first, passed us like silver through refining fires,
Brought us into hardscrabble country, pushed us to our very limit,
Road-tested us inside and out, took us to hell and back;
Finally he brought us to this well-watered place.

I believe my resting and not freaking out is coming from finally beginning to understand who is my Author. God has kept my foot from slipping. God has preserved my life. And yet, God is the One who is testing and refining me. My so-called human enemies are not capable of that. There is not a person or persons for me to really blame my on-hold circumstances on. A court or a bank or a man cannot keep me from where God wants me. So if I’m not there yet – whatever there might look like – it’s because God wants me here.

And God is the one who brought us to prison, who laid burdens on our backs, who is pushing us to our limits and what seems like beyond them. He is the one bringing me to hell and… And this is where I am right now. Hell and… I’m living in the hell and… But even that’s okay because he is the one who will bring me back and not just back to where I was before but back to a place of abundance, to a well-watered place.

He is my Author. He brings me to. He will be my Finisher. He will bring me back, to something better. Just probably not today.

Who Says It's Not the Critic that Counts?

2011-11-02T09:10:00.000-05:00

I have been accused of wearing my heart on my sleeve, of sharing more in a public forum than is deemed appropriate, of basically being too much of myself on the page. These things were said to me even before I came out of the “hard marriage” closet, and back then, I was writing only in veiled references most of the time.

But now…now that I am no longer hiding, now that I’m an open book, as I’ve been recently told, I am catching some flack. Okay, so, more specifically, in the past twenty-four hours. You see, I wrote a couple painful-to-write essays that have come under fire. And when you are a writer or artist or creator of any kind, you are actually what is scrutinized as your work is being scrutinized, because the work is an extension of you. My heart is in my words. I cannot be separated from them.

So, I splayed myself out there, letting blood drip on the page of some posts, and I heard from people.

Some, the majority, were kind. I heard that I was not alone. I heard that my story reminded them of their stories. I heard that God had healed them, or at least, was bringing them healing. I heard them say that they are stronger because of their pain. And I heard thank you for sharing this over and over. These are the words that should stay with me, that should push me to write even more authentically.

But then others, well…others I just plain ticked off. I heard everything from “you’re wrong to justify your actions” to “what is wrong with you??” to, basically, “you call yourself a Christian?” Talk about wanting to take my ball and go home.

But here are a couple things that I have in my arsenal now that I didn’t know ten or fifteen years ago.

I’m a part of a community of women, friends and fellow writers, who not only covered me with gentle words to heap on top of the harsh ones, but they even took to the streets for me. Not only did I not have to defend myself against those allegations, I didn’t even have to ask anyone to do so for me…they just went and did it on their own, “storming the castle” on my behalf. Even a year ago, I would’ve read the words that I read yesterday and I would’ve cried and I maybe would’ve not written another word for a while. But now, with these women surrounding me reminding me to be fearless and brave, I’m back on my horse, word sword in hand, doing what I’m called to do.

And I also know something else. I have spent my entire life caring desperately what other people think of me. Sadly, I have allowed that unhealthy thinking to flourish in every area of my life. In fact, recently, I had two confrontations within a few days of each other and I couldn’t help but obsess about them. Why did he say that? Why does she feel that way about me? Doesn’t he know I’m doing my best? Doesn’t she know my heart? And one day, I felt the Spirit say to me, clear as can be, “You care too much what other people think of you.” I literally said out loud, “Wait…what did you just say?” “You care too much what other people think of you. Only my opinion of you matters.”

Tears welled up in my eyes immediately. I hate disappointing people. And I mean, hate it. I fear having differing opinions from people who I know will be mad at me if I do so. I just want everybody to like me. But you know what I’m learning? Everybody doesn’t like me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Everybody doesn’t agree with me, and they don’t have to. You reading this right now do not have to agree with even one word I say. It’s totally okay.

But this is what I believe now, and this is why I’m writing this morning after a brutal day.

“I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me.” (I Corinthians 4:3-4)

It turns out that it is scriptural – not selfish – to not care what other people think of me, especially because I know my heart. I know I’m not trying to justify anything, because I don’t have anyone to justify to. I know that I am a Christian because I love Christ. I know I’m supposed to be a light but it’s through telling the truth of my pain and how Jesus is healing me that I choose to shine it. And I know that he’s given me stories and words to share.

So for today, I’m listening to his voice only, and his voice is Love.

Lessons I've Learned from Men

2011-11-01T11:01:00.001-05:00

I’m thinking about the men in my life and how they have influenced my views of the world but more importantly of myself. Here are just a few random lessons.

You are not worth committing to.
I don’t love you enough to stay.
You have to tell me you love me even if you don’t.
You are the reason you are treated the way you are.
You’re fine for now, but, oh wait…she’s prettier and better in almost every possible way.
I have no desire to get to know who you really are.
You don’t deserve the respect to be told to your face that I’ve already moved on.
You make me uncomfortable so I’m not going to enter in.
You are overdramatic and therefore shouldn’t always be believed.
I will not be here for you no matter what.
You are your own worst enemy.
You need help.
You are an idiot.
You must beg for my affection.

Some of these things have been implied with actions, but others have been spoken to me outright. (Yes, I’m a broken little girl.) But as I was foolishly dredging up all of this the other night, I was reminded of a couple things.

First of all, I’ve also heard kinder words from some men in my life:

You are heard and understood.
You are protected.
You’re a great leader and I would follow you.
You are worth pursuing.
I’d trust you with my life.
You can’t help but be beautiful.
You are funny and kind.
You are one of the most important people in my life.
You are worth standing up for.
You are an honorable woman.I am on your side.
(Thank you to these dear friends.)

And secondly, there is only one Man who can speak the deepest, truest truths about me and into me. And this is what he has to say:

You are precious and honored in my sight.
You will never be alone.
You are protected at all times.
You bring me joy.
I sing songs of delight over you.I hear you and give you what you need.
I am revolutionizing you into something beautiful.
I have adopted you as my child.
I will love you completely all the days of your life.

I have wounds from men. But I have a God who serves as my Husband, Heavenly Father, and Counselor, who leads me out into the desert and desires to speak tenderly to me and bring me the fullest of healings (Hosea 2:14), and so…I will let him.

Moments for Mom - November

2011-11-01T09:55:00.000-05:00

It was hard on me as a kid when my parents got divorced. It could be for this very reason that I’m so…ummm…mad at myself, maybe…so concerned about my own kids during this time.

One of my children has had a more obvious difficult time lately. Grades, school, youth group, attitude, etc. I think I’ve handled it all pretty well considering, with firmness and consequences and not backing down. But trust me when I say, I wanted to just let said child practically do whatever s/he wanted so as to assuage my humungous mommy guilt. But I didn’t, and for today, we’re on some solid ground and I’m grateful.

Then there’s my other child. If you were to ask my other child what’s going on in his/her life, s/he would say, “Not much.” There is not one outward sign of emotional turmoil. Grades are steady. Homework and chores are getting done. Friendships are flourishing. Life is good.

This, of course, scares the living daylights out of me. Apparently, give me an outward rebellious child any day. It’s the quiet ones that freak me out. Because I just know that there has got to be something lurking. There is no way any child could get through what we’ve been going through and not be affected in some way, shape or form. But this child of mine --- skating on through.

I realize of course that I am overlaying my experiences onto this child and I’m assuming s/he is a mess deep down, or at the very least, is a ticking time bomb and I should just hold my breath until I start smelling pot or notice a skull and crossbones tattoo peeking out from a t-shirt collar.

But the advice I’ve been given is simply this, oblivion can be a gift. And don’t borrow trouble.

Yes, it is affecting this child, no doubt about it. But this child just might not be ready to process. I need to be grateful that all is well in that little world and just enjoy it. There will probably be a time in the next few years when it will come to the surface, and we’ll just deal with it then. But for now, I’m going to leave well enough alone. I’m going to laugh with my kids. I’m going to let them do their homework or not do their homework (they earn their own grades…I’ve already been through school). I’m going to spend time with them. I’m going to listen to them if and when they actually want to open up. I’m going to tell them I’m here no matter what they do, no matter what they say, no matter what they feel.

Basically, I’m going to love them. Right now. And I’m going to let tomorrow take care of itself.

Small Good Things

2011-10-31T07:10:00.000-05:00

So today I have no big dreams. I think I will again at some point, hopefully soon, but for right now I’m okay with just looking at the week ahead and making sure I do laundry and vacuum and feed my kids a time or two. And though I could not answer the question of a big thing that I’m looking forward to – an unexpected good thing that has come through the process of divorcing – I thought back to a life crisis about five years ago and how I learned a hugely transformational lesson from author Ben Patterson.

“When we give thanks no matter what, we act on the premise that the future will turn out perfectly. The next moment may be dreadful, maybe even the next decade or two, but He who holds the last hour has assured us that everything will be glorious in the end. I can live from now on knowing that my life is going to turn out just fine. I can give thanks as an act of hope, acting as though everything God promised about the future is true. Because it is.”

The lesson I learned? Thank God now and look for the good now. That crisis five years ago so turned my life on its head that I barely recognize myself from the woman I was before it happened. Innumerable external circumstances changed along with passions and focus and how I spent my time. It made my life even bigger than it was before, in really good and sweet and important ways.

This current crisis, if you can call it that, is bringing much subtler changes. I’m having to squint to see them. Some days it feels like I’m just becoming a smaller person, that I’m shrinking, that I’ve lost portions of myself. But I’m trying to choose to look for the good that’s coming and here is what I’m seeing.

I love my kids more and better. We have more time together. We talk more. I’m more protective of them, in a good way. I’m being more consistent with them.

There is a peace in our home now that I haven’t experienced in over fifteen years, that my kids haven’t experienced their entire lives. The price a family pays when the homefront is chaotic is difficult to measure, but I know firsthand it’s costly beyond words.

My thoughts are not consumed as they once were. Yes, I still think about how my kids are doing with all this, and what new antic has just played out, and how this divorce is affecting me now and will affect me down the road, but if you could’ve seen inside my hurting, confused mind before all this took its current turn, you would not have believed how much mental energy I gave toward trying to simply get through another day.

My friends mean even more to me, which I didn’t think was possible. Probably because collectively, along with my Maker, they are my partner.

One of my spiritual gifts is leadership. I have had to step down from a thing or two because of my situation. And though I haven’t fully tapped into this one, I see the potential for me to creatively figure out new ways to express my gifts and my voice other than leading a team toward a cause.

My depression makes me slower and less ambitious, so I’m trying to see and enjoy the smaller things around me…the leaves, holding a friend’s baby, letting little girls put barrettes in my hair while their mommy takes a much-needed nap, tea with a new friend who gets what I’m going through.

I’m grateful. I’m not just grateful for whatever redemption may come down the line, but I’m grateful for today. For the quiet. For the peace of mind. For the relief. For the knowing I did what I could. For the support and those standing alongside me. For the beginnings of trying to understand that somehow I am in the will of God. So, no big dreams for my future just yet, but if I look really hard, lots of small good things now.

A Different Kind of Anniversary

2011-10-29T11:06:00.000-05:00

I want to tell you about my church. I’m not sure even Acts 2 believers felt about their church what I have felt about my church. My husband and I first attended there two weekends after our wedding. Which means this weekend is my eighteenth church anniversary. It was the first church we looked at together as a couple. We went back every weekend since. And every Wednesday. And every potluck dinner. We didn’t look any further. I just knew that it was my church.

(There is an irony in the lack of depth of how I chose it as our first place to check out. I had driven by several times and thought, “What a cute little white church.” That’s it. That is the entire foundation to which eighteen years of commitment stands. I thought it was cute.)

But the weekends melted into years. I got baptized there (though I had been a believer for about ten years already). We became members there. I got my first job after marriage there, becoming their first official church administrator. We had our daughter there, and dedicated her there. I started the Women’s Ministry there. We had our son there, and dedicated him there. I gave the Mother’s Day message there (the last one of its kind as women were no longer allowed to preach after me…not because I sucked, but a change in policy…at least, that’s what I keep telling myself). I struggled hard with their stance on women in leadership there. I laid that argument of mine down there…not changing what I believed but choosing not to die on that hill.

I met several of my closest friends there. I was asked to be on staff over communications, connections and small groups, taking on my first real grown-up job there. We watched a friend grieve the death of her young husband there. We gave large amounts of money to further the Kingdom there. I fought with people who didn’t like me. One time, a gal who I’d known for maybe ten years, handed me a letter with a list of my faults that she had compiled from several unnamed sources, just as a heads up…something she thought I might want to know about and maybe, I don’t know, fix. But you know what? Even that was Church. That I didn’t slap her was Church. That I thought about it but didn’t was Church. That we actually talked it through was Church. I baptized my Mom there. I picked out my kids’ future spouses there. I laughed there, I cried there, I worshiped there, I served there. I lived and breathed there. It was my second home, my family.

Eighteen years is a lot of sermons. Eighteen years holds over two hundred times finding the communion elements resting in my outstretched hands. Eighteen years is a lot of worship, a lot of mind-wandering, a lot of prayer, a lot of rebuking, a lot of laughter and innumerable tears. It was goodbyes and new risks and little deaths and different kinds of courage to fit each circumstance. It also held a whole lot of growing up.

Every single life event that I have walked through since the age of 23 has been with this set of people and within these walls. There is something to be said for staying long enough to know each other’s history, to stay long enough to make new history.

We were never going to leave, he and I. We were going to grow old there as far as I was concerned. And this is still, at this time in my life, my individual plan. Because if it’s true what Dallas Willard says, that “eternity is in session”, eighteen years is just the beginning.

Dried Up

2011-10-28T09:17:00.000-05:00

“What is something that you have tried or are looking forward to trying now that you wouldn’t have thought to do if you weren’t going through this divorce?” my DivorceCare small group leader asked us.

I joined a volleyball league.

I’m going to see Lynyrd Skynyrd this week. I’ve never done anything like that before.

I signed up to volunteer at the Pregnancy Information Center.

I went back to school for nursing.

I rediscovered my love for painting.

I sat and listened to the people around the table answer quickly and definitively. They were able to see things in their lives that were good and that would not necessarily have happened had they not gone through this dark time.

I had a different story to tell and I don’t think I realized it until that moment.

“I have lived out all of my dreams. Honestly. I have written books, I am a mother, I have a speaking ministry, I have the best friends any girl could ever want, I’ve led the women’s ministry at my church, I’ve traveled to Haiti and to Africa, I’ve been on staff at a big church…” I said, and paused. “I filled up my life to compensate for the deficiencies in my marriage. I’ve already done all I’ve wanted to do. And now…now I’m watching things shift. I’ve stepped down from leading things, my speaking schedule is leaner because of my situation, I can’t pick up and travel to a third world country as easily as a single mom… I’m not complaining, but I’m realizing that my dreams already came true.”

So another huge thing I’m scared to write about is the admission that I fear that my best life experiences are behind me, that they have all already happened.

There, I said it. That is what I’m sitting with today. That I'm done. That I've been shown the door.

Because of my dark cloud (see the last post), I am well aware that pessimism might be following me around. I also know that I’ve always struggled with the concept of hope. I’m totally excited and anticipating my time with Jesus when all is said and done, but show me a verse that says I have hope for a fun, adventurous life here on earth. We have a hope and a future, for sure…but is that necessarily talking about now?

I know it doesn’t work this way but a small part of me feels like I’ve already lived a lifetime of dream fulfillment and I can’t possibly have more big experiences coming down the pike for me, especially as walking wounded.

But this is a short-view perspective. It might be the perspective I’ve got today but I am hoping (see, there I go bringing up hope again) that Jesus will realign my vision sometime soon.

Until then, some lyrics from Sara Groves:

It’s hard to feel obsolete / It’s hard to feel your skirts are showing / You pull and tug to hide the works / That keep the whole thing going /

And you don’t know where you stand / And you feel so small and thin / And if you are dismissed / Will another take you in? /

And if you are dismissed / Will you get another try? /

And I know I shouldn’t care / If I’m out or if I’m in / Cause if I am dismissed / Oh you always take me in

Scary Things

2011-10-25T14:06:00.002-05:00

One of my best friends just posted this morning about creating a list of topics that scare her to even consider writing about (www.shelimassie.blogspot.com/). That thought took my breath away and seeing as she and I are humbly part of a group that believes in “fearlessly expanding the feminine voice”, I took up the challenge and wrote my own list.

At the top: my undiagnosed, low-grade depression. I thought it fitting to write about it on a day when I’m feeling its effects. Though the colors on the trees across my pond are bursting, it is a gloomy day, inside and out for me. I took a nap, longer than I had planned. I want to take another one, truth be told. I feel as if I’ve gotten next to nothing done of any value today. I have so far skipped my time with Jesus, and my smoothie (that combo almost never happens). My daughter will be home in an hour. I have no idea what we’re doing for dinner tonight, and I don’t really care. I’m still in my pajamas and I’m trying to come up with an excuse not to go to my DivorceCare meeting tonight just because I don’t want to leave the house.

Not all of my days are like this, by any means. But some of them, more than I want to tell you, are. I hover between beating myself up that I’m wasting my life, this good life that I’ve been given, and trying to gently remind myself, as I would a dear friend, that sadness comes with my territory these days.

The reason this is on my list of things I am scared to write about is I still care too, too much what people think about me. I used to be very busy. I worked part-time at my church and carried a fairly full speaking schedule all while trying to be a good wife, mom, friend and homemaker. And that busyness validated my existence and value, especially with people who don’t hold my worldview (that my times are in my Father’s hands and our busyness means little to him compared to the state of our heart).

So, now I’m not only not busy, but I’m sad and frumpy part of the time.

However, I continue to forget that not only does everyone else have a thing that they’re carrying and possibly ashamed of, but for the most part, everyone else is so self-focused that they don’t really think about me as much as I think they do.

So, today, on this wet fall day, with almost nothing crossed off my day’s to-do list, I say to you with trepidation, “I’m Beth and I’m ever-so-slightly depressed…and I might be like this for a while. And it’s okay.”

You don’t have to try to cheer me up. Not only is it not your job, it’s not even mine. Jesus is the keeper of my soul and holds the tenor of my emotions. There is a purpose to this slowness and melancholia. I don’t see it yet, but I don’t feel as if I need to.

What's In Your Shopping Cart?

2011-10-24T12:24:00.000-05:00

I’m walking a fine line of finding the need to temper my kids’ expectations of other people while not bad-mouthing others all at the same time.

This visual came to mind that I’m hoping might help them (and me). Picture each person with their own shopping cart that they push through life. The cart should be filled with components that make up spiritual health, physical health, emotional health and relational health.

A healthy and whole person has things in their cart that make up their spiritual component, like first and foremost, a relationship with God. You also might find connection to a church, regular Bible reading, a solid prayer life, serving others.

The physical components could be eating well, exercising, getting enough rest, carving out time for fun.

A healthy emotional person has good boundaries, knows when to say no, apologizes when wrong, gets help when struggling, things like that.

And a relationally healthy person chooses good friends and pours into them, is loyal and trustworthy, serves other people but does not enable.

A healthy person – ideally – has a full shopping cart. But not every person is a healthy person. Some people have sparse carts because they’re just plain young and are still learning what they should be carrying around with them. Some are in pain circumstantially and components they usually tend to have in spades have been pushed to the wayside and are depleted for a season. Some people were never told what to put in their carts in the first place, so the uneven weight makes them unintentionally – or intentionally depending on the situation and the person - ram their carts into others. Or, simply, though they may be generally well equipped to handle life, some specific circumstances just don’t fit with anything they’ve got in their cart, so they don’t know what to do. In other words, you can’t expect something from someone if they never experienced it for themselves (like mercy or forgiveness or the unconditional love of Christ).

In the middle of my mess, I had laid some pretty significant expectations on certain people in my life of how they’d support me. This has not served me well, I’m afraid. I have been hurt and disappointed this past year and I believe I’m beginning to see why. I was looking at each person in my life as if all of their carts were full. But first of all, no one’s cart is ever truly full or we wouldn’t need Jesus. Secondly, my cart isn’t full, so why should anyone else’s be? Thirdly, even if someone’s cart is pretty full, they may have a thing or two of their own that is taking up extra energy or resources. So I’m finding that once I survey each person’s cart, I can begin to see them through eyes of compassion and not eyes of disappointment.

So I will tell my children that not every person will respond to them the way that they want them to. That maybe it’s because they’re hurting or in need or were never given the tools to fill up their carts and truly be there for someone else in the first place. And that they need to be careful what you put upon another person to do for you or fill up in you.

And yet on the flipside, it also has me thinking…am I moving towards wholeness to healthily be there for the people in my life and to make sure I’m not banging my cart into anyone else’s? What’s in my shopping cart?

What’s in yours?

I'm Not Contagious

2011-10-22T19:38:00.002-05:00

Several years ago, something bad happened to someone that I knew and I never really asked her about it. I didn’t do this because I was condemning, or trying to be cold-hearted. I did this mainly because I didn’t know what to say or what to ask. I was scared. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And a part of me didn’t want to hear her describe the depth of pain because I didn’t think I could handle it.

More recently, something bad happened to someone I know and I totally asked her about it. I drove to her house. We went for a walk. I was gentle, but I asked. A lot of compassionate but probing questions. And I listened. I wanted to know how she was feeling. I wanted to know how I could help. I wanted to know how I could pray. I wanted to understand. I wanted to stand beside her. I wanted her to feel not so alone.

I have had people fall into both of these camps regarding my current situation. Some that used to chat me up have not said one word to me since news got out. And some have pursued me and entered into my pain right alongside me.

To those of you walking closely, unafraid, thank you. Truly thank you. I know I’m a scandal. I know I’m wearing a scarlet letter ‘D’. I know it would be easier to act all busy and such around me. But you don’t. Of those who have come closer, not one has acted differently around me, and I am beyond grateful.

To those who have kept their distance, please know that I understand. I’ve made that choice before. But I’ve always regretted that choice when looking back. Perhaps your life has been easy breezy and pain gives you the creeps. Maybe you offer up platitudes (“in all things God works for good…”) no matter what the situation is and you’ve noticed a cool stare come your way. Or, who knows, maybe you’ve experienced so much of your own pain that you can’t bear to sit next to a mess right now. I totally get it.

But if there is someone in your life walking through the fire right now, even if it takes everything in you, please consider walking alongside their fire with them. Here’s why. Divorce isn’t contagious. Abortion can’t be caught. Depression won’t rub off on you. Infidelity isn’t infectious. Cancer isn’t communicable. Addiction doesn’t spread. You can walk closely, you can ask questions, you can hold a hand, you can pray, and you can make someone feel less alone, scandal or not. Because something truly is better than nothing.

Forty Five to Death

2011-10-18T11:40:00.000-05:00

I think a few years of twelve-step recovery groups have messed with my head just a bit. I’ve gotten “one day at a time” drilled into me like nobody’s business. It was good at first, because I was pretty much living fifty years at a time when I first dragged myself into those group meetings, but now…well, now I might just have the opposite problem.

Here’s where I’m at today. I’m living in faith for this day in front of me. And pretty much tomorrow too. No real huge worries, to be honest (even in my current circumstances). And on a typical day, I really don’t look too much farther ahead than this week. That’s huge for me. So, there’s my one day at a time thing working its magic.

And then, when my mind is wandering, I jump ahead just a tad. As in, I can picture where I’ll be during the next five years (if we ever actually move there), and what my main purpose will be (love and train my children through the teenage years and prepare them for adulthood). My next five years is pretty much all set. Not a lot of fear when I look ahead. Just simply good to know what’s coming for the most part.

And then, well, I jump ahead a lot. My death. I believe that the moment after I die, I’ll be in the presence of God. How mind-blowingly amazing is that? Talk about something to look forward to. Some people can’t wait til Friday or their Caribbean cruise. Those of us who believe in Jesus, we’ve got a completely secure and totally cool future ahead of us.

So, here’s my problem. Mid-August of 2016, I’ll be helping my son pack up his car and he’ll pull out of our driveway (after I pry myself off him from my mama bear hug) and I’ll walk back into our big vacant house, a forty-five year old empty-nester, all alone.

I know what I’m doing today. I know what I’m doing tomorrow. I know what I’m doing for the next five years. I know what I’m doing after I die. But forty-five to death has me scratching my head and a little worried, I must say.

When I start to think about those years, that last half of my life, I get worked up and scared. I don’t want to be a woman who clings to her children, who makes them feel guilty for leaving me (sigh) “all alone” to go out and live their lives. I don’t want to be a woman who becomes a needy bother to her friends. Who never leaves her house. Or who, heaven forbid, gets a lot of cats. But probably because of the grieving place that I’m currently in, I can’t see big and bright plans for myself during that season of mine.

But if one day at a time has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t need see plans for forty-five to death. I just need to see what’s in front of me. So that’s what I’m trying to do this day.

To the Full

2011-10-16T12:50:00.002-05:00

I’m hovering in the sadlands lately and as I was journaling this morning, I wrote, “I’m tired of being tired.” Then I paused, looked out my window, took another sip of tea. “Okay, well, actually…” I continued, “this sadness of mine is super-safe. So, help me want to become well.”

But, really, what is so wrong with the state I’m in? Why is being sad taboo, something to be pitied? (Especially when someone is actually grieving something.) What is the rush to get through it? Every emotion that a human can experience was placed inside us by a good God. Depression and anger are not on the “bad” end of the emotional continuum with happiness tipping the scales on the other end as the ultimate prize. It doesn’t work that way.

Jesus said in John 10:10 that he “came that they may have life, and may have it abundantly.” Notice, he does not say that he came that we can be happy all the time. That we might laugh more than cry. He came to bring us life. When he joins his life with ours, abundance is what comes. Abundance in every area.

I have felt for years now that my life has deeper joys and deeper sorrows now that I follow Christ. There is a richness to my life experiences because Jesus lives in me. I do not need to fear or hide from or wish away any emotion.

I think over the past twenty years.

I have had crazy joy:

Motherhood to two gorgeous children.

A church home of eighteen years and counting.

Women who will be my best friends until the day I die.

A dream come true of becoming an author.

A speaking ministry that gives my life purpose.

Leading a women’s ministry for ten years.

Trips to Haiti, Sierra Leone, and Liberia.

A passion for AIDS and clean water.

Helping friends adopt internationally.

I could go on and on and on…

And I have had crazy sorrow:

A broken engagement.

Quitting my master’s program.

Moving seven times.

A fifteen-month crisis that turned my world upside down.

Friends moving away.

A difficult marriage that’s ending in divorce.

I could go on and on and on…

All of this has made my life abundant, not just the joy list, but every moment. I’ve been abundantly blessed and abundantly broken, and it is a better, fuller, deeper, sweeter life than I ever could have dreamed of. Just the way it is.

So, thank you, Jesus…maybe in your eyes I am already well…

Be Careful What You Pray For

2011-10-14T20:34:00.000-05:00

In my last post, I shared that this week held two anniversaries for me, and that though what I’m currently slogging through is painful and filled with much waiting and little calm, I was going to choose to honor my marriage through mulling over sweet memories and praying for my children and their father.

Twenty two years ago, at this moment, I was downtown Chicago hearing a Greek waiter yell, opa! while fire danced on the most amazing cheese I had ever tasted. I wore a dress that he had chosen. I was nervous and excited and knew that night that I already loved him.

I have dredged up one memory after another this week, doing my best to only pull out the good ones. I have even heard myself laugh outloud a time or two. And I have prayed prayers over my children and their dad this week in a much more intentional and focused way. I want so much for my children to have a wonderful life, to not repeat my mistakes, to let the place they find themselves in to be usable in the hands of God. I want them to have strong, healthy relationships with their dad. I want them to enjoy each other’s company, to miss him when they’re with me, and to miss me when they’re with him (or, I suppose the healthier wish would be that they don’t miss either of us at any time, but I’m not quite there yet in my mothering). I want them to be able to communicate well with both of us, sharing their hearts and feeling truly heard and understood. I want health and wholeness for all four of us, even in our separate corners, and I have prayed these things – and more - over us this week.

But as the story goes, sometimes, when you’re doing Kingdom work, it’s going to feel like you’re walking uphill against the wind and seem harder than it needs to be. And this week has been no exception.

I have had unsettling dreams, little bits and pieces that I can barely remember but that leave me sad and filled with longing. I received an email riddled with accusations that left me feeling cold, and that I get to spend the weekend defending. I shared part of my story today to a group of women, ironically on this anniversary, and had to make myself say the words that I really do believe (that God has no plan B’s, that he uses everything, that I’m not alone) but that I really didn’t feel so much this week. And I had to send my kids off for another weekend, after an immature-on-both-our-parts argument on the front porch just like old times. A bitter reminder that this is our new life.

So, tonight, I sit alone. I can hear the clock tick because there’s no typical teenage commotion in my background. I remember the table where we shared our first couple’s meal. I remember the butterflies. I remember the eyes of the man I knew was my future husband. And I hold those thoughts close to me tonight, believing that prayers will be answered in ways I can’t yet see.

In Memory Of

2011-10-09T12:51:00.002-05:00

This week holds two emotion-filled dates for me. Twenty two years ago was a very significant first date…my last first date, actually. And eighteen years ago I was front and center at a wedding…mine.

I remember that first date so clearly. What I wore, what he wore, where we went. I remember butterflies and not believing I was actually on a real date with my years-long crush.

And I, of course, remember my wedding day. My dress was gorgeous, if I say so myself. The church was candlelit, reminiscent of my childhood sanctuary. The reception was a grand party filled with music and laughter. And yet, the entire day, I was unsure yet resolved. There was an argument in the limo between the wedding and reception. And I walked into married life scared, and doubtful of my ability to keep it all going for the rest of my life. But I walked into it nonetheless.

I’ve asked Jesus to walk me gently through this week. This will be the first year that we will not acknowledge these dates to each other. The first year I will not pull out my wedding video and watch the vows, the songs, the dancing.

In a season of goodbyes and disentangling, my mindset might seem odd to some, but my marriage meant something. Every moment was not tear-filled, though many, many were. And even the ones that were, well…I purposely stayed through the tears for as long as I was able. Those years are worth honoring.

And so I am choosing to honor my marriage this week through reminiscing over the sweeter times and through praying for my spouse and my children. I’m going to let this week remind me that good did indeed come from the hard, that I have two magnificent children from that union, that Jesus was ever-present in each memory, and that marriage always was and always will be designed as a good, sweet gift. So this week, I am choosing gratitude in the pain.

Moments for Mom - October

2011-09-30T17:27:00.000-05:00

Kevin Leman in Have a New Teenager by Friday – not that I need a new teenager by Friday or anything…totally reading this for entertainment purposes only – talks about three kinds of parenting styles. I’m paraphrasing here, but there’s the ‘whatever you want, baby’ kind of parent; the ‘it’s my way or the highway’ kind of parent; and then there’s the parent who strikes the balance, acknowledging that every person in the family is equal but has different roles.

I have to admit that I’ve leaned a tad more towards being the kind of mom who could be manipulated, whose heart strings could be tugged just so and then I’d give in to whatever the request of the moment was. I have justified this behavior of mine because of my guilt regarding what my kids are currently going through.

But I’ve noticed something shift in me this month. I’ve had crisis upon crisis befall my little life and I have not had the emotional energy that I typically would’ve had to parent. The interesting thing, though, is that I noticed that I didn’t fall further into my default mode but instead realized that if I weren’t careful, I could lose the war with my kids.

So I ironically became firmer - in my resolve, in my no’s, in my choosing not to engage in round-and-round arguments that go nowhere. My no’s remained no’s these past few weeks. My ‘that’s your decision, but then you will deal with the consequences’ came quicker and more calmly from my lips.

I haven’t picked a child up from school who has called twice, not really needing to be picked up. I walked into school, in my pajamas, to get the dean to escort a child into school who was refusing to go. I didn’t write a speech for a child who decided it didn’t need to be done, and when the speech teacher emailed saying this student would be getting a zero out of two hundred points, I replied simply, “I support whatever you need to do.” I didn’t hand over another five bucks for a hot lunch when a child said the lunch that was already packed had been in the refrigerator too long (it wasn’t) and therefore was inedible (it wasn’t).

I’ve berated myself for years for being a pushover. But as it turns out, when the rubber meets the road, I can go toe to toe with any child of mine, remembering that, oh yeah, I am the mom.

And ladies, so are you.

It's Not Why You'd Think

2011-09-26T08:33:00.000-05:00

Two men, who I just met, have been coming to my house and working on my hot water heater for free. We go to the same church, but different campuses. They’re part of what we call “Love Thy Neighbor” ministry. They’re not here, as I type, because I’m poor. They’re not here because I don’t have money in the bank to pay for a repairman. They’re not here because I wouldn’t have known who to call (though that part is true). They’re not even here because I’m a single mom in need. Nope. I know why I called them and I know why they’re here.

A friend of mine surprised me a couple weeks ago. My kids and I were staying in a hotel, not because we wanted to, and I woke up to a small package filled with gift cards. Her timing was perfect as I had just realized I had chosen a hotel without a continental breakfast and I needed to feed my kids something before dropping them at school. She didn’t give me those giftcards because she thinks I’m poor. She didn’t give me those giftcards because she felt sorry for me (though she might have as my situation kinda sucked). She didn’t give me those giftcards because I give off the vibe that I can’t take care of my children. Uh-uh. I know why she gave me that gift and why I was able to accept it with gratitude.

Over the years, I’ve been very fortunate to be able to surprise a friend or two with gifts, some big, some small. Never once did I give a gift because I thought the recipient couldn’t take care of themselves or their own family. I never did so because the person implied they were just getting by. In fact, I never did so based on how much money I thought they had or didn't have. And I never gave out of obligation or pity. Not a chance. I completely know why I have given what I’ve given and why I've given to who I’ve given.

Christianity, the faith that I proclaim, runs counter cultural. I am not of the belief that the entire point of life is to become self-actualized and achieve my greatest potential as a human being, all on my own, pulling myself up by my own bootstraps.

Instead, I believe that the journey I’m on is with Christ and with other people.

My life is not about me; my life is not my own. I do not believe it’s about what I can earn and what I can achieve and what I can set aside for myself. I do not believe it’s about what I can do and what I can accomplish for myself. And I certainly don’t believe it’s about proving that I don’t need anybody’s help from time to time, because I do.

So here is why there are two men working in my basement who I just met. And here’s why my friend surprised me with giftcards for breakfast. And here’s why I give gifts to my friends.

We’re family. We take care of each other. Not out of pity. Not because we can’t take care of ourselves (though there are some seasons where we can’t, and that’s okay). Not because we feel we have to. But because of this one life-altering-if-you-let-it truth:

We love each other because Christ loved us first. (I John 4:19)

These two men, and my friend, and even me…we love each other because Christ loved us first. Because we believe we’re better together. Because we believe all good and perfect gifts come from God and that the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it and that what we’ve been given is not ours to hold onto but ours to pass along. Because we believe we’re supposed to show each other, and those in our life, the love of Christ. But not just out of “ought”…we want to. We delight in it.

In fact, it's not weakness to accept a gift. It takes strength to be vulnerable and it takes humility to allow someone else the joy of being a gift-giver. There's delight in the giving and in the receiving because we know that both are rooted in passing along the love we've inherited from Christ. He loved first and we hand it on.

In Between

2011-09-22T08:20:00.000-05:00

Looking out my kitchen window this morning, a view I’ve had for over four years, I asked God, “What do you have for me here still?”

There is a reason that my house didn’t close at the end of August when it was “supposed to”. I just don’t know it.

It could be the chance to ride my John Deere tractor a few more times. Seriously. I love that thing.

It could be the gift of extra time in my car as it takes me ten minutes to get anywhere from where I live.

It could be a handful more days to enjoy and yet grieve and say goodbye to this sweet place that I’ve called home for awhile now.

It could be the blessing of observing one more autumn of back country roads and huge skies and shifting colors.

The colors caught my eye this morning and I remembered something that I’d heard a long time ago. I heard that the true color of trees are actually the hues that we see during the transition of fall but that photosynthesis keeps them all green most of the time. Now, if you’re a scientist, or even if you just Googled that, and I’m wrong, please don’t tell me. Because I love that thought for some reason.

Because perhaps during this transition of mine - this limbo, this in between, this waiting season – maybe my true colors are coming through. I wrote yesterday of a quietness and sadness, and yet, I am not staring down this season with impatient, urgent eyes the way I might have even a couple years ago.

I’m just here. I’m simply waiting. I’m not emotionally tapping my foot with crossed arms while sighing deep sighs. I just know that God knows and that I don’t need to. That he saw to it that I’d be safe in the meantime. I have all I need in this in between time. And because I do, I can be free to look around and see what just might be here for me today.

Sad

2011-09-21T14:45:00.000-05:00

People tend to not like talking about the hard things in life. I, on the other hand, seem to be building my career on it. I wouldn’t have chosen that, say twenty years ago, or predicted it, but here we are.

So today I want to sit with sadness. I’m sad these days. And it’s okay, really. It is just another emotion on the continuum. The ideal in life, though if television and movies and romance novels were the indicators, is not actual joy every waking moment. What fun, honestly, would that be?

But I’m carrying a sadness that reflects the messy state of my life. I was walking down my long driveway to get the mail. It was sunny. Slight breeze. 70s maybe. The leaves were rustling, and some brightly colored ones were slowly drifting to the ground. I was taking deep breaths. And I felt…nothing. I tend to find such joy in days and moments like this, but right now, my emotions seem dulled.

Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?, the psalmist asked himself. He had his reasons and I have mine. I know my every reason. A downcast soul is justified and explainable for me right now.

Here’s the part that I’m struggling with a bit. I tend to want to do something to turn things like this around. Either tell myself that it’s really not all that bad (and in comparison to others, it’s not). Or write out a gratitude list where I can see in black and white how much I have to be thankful for (I have, and I do). Or push through on a new project to distract myself (done and done…wrote an essay and an article, and looked for health insurance, phone plans and laptops, all in the past two days).

But maybe it’s okay to just be kinda sad. My life is good and I am so blessed. But my life is hard and I am hurting.

So for now, I’m getting dressed each day, getting my kids to school, spending some time with God, writing some thoughts down that may or may not help others at some point in time, doing laundry, grocery shopping, making sure my children know I love them, and trying to figure out what’s next. I laugh through some moments, but more moments right now are quieter. My hope is in God, that he’s bringing me through each day, and I do praise and thank him for that.

But I have a downcast soul, and instead of fighting it or beating myself up for it, I’m just going to hand it over to Jesus and ask him what he wants to do with it.

Journaling 101

2011-09-16T19:38:00.000-05:00

This post is dedicated to Sandy who said, regarding journaling, “I just don’t get it.” Hope this helps, my friend…

I’ve been keeping a journal since high school. And I have kept every one of them. They are stuffed into my hope chest and I pull one out every once in awhile. Sometimes I laugh at myself (I was so young and naïve) and sometimes I tear up. It amazes me to see the girl that I was and how she turned into the woman that I am, and how I never would have guessed from what I read back then where I’d end up now. And yet…it’s all the same Beth woven through each page.

Getting started:

Get yourself a pretty notebook and find a pen or pencil that you love the feel of. Or open up a Word document on your computer. Whichever way you feel most comfortable will work just fine.
To make it special and if you have a bit of extra time, set the tone by lighting a candle, playing some soft music, and making yourself a cup of coffee or tea.

What to write about:

Letters to God.
Letters to your kids. (I have a journal to both of my kids that I’m going to give them when they’re older. Confession: the entries are way more sporadic these days than they used to be.)
Funny things your kids say that you don’t want to forget.
Write out a Scripture verse and than ask God how to apply it to your life.
Brainstorm creative ideas or a service project, or a solution to a mind-boggling problem.
Figure out your part in a relational conflict.
Write letters to people you’re upset with – to blow off steam – and then don’t send them.
Prayer requests and answers to prayer…journaling is an amazing way of tracking the hand of God in your life.
Quotes you love.
Notes from books you’re reading.
Notes from church sermons.
Goals and steps to complete them, and how they turned out after you accomplished them.
Decision making, using a list of pros and cons.
Family history.

Some things to keep in mind:

Your journal should be uncensored. Be honest. Speak your mind. Don’t edit yourself. This is for you and God and no one else needs to see it. He knows it all anyway, so your journal is where you can let loose.
Sometimes it’s difficult for me to concentrate, so instead of getting up to do that random thing I think of (oh, I think Sara said she needed more socks…let me go check…), I just jot it down on the top corner of that day’s journal page and get to the to-do list when I’m finished.
At the end of each year, I like to read through the entire year’s worth of journals. (One year, when I was journaling pretty faithfully every day, it took me nine hours to read them all. I was so over myself by the time I was done reading.) The interesting thing about doing this though is that one time I recognized a theme of exhaustion in my life that I hadn’t seen in the day to day, and it lead to the important decision to quit my job to free up my life for more writing and speaking; a decision I’m not sure I would’ve come to had I not had those journals to look back on.

Journaling is supposed to be a no-pressure thing. Really. The end goal is not to have a certain number of notebooks filled up at the end of each year. All disciplines are not ends in themselves. Typically, someone runs to stay in shape, not usually because the act of running is such a blast. And yet, the actual act of writing out your thoughts is rewarding; it is, I’ll go so far to say, magical. I can get to the end of a page, or even a paragraph or really telling sentence, and realize that I had no idea that was how I was truly feeling about something until just that moment when I let it come out on paper.

It’s like eavesdropping on yourself, or as Parker Palmer said, “listening to your life speak”. Trust me when I say, you do not have to enjoy writing to get something out of journaling. Start small, see if it fits who you are, and then watch to see your heart and mind notice as you open up space to record life’s hard times, sweetest moments, and everything in between.

Now I Know How God Feels

2011-09-15T08:31:00.000-05:00

One of my children and I are in the middle of a thing. (I have so many children that I’m sure you’ll have no idea which one I’m referring to…out of the two…) S/he chose to disobey me on something pretty big last night and not only did the act of disobedience stun me, but the cavalier attitude that accompanied it practically sent me into a tizzy.

Moments after that initial conversation of refusal to obey followed up by consequences being doled out (that were giggled at, mind you), said child started talking to me about randomness. And proceeded to do so, all charm and giddiness, throughout the evening.

And this is what I was thinking to myself, “We’re not okay right now…stop chatting with me.” I finally did say, “Do you understand that you are in huge disobedience right now? I love you completely but there is currently something broken between us.” S/he went right on talking.

And what came to my mind was how when I sin but act like I haven’t and I just plunk myself down in the presence of God and start yammering about whatever’s on my mind, I wonder if he thinks about me, “You know I love you, right? But until you confess and repent, you really need to stop asking me for stuff and telling me about your day.”

I felt like how God must feel when I gave my child one more chance to make the better choice, and then when it was rebuffed, I felt the tug of emotions of the strong love I felt for my child, love tough enough to fight for and not lie down on something that would’ve been so much easier to lie down on, balanced by the distance that my child had so flippantly created.

I want to tell this child that my love isn’t going to change and that it’s my love that will keep me from buckling under. I want things to be okay between me and this child of mine, but as God knows, I’m not the one who caused the rift so I’m not the one who can bridge the gap.

So as God does for me, I will wait for mine.

Safe

2011-09-14T08:12:00.000-05:00

I’m finding myself in rooms and conversations that center around people who have been broken down by life, or more accurately, by other people. And what I find fascinating is that I have yet to speak with someone who claims to be the antagonist. No one says, Boy, did I ever hurt so-and-so…and I still am! I’m such a jerk.

Nope. What I hear over and over again is how people are blindsided by schmucky behavior. We are on the receiving end. We are not the instigators.

And yet…really? In every relationship, healthy or dying, there are two parties. And unless one of the people is literally no longer breathing, both are active participants in getting from point A to point B.

Yes, there are definitely certain behaviors that can derail a relationship more substantively and more quickly, and there are definitely times when there is more of a clear cut bad guy and clear cut good guy, but typically, both are to blame and both therefore responsible.

So, this brings me to one simple, but not-so-easy, thought. Am I safe? Am I my daughter’s safe place? Am I my son’s safe place? Am I safe for my mom? Am I safe for my friends? Can I be trusted? Do I keep secrets? Am I loyal? Will I fight for you and not against you? Can you call me in the middle of the night and know that I’d come running, or at least that I’ll listen on the other end of the line while you cry? Do you know that when you hand me your pain I will hold it and you and pray over you and tell you it’s going to okay? Does anyone cringe when they hear my name? Does anyone hope they don’t run into me at the store? Do I make your life better or do I make it worse?

Because I’m realizing, after forty years of walking on this earth, that it’s not just you. It’s me too.

Lord, help me to be the safest person I can be to those I love…

Early Morning Conversation

2011-09-12T08:29:00.000-05:00

Jesus: It’s going to hurt more for me to put you back together than it did for the falling apart.

Me: I don’t even want to be healed if you’re not the Healer.

Jesus: I’ll be with you. I won’t let you go.

Me: Then please keep rescuing me.

Different Kinds of Strength

2011-09-09T19:07:00.000-05:00

I’ve been told lately that how I have handled my marriage and how I am handling the dissolution of my marriage show a lack of strength.

I’ve been told that I should be kicking butt. I’ve been told that I don’t stack up to other women who would be handling this situation differently, read: better. I’ve been told, “I guess we’re just different…I’m strong, independent…”, implied: you’re not.

I beg to differ.

Though I’ve come to realize that no one but Jesus will ever truly know the depth of pain that I’ve carried the past eighteen years, it’s also occurred to me that no one else really needs to know.

Because he knows. And I know.

I know what it took to stay married for six thousand five hundred and forty four days when I didn’t want to. I know what it took to stay put because I was trying to give my children the stability that I didn’t have growing up. I know what it took to attempt to keep my vows when pretty much every day found me praying for an out. That’s not cowardice. That’s not being a wimp who was afraid to leave. I stayed out of intentionality, not of weakness or fear.

And I know what it’s taken to get through this past year of disentangling myself from my husband, a process that is still going on and will continue for a few years, from what I understand. Just because I’ve had time to let the idea settle in doesn’t mean I didn’t feel like I got kicked in the gut when I saw his signature on the divorce papers he filed.

I may have cried a lot, and worn my pajamas in public, and taken one or two naps a day, and forgotten to eat from time to time, but that does not make me weak. It’s called grieving.

And my choices and decisions may leave some scratching their heads, but they’re not me. And they haven’t lived my life. And they don’t know my heart.

Because I know that my intention through every day of the past twenty five years of my life has been to follow God. When I have broken his heart, mine has broken too. When I chose to walk away from my vows – even though advised to do so - I did so with sadness and regret.

And yet I did so with strength. Enduring a difficult marriage and then walking away because it’s the best thing to do all while trying to raise two children is not for the weak.

There is a strength that accompanies those who wait on the Lord, who do what’s right no matter how hard (staying, then leaving, in my case), who don’t worry themselves with opinions of others.

I may appear weak and foolish, but if my true strength comes from God, then frankly, I’m stronger than I even know.

Gratefully Needy

2011-09-08T13:12:00.003-05:00

So, it turns out I need other people. Like, big time.

Just in the past week or so alone, someone has surprised me with gift cards to encourage me on a bone-weary day.

Two people took both of my kids, twice, for several hours, loving them and feeding them.

Many have sent me texts and emails of encouragement and prayer and Scripture.

Some have called to leave the sweetest, most loving voicemails.

One brought me ice cream and held me while I cried.

One told me she woke up in the middle of the night to pray for me.

One dropped what she was doing and left a fun day to help me think something through.

One changed plans to talk me off the ledge.

Three made me laugh for hours and forget my problems.

One made a phone call on my behalf that I wouldn’t have been able to make on my own.

One helped me get my daughter to go to school on a day she was pretty much refusing.

One lent me something I needed.

One took my daughter out for dinner and shopping.

One drove to my house when I called.

One took my children for the evening so I could get to a new small group.

One took me in.

One called me Bethie, because he said I “looked so sad”.

One rearranged an entire night to make sure I was okay.

One drove an hour on a road she hasn’t driven on in fifteen years to sit in my office with me for two hours.

One offered to cage-fight on my behalf.

One gave me a cd of songs just this morning because she said she felt the Lord prompt her to do so.

Reading this list is humbling. I don't want to be a person who needs this much help. But you know what? In this moment in time, I am this person that needs this much help. My situation is just that chaotic and stark.

My mother said to me last night, referring to something that I said in an email about not really feeling God as much as I’d like to right now, “Just look in Erika’s eyes…just look in Sheli’s eyes…just look in Charlotte’s eyes…and try to say you don’t feel God. You can’t. Because he’s taking care of you through each one of them.” Amen and amen. I am being looked after beyond my wildest dreams. To be known this well and to feel this safe and this loved within the confines of the sweet community that Jesus has placed around me is a gift larger than words, and one that I will never take for granted.

Tending Your Soul: A Morning with Jesus

2011-09-05T15:59:00.000-05:00

You are invited to

A Morning with Jesus

If you are looking for a morning away from your regular routine

specifically to focus on your relationship with God,

consider a guided retreat.

~at the home of Elisabeth Corcoran*~

Simple breakfast provided.

Bring Bible, notebook, pen.

9am Continental Breakfast

9:15 Brief message

9:45 Small group discussion

10:15 Solitude time

11:30 Small group prayer

12:00 Dismiss

You are invited to join me on one of the following dates,

each with a different focus:

September 8: Tending Your Soul

October 6: Lessons Learned in the Fire

November 3: Gratitude

December 1: Preparing our Hearts for Christmas

Space is limited to eight women at each session, so claim your spot soon!

$30 per person.

Contact me with any questions or to make your reservation at elisabethcorcoran@mchsi.com.

*Address and directions provided upon RSVP.