Anniversary

Seven years ago today, I married an amazing, intelligent, funny, godly, kind, and compassionate man.

In March 2011, he went to Iraq, and he did not come back.

In his place came an imposter who shared only some of the personality traits and very few of the personal values of the man I married.

So today, I will celebrate the marriage I had with that pre-Iraq man, the one who stole my heart and gave me two beautiful children, the one who stood by me through a roller coaster four years of moves and changing jobs. I will thank God for those good years and the man with whom I shared them.

For he is no longer with us. He died in Iraq.

That guy who came back with his name and face? I don’t know him. That guy filing for divorce? A total stranger.

I am a war widow.

If only the world could see.

Hear me roar

The last two months have been pretty much a blur. I have been frantic to find work and figure out all the details of my new life, so I haven’t really let myself be sad too much. When I think about the marriage that is broken (and apparently unfixable at my end), I usually just push the thought away and focus on what’s at hand: job, kids, Anna’s upcoming birthday, Thanksgiving, etc. I know that eventually, I will have to let myself feel it and grieve. I need to find a support group. When my home group prayed for me, I wept. At church during prayer time, I wept. It does happen sometimes. But most days I push it all aside.

That can’t last for too long. But for now, it’s a good coping mechanism. Not denial – just avoidance.

In truth, our daily lives are hardly different. Even with my new job, we’ve done this before. I worked full-time in the spring while David was taking classes full-time, so we’ve done the whole day care scenario before, the whole oh-my-gosh-it’s-6:30-and-I-have-nothing-to-feed-my-kids-for-dinner scenario. We’ve been here. And honestly, since I was pregnant with Anna, I have been a single mom a lot, between D’s responsibilities at school and the army. I can do this.

And I will. I’m not going to sink. One great thing is that I don’t like alcohol, so I’m not even tempted to drink. My kids are super important to me, so this mama is going to put on her big girl panties and wear the pants for us.

A couple people have criticized me for giving up on my marriage. I honestly don’t see it that way. I won’t go into all the nitty gritty because even I don’t know all the details. But I am comforted that those who are closest to me are just loving on me. God is good. In spite of all this trash, I have a home here and a new job that will support us—a job that I am loving so far. Even the people at work are only supportive. They’ve got my back; I’m one of the family.

My marriage may have fallen apart, but I am not going to.

I am strong.

I am invincible.

I am woman.

Raw

On this day seven years ago, I was preparing for my wedding.

And here I am now, seven years down the road, grieving the broken covenant.

Of course I'd heard about "the seven year itch," but I had never imagined it would ever apply to my marriage. It's that same old attitude of, I know bad things happen to people, but surely, that will never happen to me. Why we believe lies like this, I'm not certain, but it is surely a lie.

God gives. God takes away.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I am now a single mom of two small children.

I can't even begin to express all the things that have gone through my mind in the past six weeks since this became my new reality. While the official papers have not yet been signed, for all practical purposes we are now down to a family of three. And I am left with only questions.

• Was I just not good enough?
• What could I have done differently?
• Was it because I'm too fat? Or because I couldn't cook? Or because I"m messy?
• Why now?
• How will I support my kids when the longest I have ever worked full-time is eight months at a stretch, and that was eight years ago?
• What is wrong with me?
• What is wrong with him?
• How will I ever explain this to the kids, especially when I don't understand it myself?
• How will I make it without the weekly support I get from MOPS and my women's Bible study--both of which I will have to give up to work full-time?
• Where do we go from here?
• Why? Why??

I'm left with questions--questions that may not even have answers at all. But this is real. This is bone-chillingly, mind-numbingly, faith-testingly, earth-shatteringly real.

But the fact is that life doesn't stop--can't stop here. I have two small children who need me to be their strength and support. And I need God to be my strength and support because I just can't do it on my own. If nothing else, this is teaching me humility, to accept help from people who barely know me, to admit defeat.

I can't do this on my own.

So with the help and prayers of amazing women God has placed in my life, I am putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. And somehow, by God's grace, we will pull through and be stronger for the struggle.

By God's grace alone.

Texas Trip – Day 1

Today we started our journey to San Antonio, TX, to participate in a 5k to benefit my high school coach, Jay Tolar, who is living with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease). I participated last year with my best friend Laura, while my aunt watched the kids. This year I decided to take them along and drive instead of fly.

Preparation—food and activities—took hours of research and days of implementation. We’re still not “organized” because my kids and I never will be, so the car is a mess. But at least we have so far kept most of the trash in the trash can, a huge step forward! :) And there is plenty to eat.

We left at about 0615 (Eastern) this morning from Augusta, GA  Our goal was to get to Port Allen, LA, just next to Baton Rouge, where I’d gotten a reservation using Expedia. (Never again.)

It rained at least 75% of the drive, and it poured for about half of the time that it rained at all. I mean, pounding rain that made us slow to a crawl with our blinkers on. While there were the inevitable idiots zooming past at 85 (on a 70 mph highway), I was actually impressed by how many Southerners seem to know how to drive safely in the rain. They may be the only group of locals I know who do. Blinkers and headlights are awesome.

It was raining when we stopped at the Alabama welcome center. And I realized we’d left our “car umbrella” in the other car. Joy.



Anna wanted to get a photo with the stuffed fox. (Good thing she didn’t really understand that it had once been real…) Thanks, Timothy, for taking this photo!



And it was raining when we stopped at the Mississippi welcome center.



It was sunny when we reached Louisiana, for all of maybe a half hour.


And here we are tonight, in Port Allen, Louisiana, at the dumpiest Super 8 Motel I’ve ever been in. And I mean dumpy. The carpet over at least 25% of the room is soaking wet—I can only assume from the air conditioner. So I’m trying to avoid fiddling with the controls in case I get electrocuted. (The room temp was set at 52 when we first arrived, so obviously I had to adjust it a little.) There are cigarette burns in the blankets. And the security lock on the door is broken, so I’ve put a chair in front so at least it’s more difficult to enter. Beware, Port Allen thieves!! I have two whiny children who are refusing to sleep, and if you wake them up in the night to try to steal from us or harm us, you will sorely regret it!

At least there is Internet. Well, sort of. It’s taking me over a half hour to try to upload this post, or even try to open Blogger.com.


Yep, we drove 664.6 miles today. Without cruise control. Wow. My right leg is pretty sore.

And tomorrow, it’s the home stretch to San Antonio and a Holiday Inn Express, which is going to be 500% better than this place. Guaranteed.

I was hoping to study tonight, but since Anna is still wide awake at 2200 (Central), which is 2300 according to her body, I guess I’d better just turn off the light and maybe try to wake myself up early to study. (Ha ha. Like that ever worked in college.) After all, I did get a full 5 hours of sleep last night, so I should be fine tonight on the same, right?

As we say in my village, “Sai gobe.” Until tomorrow.

In memoriam

During my first year of college, one of my high school classmates conducted a sociology experiment in which he led us all to believe that he had been killed. It was a pretty horrible time, and he had to eventually come forward to let us know it was just an academic experiment. He was genuinely sorry, but several class members had a hard time moving on from that.

That was more than 12 years ago.

This past weekend, a member of my high school class actually did die.

Jafiya and I had been in the same class since fourth grade. He was goofy and lighthearted from as far back as I can remember--one of the class clowns in middle school who turned that same energy to sports in high school. Like many teenage boys, he was bright but concentrated more on enjoying life than studying. When classes dragged us down, Jafiya could always make us laugh. He had a contagious laugh--really, really loud, the kind of laugh you could hear all over the high school.

While I can't claim that we were ever close, I liked Jafiya. In a class of only 27, you learn to like everybody and be friends as much as possible. Sure, we ran in different circles, but he made me laugh, and he didn't make fun of me to my face, which is something.

I never saw Jafiya after we graduated from high school in June 2000. I ran across most of my other classmates one way or another, either at our high school on visits or at gatherings in the U.S. for weddings or the very occasional funeral. But I never saw Jaf. I often wondered what had become of him.

And now I know.

Jafi-D, I am listening to the U2 song "Grace" and thinking of you. "Grace finds goodness in everything." I pray that God's grace would cover you, making beauty from ashes. I hope and pray that you can rest peacefully now, at the end of all things.

With much love,

Sara B.

Funny Anna

I’m not the mom who regularly posts funny things that her kids do or say, but I had to share this one, just for comic relief.

I was out with Anna (2)  yesterday, and she said—out of the blue—“I love it, Mommy.”

“What do you love, Anna?” I asked her.

“My job,” she returned. “I love my job!”

I laughed so hard and for so long that she eventually had to say, “Stop laughing, Mommy! Stop laughing!”

And that of course, made me laugh even harder.

Sweet girl.

Letting go - again

Today, for no apparent reason, I am thinking of my foster brother Aaron. It has been over 23 years since he joined our family as a newborn and over 18 years since I last saw him. I think of him from time to time and wonder where he is, what he's up to.

Aaron was my first little brother. While we'd had foster babies prior to Aaron's arrival, none had stayed very long. We had Aaron for the first two years of his life, and he became our brother. When we had to finally say goodbye, it was gut-wrenching, heart-breaking. And that was for me. I can't even imagine how my parents must have felt. They have fostered so many babies since and have always had to let go, except for my adopted brother Luke.

I think of the character on the show Downton Abbey who gave up her small son to his grandparents, knowing that she would probably never see him again. Yes, she believed she was doing it for the good of the child, but I doubt that made it easier.

I know there are so many young women out there who give up their babies for adoption. I suspect that no matter how much of a relief it is in some ways, it is always heart-breaking, too. How difficult to put your child into someone else's arms and give up all (or almost all) rights to her education, her future, her development--to trust her entirely to someone else and to God! But how  much more difficult, after having your child at home for the first two or more years, to present a talking, walking child with a clear personality and very real emotions to someone else's care! I think of Hannah bringing Samuel to the temple for Eli to raise. I think of Fantine sending Cosette to the Thénardiers. How did those mothers have the strength to walk away from their babies, to ignore the tears and cries of "Mama!"? How did they deal with the inevitable guilt that followed? the loneliness and despair?

I think of my daughter Anna, who is two, and I cannot in my worst nightmares imagine having to hand her off to someone else, even someone I trust. I really don't think that even if I believed it was in her best interest, I could do it without shrivelling up and blowing away into nothing (or eating myself into oblivion--more likely). People have had to do it through the ages for varying reasons, and I know it happens today, as in the case of our giving Aaron back to his family. I just don't think that I have that strength or willpower.

I'm sure Aaron doesn't remember any of us. I'd like to think he's better off wherever he is, doing whatever it is he's doing, but my cynical side says it's probably not true. Yet Aaron left us for a reason. God has bigger plans than we do, including a plan for Aaron's life. I don't pretend to know what that is or why it included heartache for all of us (including him, at age two). But I pray for him and ask God to bless him today on behalf of my loving, compassionate, and godly parents who had to, in faith, let go.

May God hold Aaron in the palm of His hand.

More than we can handle

Did God really say He wouldn’t give us more than we could handle?

I’m pretty sure I’ve never read that in the Bible anywhere, although it definitely seems to be a common understanding among Christians. I wonder if they are thinking of 1 Corinthians 10:13, which is written, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it” (NIV).

I am obviously not a Bible guru who has all the answers, but in there, I see the word “tempted” (also translated “tested”). Could that mean we will never face trials that we can’t overcome with God’s help? Perhaps. But from the context of the verse, I don’t think that’s what it’s saying here. In my limited understanding, the passage talks about sin and always having a way to avoid it if we choose to. That makes sense to me, even though I don’t often enough take advantage of the way (or ways) out that are provided. They’re always there.

But is it equally true that God will never put us in a situation in which we can’t lose? Will we always have the option of being overcomers? I don’t think so, unless you see death as the ultimate means of overcoming. People are put in situations daily around the world for which there is no way out except death, no salvation. Christians who are doing the right thing are persecuted, imprisoned, executed.

Or what about people who face mental illness? Some people—solid, believing Christians—do break after enough bending. Their minds just can’t take any more grief, stress, hardship.

God is with us. Immanuel. I believe that with every fiber of my being, even on the days when I don’t actively see Him or when I hear about another outrage—another abused child or devastated people group or indescribable loss. God is with us no less.

But I think sometimes people in life do face more than they can handle. I think there are no-win situations. I don’t believe that there is always hope in our mortal lives. I think the only hope we can hold onto is that our mortal lives are just that: mortal--hope that the suffering will end eventually, and we will be ushered into God’s glorious presence.