To My Daughter: One Day You'll Appreciate What We Didn't Do For You

It's almost time.  Time for you to move past us.  Time for you to walk away from the life you've had up until now.  Time for you to create a future that is uniquely yours.  Time for me to let you.  And as I watch you struggle to navigate this sea change, I feel a little guilty.  Not because I haven't done my best to get you here, but because what I did has been hard for you.  We've required a lot from you -- a job, good grades, hard classes; no matter what you were involved in, you were expected to keep it all up and pay for it in the bargain.  You feel cheated, and I don't know that I blame you.

After all, this is one case I didn't put into practice myself what I required of you.  I didn't have a job in high school thanks to a little-known quirk of the Social Security system.  The year after my dad turned 70, I had my sixteenth birthday.  Since I was still living at home and a minor, Social Security sent me $400 every month until I turned 18.  The upshot was that I had gas money to burn and a pretty healthy college fund to boot.  And I didn't work a day.  You, however, have had to work since you were 14.  Since then you've paid for phones, gas, band tours, student council sweaters and slightly stinky trumpets.  You've saved money for college and contributed to the Mercury Milan Repair Fund by sacrificing time with your friends to become the longest-employed sandwich maker at the Gas 'n' Go.  Through it all, you've kept up your grades, applied for scholarships, and made it home for curfew.  And you've hated it.  You've done it, but you've hated it.  And this is what makes me so, so very proud of you.  

Now, we've arrived, almost, at the beginning of a new chapter.  As hard as it has been for me, I'm coming to understand just how tough it is for you. Letting go of things we've loved is never easy.  Right now, we are asking you to start gathering up all the shapes of your childhood so you can sort through them and decide which ones you will carry with you and which ones you will put down, knowing that one day they will be indistinguishable on the path behind you.  You feel like you haven't made some of them significant enough because there wasn't time.  You regret that you couldn't enjoy many of them more.  You want to hold on to all of them for just a little while longer because the alternative is big and scary and inevitable.  

You can't.  

The truth is, we all feel this way about the things we've had to let go.  Every adult who was ever once a kid has experienced the same sense of regret, and not just about growing up, either.  We've felt it about not enjoying the time all our kids were small or about not choosing a career that fit or about our relationships with our own parents.  Or because we required our teenagers to have jobs.  It's being human that causes it, and you're coming up on some seriously good parts of that.  College, marriage, family.  Independence, freedom, growth.  The best of the best.  The thing is, it comes at a cost; you'll experience some of the worst, too.  Heartache, loss, discouragement. Times when your footing becomes so shaky that it seems the world tilts around you and there's nothing good in the universe.  It's then that you'll need all the things you didn't want to learn.

The times you got stuck making sandwiches for wrestling teams 5 minutes before close?  Patience.  Those payments you made to the finance office?  Perseverance.  The band season that didn't go well?  Watching your friends play all summer without you?  How to deal with disappointment.  We know it was hard to keep your grades up and still have a social life, but it taught you how to budget your time and set priorities.  It wasn't lost on us how our expectations for you may have differed from the ones placed on your friends by their parents.  But you met them.  Exceeded them, even.  And you learned how to perform under pressure.  

I wish I could save you the hurt I've learned comes with growth.  But I also don't.  I want you to struggle and fail and experience consequences with your bad choices.  They'll make you.  I want you to experience loneliness and boredom and stress.  Not as a way of life, but so you can manage them.  I want every good and beautiful thing for you; I want you to reach deeper and stretch farther to tap the wellspring of potential I see in you.  I would never deny you your right to choose any of it.  That also means I can't deny you your right to pain.  

I know this hasn't always been the type of support you wished we had given you.  But believe me when I say it hasn't been easy for us, making these decisions that have framed your life.  Your dad and I have debated every choice we've made; I've revisited the big ones more times than I can count.  And sometimes we've been wrong.  My great hope is that, one day, when you look back on it all, you'll see that it was enough. Stability. Hope.  And the knowledge that you were loved.  So. Loved. 

Who you are so far wouldn't have been accomplished with a monthly Social Security check you didn't earn.  Who you're going to be will contribute a lot of amazing to the world -- I can feel it.  It's HAPPENING.  And part of it will be because of the things we didn't do for you.  I expect a thank-you note.  

In August There are Butterflies

It started about five years ago - our capture and care of caterpillars.  Not too far from our house are marshes where milkweed grows wild; at the right time in any given year you can find scads of monarch caterpillars hiding on, under or between its leaves.  My husband decided to mount an expedition with a few of the neigborhood kids to find and bring home some of the ugly things so we could all watch the metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly.  It was an unqualified success.  Each of the kids found one, put it in a jar with some leaves, and waited.  Within a week, most of them were in a chrysalis.  A couple of weeks later, the excitement was mounting as each chrysalis became more and more transparent.  The kids would rush home from school every day to check the jars and see if the butterflies were out.  And finally, one day, they were.  Sitting there on the dried-up leaves, fanning those spectacular wings, just waiting to fly.  We let them go in our yard, and I watched my children follow them from one plant to another until they did what butterflies always do - they flew high and far and away.  

The jars of butterflies have become an annual occurrence. Late in August, the hunt is on for the healthiest-looking caterpillars my two youngest can find (we have been known to lose one or two before the chrysalis; it's fairly tragic), and then we watch the miracle again.  It all happens during the last gasp of the summer heat when the tomatoes are turning red in the garden and kids on bikes are riding home from school, their backpacks still stiff with newness.  I am pretty fond of this time of year - kids in classrooms, warm afternoons and cool evenings, fruit stands - because of its dependable sameness.  I like the fact that after all the madness of summer, school shopping, and registrations, they go back to school, just like they always have, a year further ahead than they were in the spring.  I like having a purpose beyond my "Mom" status - I feel like I've accomplished something worthwhile as I sit reading on my patio after a day in the library trying to convince at least one child that books are amazing.  I like the pie I can make out of the fresh peaches that grow on my trees because it reminds me of a very nice lady I knew during my own childhood in a place I still miss.  It's an in-between place, this time, and even though I'm not wild about change, I've come to appreciate it. 

But it's the last time I will experience it quite like this.  I've hit an in-between place of my own, and I'm not quite sure how I got here so soon.  For the last 14 years, we have done this in August.  New clothes, new friends, new schools, new adventures.  We started with one child, and now there are four, but my family has always been whole, my kids have always been home, and we have always been, unquestionably, a team.  Through soccer games and dance lessons and parent-teacher conferences and after-school jobs, we have made it happen.  And now I am here, staring over the precipice of my oldest's senior year, wondering how much it will hurt when I have to jump.  The one thing I am absolutely sure of is that when I do, nothing will ever be the same again. 

I should have seen this day coming, but, strangely, I feel surprised.  After all, this is what I wanted during those long years I was home all day, every day, being a mom, but aching for some real adult conversation and a shower.  It has been THE PLAN. High school, college, productive member of society - boom, done.  I've known from the very beginning that our goal was to raise them well enough that they could live without us; so why do I feel like I've been ambushed by a deadline I've felt creeping up on me for years?  In truth, my daughter is already half gone.  Her schedule is full and has already taken her away from home between the hours of 7 a.m. and 9 p.m. most days.  She drives herself where she needs to go, finds her own meals, and chooses her own people.  My voice has become an echo, quieter than it has ever been, playing in the background of her own coming of age.  And still I'm not ready.  

I have one more year to get there, I know.  In that year, I'll be able to go to sleep at night with every one of my kids in the places they have always been.  I will attend band concerts and muddle through financial aid applications, cheering all four of them on as they stretch even further away from me.  I will fix dinner for six every night, even though only four of us are eating because the other two might want it later.  And I will grieve.  Because at the close of that year, this time of babies in cribs and homework at kitchen tables and band-aids for scraped knees will begin to end, and I will have to let it go.  I know that this first leaving is only the start; she will be followed so closely by her sister that it steals my breath away.  And then again.  And again.  Butterflies with spectacular wings flying high and far and away.  

Funny thing, though.  August always comes back.  We've already talked about how to grow bigger peaches next year, and we have several seasons of caterpillars ahead of us.  Maybe one day the butterfly jars will completely disappear, but I have every confidence something else will take their place. I have loved this part of my life; I've tried to live it so I can look back without regret, knowing I did my best by my family.  For the most part, I've succeeded.  But teetering on the edge of a turning page is scary.  And exciting.  And sad.  And confusing.  And exhilarating.  And I will miss who I was when all my children were here.  But I couldn't be more proud of who they are.  I'm grateful to know, though, that there is more story on the other side.  It will be a whole new adventure...again.  More pie for me.

MERLENE'S PEACH PIE

3 1/2 cups water

2 cups sugar

3/4 cup corn starch

1/8 tsp. salt 

1 package (3 oz.) orange jello

1/4 cup lemon juice

6-8 cups peaches, peeled and cut into chunks 

2 prepared pie shells

Bake pie shells and prepare peaches; set aside.  Boil 2 cups water in large saucepan.  In a separate bowl, mix 1 1/2 cups cold water, sugar, corn starch, and salt.  Pour into boiling water, and return to boil, stirring constantly for 3 minutes.  Add jello, and boil 1 more minute.  Remove from heat.  Add lemon juice and cool slightly.  Mix with peaches and pour into pie shells.  Chill 3-4 hours before serving with whipped cream. 

Love, Faith and Hope For Something Better

I've been considering this blog for a while, but it has taken a few months for me to marshal my thoughts.  First, let me explain that I do not usually bring religion with me into a public forum.  It's been my experience that it invites discussion on a platform that is ripe for misunderstanding and easy insult, i.e. the internet, when such issues would be much better approached on a personal level where worthwhile conversation could be had about disparate views face to face.  This does not mean, however, that I am not religious.  My belief in Jesus Christ as the Savior and His atonement for us is at the center of everything I am.  My understanding of the plan of salvation our Heavenly Father has provided for us gives me hope and perspective, and is frankly, the reason I get out of bed in the morning.  God's generosity and tender mercies in my life are innumerable and unmistakable and have created in me a sense of purpose and gratitude for every good thing I've been given -- and I've been given a lot.  Everything, in fact.  

So my point is this:  If you don't want to read about some of my religious beliefs, you should stop reading now.  If you want to argue theology with me, you should stop reading now.  And if you are interested in where you can find out more about what I believe, well, I can hook you up with somebody who would love to talk with you.  

In the wake of a thousand horrible things happening in the world recently (and not so recently), my heart has been heavy.  In the last month, we have seen shootings by and of police.  In the last week, the blatantly evil murder of pedestrians at a fireworks display.  There have been bombings in airports and mass murder in nightclubs and hosts of talking heads on news outlets trying to pinpoint the causes as each incident has occured.  It seems there are a lot -- people having too many guns, people not having enough guns, radical extremists, failed immigration policies, racisim, lack of respect for police officers and the job they do, advocacy groups overstepping boundaries, media spinning stories 24 hours a day, and on, and on, and on.  The violence isn't all.  I've reached my limit with the unrelenting flood of unkindness posted on every subject from parenting to what what I should look like in a swimsuit.  And did anyone ever think we would be having a debate over which bathroom it was appropriate to use?  Come. On. The internet has become a wasteland of vitriol and bitterness as people armed with arguments and statistics parse details and debate why we seem to have lost our collective mind.  For me, it comes down to one thing.  Hatred.  Hatred coupled with a lack of patience and understanding has been given more precedence and expression in our society than ever before.  The more pertinent question seems to be, Why?

I wish we knew.  I really do.  Maybe if we had a clearly defined catalyst, one solid reason why suddenly anarchy seems to be the rule of the day, maybe all our bickering would cease to matter and we could focus as a group on making it stop.  This, I know, will not happen.  The issues are too devisive and complex, the potential for evil to take advantage of the mundane is too great, and the easier wrong will continue to be more enticing than the harder right.  But can't we agree that this hatred for each other must be stopped??  It's a learned behavior.  Shouldn't we try to unlearn it?  Isn't that worth our most committed efforts?  We can, we should, and we have to try.  It is my firm belief that Satan is real, and what we are seeing in our world is the reflection of the devil coming into the height of his power.  I also believe it won't last; that good will triumph over evil as it always must, and that there are better days coming.  We all have a stake in making this happen.

First, we should be better at teaching and living tolerance.  It's a weird word, and lately I think we've got it muddled with "acceptance".  By definition, to tolerate something is to coexist with behavior or opinions one does not accept or agree with.  We are not the same, but that doesn't mean your beliefs are no more or less valid than mine. We will differ in lifestyle, religion, politics, and a million other ways.  That shouldn't stop us from respecting each other.  It also shouldn't lessen the courtesy we give each other to believe what we do without trying to impose on those beliefs.  The need to vilify everything that falls outside our personal world view is dangerous, and we need to just stop it.

Second, we need to actively reach for understanding.  Anger is easy, understanding takes work.  Sometimes it's work we don't even want to do because we've been hurt or become bitter or just want to be right.  Let's put away our pride, people.  Not easy, but necessary if we're going to keep some sanity in the world.  Let's put having peace above being right.

Third, we need to be better at love.  It's not all we need, but it's close.  There is a scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants that goes like this: "And in that day shall be heard of wars and rumors of wars, and the whole earth shall be in commotion, and men’s hearts shall fail them, and they shall say that Christ delayeth his coming until the end of the earth." (Doctrine and Covenants: Section 45) I've always taken that to mean that men will be afraid in the time before Christ returns, but I'm starting to wonder if the failure of men's hearts is literally that -- a failure of love, compassion, and empathy.  Think of what love accomplishes already in a world awash with tragedy (I always think of Mr. Rogers and his "helpers").  How much could we accomplish if we loved when we wanted to hate?  What would the complexion of the world be if our children could do the same?  As individuals, we can do much to change our current situation.  As parents, we can shape a generation.  Can't we do both?  

I realize that none of these things are simple.  Worse, it would be naive to think that any of them will be adopted wholesale by those who need to any time soon.  But, I would say that every one of us could do better; some of us, much better.  Raising compassionate, generous children is something every parent can aspire to, but it is the hardest, most time-intensive work a parent can undertake.  Becoming a tolerant, respectful adult is no less difficult, and I would venture to say that not many of us have fully achieved it.  It's hard to admit as an adult that you're wrong.  It can be painful to swallow your pride.  It can be unpolitically correct to say that evil exists in the world and our only hope to fight it is to be good.  Let's stop worrying who's judging us and do better with the people in our lives today.  Peace is possible in smaller ways while the storm goes on around us -- let's try THAT.  And then, pie. Because we all need pie.  And love.

                                        

Missed History

I've been thinking about history a lot lately.  Granted, it has become one of my favorite subjects -- it's pretty fascinating, how one tiny coincidence or decision can change EVERYTHING -- but there is a reason.  Being the librarian at my kids' school not only means I have a dreamy mom schedule and I get to read LOTS of books (it's like, they made up this job, just for me), but also that I get to teach lessons on subjects I'm interested in and that I think would be worthwhile for the kids to know.  I usually do a couple of lessons a year on movements or events that redirected the course of history, or just that I find entertaining, and then make sure I have books the kids can use to read more about it if they want to.  This means that I think a lot about history.  Watershed moments in world history mostly, but this year I've also been considering how events that have happened over the last 40 years have affected me personally.  Here's what I've come up with:  I missed a lot because I wasn't paying attention.  

Take, for example, the fall of the Berlin Wall; it was the subject of a recent lesson I gave to the 4-6 grades at our school.  The thing literally went up overnight, and one morning in August of 1961 the people of Berlin woke up to find their city split in half.  People were cut off from jobs and family, and even though about 5000 people escaped over, under or through it over the course of the the next 30 years, it became an actual, physical manifestation of the Iron Curtain that clamped down over Eastern Europe after World War II. Recovery from the war in East Berlin had been slow; the wall made it even slower.  Poor housing conditions, food shortages, low incomes all persisted in East Berlin while West Berlin flourished. Even the graffiti that marked the wall in West Berlin, noticeably absent on the east side, marked a society that had moved on and left its other half behind.  And in the end, the nightmarish complex of concrete walls, barbed signal wire, watchtowers and checkpoints that formed one of the most hated barriers in history was taken down in one day by a mistake made by a party official at a press conference.

The reason I give you this history lesson is because I could never remember a time, until the time that it fell, that the Berlin Wall hadn't been a BIG DEAL.  It was an example of the difference between Us and Them -- the Communists who built it; a real-life symptom of the Cold War that was being waged during the whole of my childhood.  And the night that it stopped dividing Berlin, November 9, 1989 -- an event that eventually led to the disbanding of the Soviet Union and the end of that very same Cold War -- I wasn't even paying attention.  You know why?  I was worried about my hair.  I was a junior in high school, and I had just celebrated my 16th birthday and gotten my driver's license a few weeks before.  There was a girl's preference dance early that November, and I had asked a guy I'd been writing to who had been at boot camp all summer, but I was pretty sure that he had been writing someone else because he hadn't been talking to me as much since he got home, and it was a lot of drama [DEEP BREATH HERE] so I was really worried about the dance.  And my hair.  Because it was going to be my first real date.  So I wasn't paying attention, and I missed it -- the whole history-making, game-changing tearing down of the Wall.  I could have watched the whole thing unfold and been a witness to history, but now, 25+ years on, all I can do is wish I had been there.  The guy turned out to be a complete knob, by the way.

I realize now that there are a lot of things that flew by me I wish I would have caught.  The meltdown of the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl?  I was battling my way through 7th grade with terrible haircut (I worried about my hair a lot).  The introduction of the cell phone?  I was a 5th grader -- my most traumatic year in elementary school -- and distraught over the two C's I got on my report card for handwriting.  My mom made me copy several pages out of any book I was reading into my Dukes of Hazzard notebook longhand over the course of the next summer so it wouldn't happen again.  The attempted Reagan assasination?  Well, I was 7 and I would be tempted to let myself off the hook for that one except for the fact that I remember being fascinated by the eruption of Mount St. Helens almost a year before and I have vivid memories of THE royal wedding -- Charles and Diana, not Will and Kate -- that took place in the next couple of months.

It frustrates me that I can recall with perfect clarity working out with Jane Fonda and her videos, but until last year held the belief that the Miracle On Ice occured before my time.  I caught the end of the Iran-Contra scandal, and I even watched some of the Oliver North hearings, but my memories of the backlash following the release of New Coke are much brighter.  I was fully aware of the damage caused by the 1989 San Francisco earthquake, but only because it happened the morning of my 16th birthday, and I was watching it on TV as I got ready for school.  I don't remember the release of Apple's first computer, but ask me about the first time I saw Top Gun and I can give you exact details.  That movie *sigh*...

I may have been unobservant, but I can't say I was completely oblivious to the history being made around me; there are several moments I won't ever forget.  I saw the Challenger disaster happen in real time on a TV my first period teacher had pulled into his classroom.  I think that was the last time I saw a live event on television for the rest of my public school career.  I remember like it was yesterday being a 6th grader in a small town overshadowed by staggering loss a couple of days before Christmas when the coal mine I could see from my kitchen window caught fire and killed 27 local miners.  The Wilberg Mine fire is just a footnote in the big history books, but the heavy sadness that accompanied the smoke pouring out of that mine portal for weeks will never leave me.  Then there was the year my college-age brother, who happened to have a job close to home so he moved back in for the summer,  bought an Atari and I would sneak downstairs when he wasn't home to play Space Invaders. I had a Rubix cube (which I could never solve; I always took it apart and put it back together after I got frustrated), I mourned the fact I never got a real Cabbage Patch doll, and I knew personally someone who died of AIDS before there was even a name for the disease (my sister's neighbor -- they had just come back from Saudi Arabia where she had been given a blood transfusion during a complicated childbirth). 

I guess I'm probably not so unusual -- everyone has periods that they get caught up in the minutae of their lives and lose sight of the big picture.  If we didn't all do it to some extent, no one would ever accomplish anything.  What I would like to do is be more present in my own life; setting priorities that reflect what's most important to me and then really tuning in to what's happening as I attempt to stick with them.  To me, that means not getting distracted by Facebook when one of my kids needs my full attention, or putting down my book long enough to talk to my husband about his day.  It also means being more aware of what's around me -- not missing that one day every spring when you look around and realize the world is green again, or taking a walk under stars you can actually see from where I live.  When something happens in the world that creates a sea change, I want to know about it so that I can discuss with my kids what it might mean for them and how it might affect what's coming.  I'm working on it, but being blithely unaware for many years has taken a toll...old habits die hard.  And maybe I shouldn't, but at least I've quit worrying about my hair.

The Struggle is Real

Very recently, my husband and I went through a rough patch.  We've all had them -- those times when the only luck you seem to have is bad, and one small problem invites all its ugly little friends over one by one, so before you know it, you've got a ton of unsolvable, unwelcome issues threatening to bury you wrapped in the tattered shreds of what's left of your sanity.  At least that's how I felt last month.  It started small (as these things do) when my daughter complained about the computer being slow. Within a couple of weeks, I was surrounded by a litter of broken things.  The computer, the fan that distributed the heat from my wood-burning stove, the backup vehicle my daughter had been driving, the main vehicle I drive -- all of them became unusable at some point in the two weeks before Christmas.  We dug in, took one problem at a time, and thought we had made it through until, on New Year's Eve, my 17-year-old backed into a friend's newish car and scraped her way down the entire side.  

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Or, more precisely, my bank account, along with my spirit.  In the week that followed, my microwave stopped working, and I spent most of my free time on the phone with the insurance company, the vicitim of my daughter's carelessness, and my husband, who was working in Florida, trying to figure out a timely solution to the $3000 repair estimate that wouldn't jeopardize our future insurability.  I felt stretched to my limits -- financial and otherwise.  But, in all of this, there were lessons; things I learned I'd done right and things I wish I'd done better, that surprised me.  I wanted to share a couple in addition to the ones I already posted on Facebook (sorry if you were made to read them in both places). 

Gratitude works

A few months ago I gave a lesson on being grateful in any circumstance and how it might help us through the worst of difficulties.  I decided to try it, really try it, during this particularly ugly spot in my life.  I'm here to tell you that being thankful for all the things that were going right, even if it was only the fact that I saw the sun for a few minutes that day, saved my sanity and helped me keep hope that there would be a light at the end of this miserable tunnel. 

I think I grew.

Get Triple A

Seriously.  It's $85 a year for 4 roadside assistance calls (these include tows up to 100 miles with the RV Plus membership).  If it's your name on the membership, they will cover any car you're traveling in whether it's yours or not.  They offer other discounts and programs with your membership as well, and you can add people onto your membership for $45 each.  With the two tows I required to get my Land Rover fixed, I more than recouped my membership fees this year.  

Check eBay

It's not just for people's used stuff anymore.  Between eBay and Amazon we found new parts for my daughter's Land Rover, our wood-burning stove fan and the igniter that went out on my pellet stove this week lots cheaper than retail.

Find the right car insurance

Cost is a huge factor in this, I know, but we learned that what they'll do for you after an accident may be more important.  Our policy is with United Insurance  -- a company we've only been with for a year, and which we switched to because they would cover our teenage driver without bankrupting us.  After the accident, we learned that our claim would be paid without a deductible, and that they will allow us to pay back the cost of the claim before our next renewal.  This will prevent it from being listed on our policy, will stop our rates from going up, and has the additional benefit of being less than the original estimate because the insurance company forced it down when they paid it.  I feel like we accidently lucked out here.

Have a financial plan

I detest the word "budget", but it really is applicable here.  You should get one.  Even if it's not a strictly detailed list of every expenditure and piece of income, you should put something together.  Having an idea of exactly how we were going to meet all of these unexpected expenses coming hard on the heels of Christmas gave me hope that we could actually do it.  It's going to take us a minute, but the overwhelming feeling of being buried in debt is gone because we have a plan.

Set up some credit

In an ideal world, we would all have savings accounts full of three month's worth of mortgage payments and additional emergency funds.  I'm working on that.  At the moment, though, I've appreciated having some credit to fall back on when my savings account isn't as beefy as it ought to be.  Save it for emergencies and pay it off as soon as possible, but I think you should have some available.

Don't put off buying wood pellets

Or, don't put off getting what you need when you have the means to get it.  In the middle of all of this, we ran out of pellets for our stove.  Had we bought them in the fall, when we had the money to do it, this wouldn't have been a big deal. As it was, I could have potentially been left without a working stove upstairs and and a stove that didn't put off any heat downstairs.  Luckily, I have a father-in-law who knows how painful it is to run a furnace on propane who lent us some.  I'm pretty sure this life lesson applies to more than wood pellets.

There's always a deal when it comes to your satellite provider

We knew we had to cut back on some things, so when we called to see what would happen if we cancelled our satellite service, I was offered several previously unadvertised packages that were considerably cheaper, as well as a discount on my current package and an additional credit.  They'll do a lot to get you to stay with them.

There is much good in the world, no matter how dark you think it is

Two weeks ago my husband came home with a card and a story given to him by a previous boss.  His grandfather lost everything in the Great Depression.  He moved his family west to Oregon and got a job with a successful farmer, who later bought and sold some land in California where Interstate 5 would be built.  Years later, this farmer came back to this man to thank him for his role in the farmer's success and offered to pay off a good portion of his debts.  Inside the card given to my husband was a note written by his old boss, thanking Steve for contributing to his career. It brought both of us to tears.  Coming directly after such a difficult time for us as it did, I was strongly reminded of the good that exists in the world and the people who spread it.  It's something I'll never forget -- how forcibly this one bright gesture affected me after such a dark time.  That's what I'll take away with me; light after darkness.  That, and the fact that who I am has been a group effort; there are people I owe.  I plan to get better at thanking them.  

God won't leave you alone

I really believe this.  Even during the week my husband was away, when I wasn't eating or sleeping, and which qualified as one of the worst of my life, I knew I hadn't been abandoned.  I struggled to pray and my faith was shaky, but I was still comforted.  It showed up in the form of encouraging words from an old friend, a well-timed hug from one of my kids, and small (infinitesimal, it seemed at the time) victories when something went right.  There was always something that eased the burden a little, and I know God was there, lifting it up and off my shoulders.

Things have gotten better.  It's not necessarily that things have stopped breaking (because they haven't; just last week we lost a much-loved uncle), but that I know I won't break.  I could go on and on with platitudes like "life is full of challenges" or "our trials make us stronger", both of which are true, but really, I'd like to say that being human sometimes bites.  And when it's at its worst, that's the time we can learn something we wouldn't come by any other way, even if it takes us years to recognize.  It's unpleasant and can be really painful, but every overwhelming and insurmountable obstacle in our path gives us an opportunity to walk away on the other side better than we were before, albeit with a couple more scars. We fail, we succeed, we lose, and we win, but I would rather do all of it than none of it.  Yup, the struggle is real.  When it comes right down to it, I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.