Tag Archives: marriage


There were 2 babies in the parable about Solomon tearing the baby in half to give one to each who claimed to love the child. The first child was being torn apart. One parent had made a mistake. IT caused the disagreement and the ensuing war. Still, there was love and tenderness. he longed to be with his children. The other parent was wounded. Their pride was damaged and out of fear and pain, poison had been given to the child to confuse the brain and cloud the soul. The only way to understand the child would be to look at her heart. The child wailed in pain and torment. The poison worked and fueled the anger and dismay. Solomon was frustrated and confused.
solomon baby
Both parents feigned caring. Both parents seem to want the child. He pronounced custody. The child wailed as she realized the torment would continue. One parent dropped to their knees. hearing the screams, seeing and feeling the pain, he let go. For now. He knew the child might not ever come back, the poison had gone deep and wide. However, he could not bare causing the pain he saw. He let go.

The other child swang on the hands of both parents. Happy and joyous, she seemed content and untainted. She loved well and she loved without reservation. It would be some time later. The poison spilled from the first onto the second. The parent who took the first, celebrated her victory of winning the child, lauded it over the second child as proof of how she should let go of the hand. He felt the hand slipping from his and tried to hold on tighter. He asked for help, he shared, he panicked, and he loved. Standing before Solomon again, he remembered the nights of horrific pain. He recalled the tears and torment. He felt the pain of letting go. He couldn’t imagine living through that again. He smelled the poison on his child and saw the venom oozing from the serpentine teeth of his former love. He prepared for a battle. He came to fight and win. There was a glimmer from the face of his child. He quickly glanced, wanting to keep his eyes on the attack. There was a single tear on her cheek. Her eyes seemed not lost, not angry, but confused.
He knelt down and dropped his weapons. He cried and told the child that he loved her with all his heart. He loved her, her sibling, and even her mother. He would always be ready to welcome her. He just couldn’t cause more pain. He let go of her hand.



The pain was excrutiating. The noise deafening. The smirk on the parents face as they led the child of joy away was nothing short of evil.

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Posted by on May 7, 2015 in children, divorce


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am I serious?

Today is my 48th birthday.

I am 8 1/2 years on the road of Happy Destiny.

I am 3 years out of a bad marriage.

I am 6 months into a “do-over” on my career and life.

I am about 3 days into the recognition that I take myself too seriously re-struck its disharmonious chord with me.

I have had a tumultuous few years and have had to start my life all over a few times before I could gain purchase. I even fell in love since the divorce, but was so panicked about loosing it, I lost it.

When I did a week at a counseling center in Arizona, the counselor suggested to me that I was way to serious and had lost touch with my inner child.  I had never been told I was too serious before. It was odd to me. I had lost my smile and the joy in little things. However, I thought I had been getting them back. I had moved and started teaching. I felt like I would be ok even though I was unsure how. This was one of the steps to get a license in Idaho and restart my medical career. Things were looking up. Serious? me? She thought so and suggested I go to Build a Bear and design my inner child.

“Ummm, really?”

“Yes, you need to get in touch with it and you aren’t.”

“I will, but I sort of think its stupid.”

“All the more reason why I think you should.”

Big T

I did. He rides around with me in my car. This is his, “Are you serious?” look.

Still I have been feeling lost and separated from myself for some time now. I am unsettled and lonely. I have gotten stuck in the quicksand of my past. I have screamed and hollered. I have begged and pleaded. I have not moved on. I couldn’t let go of what I knew for the unknown. I was scared of my life and of myself. I didn’t trust me or God. “You just have to know that God is protecting you, you are safe,” she said. “You will be ok,” my old life said.

I forgot to enjoy the present. I forgot to enjoy me in the present. I am not that miserable guy. I like to laugh. I enjoy to have fun and do silly things. I remembered in an unusual way. I set about the task of making my new house my new home. I was dismantling the shoddy shelving the previous owner built and was holding a jigsaw. I dropped it on my wrist and opened a gash in my arm. I stopped the bleeding and started looking for a needle and thread to sew it up. At one point, I looked at the wound and felt faint. I had to lay down. As I regained my composure, I giggled that I was thinking of suturing myself and I cant even look at it without feeling lightheaded. I called a friend to take me to ER, but said to wait about 5 minutes, so I could eat a sandwich. She giggled and said, “Are you serious?” I took pictures of the wound and posted it on Facebook so all could guess on number of sutures. I had fun in the ER, actually.

When I got home, I was going to hang those tennis balls to know how far to pull into the garage. I didn’t have any, but I did have all these Snoopy toys that I couldn’t figure out where I wanted them to go.  So…

snoopy chain

I giggle each time my windshield taps these.  You will notice that I also hung my old kitchen lights in the garage to spruce it up.

I was feeling lighter somehow. I felt like I recognized me. I had begun to trust that I would be ok. I recognized my perseverance. I recognize my character. I felt hope. On Sunday, in the education hour, we talked about Romans 5:3 and Romans 8:28. “From suffering comes perseverance, from perseverance, character, and from character, hope.” I was comforted and felt the hope. So I went to the mall and rode a motorized dog (it looks suspiciously like my inner child, Big T says).

dog ride

I am serious about hope. I am serious about life. I am serious about God. I am serious about hoping to have fun with my life and with my God.

Wanna race?

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Posted by on April 27, 2015 in faith, journey, life


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up, up, and away

I was a pissy guy yesterday.  I had no idea why. I tried all kinds of remedies to shake myself loose from the torment to no avail. I treated myself to a dirty chai, I lit the firepit and sat outside, I went to a 12 step meeting. I talked to people, I prayed and meditated. Nothing. I woke up this morning with the answer and a hot air balloon analogy and two applications for it. So, instead of choosing, you have to read both.

It was three years ago yesterday that I committed my mistake. IT lead to the dismantling of everything I knew to be. IT would be today that I would be asked to leave my home and kids. I would live in the basement at my brothers’ house for several months. The job would end, the business fail, the marriage erode, and my kids would turn their backs on me all together. I would lose everything I had know to be true. Well, most things. I would lose my family, but I would grow very close to my Dad and younger brother. I would lose my business and career, but gain humility and the understanding I am more than what I do. I would lose many friends, but discover what true friends are. I would lose my identity, but gain an understanding of my perseverance and character.

The first analogy is thinking of the past as a hot air balloon ride. I have been stuck in the past the last few days and forgetting to admire the beauty of the ride. I started the day of the past very early. I unloaded my gear and began the process of checking out the contents. I opened my hot air balloon and spread it out on the grassy field. I put in air and then added life to it with a firey passion. The sand bags of remorse hung over the side of the gondola as the balloon stood up in the air. I strained against the remorse and used more heat, hoping to overcome it. I had left the ropes attached, fearful of letting go. I wanted to be aloft and I feared it at the same time. I held onto the past, making it fit the present. I strained to reduce the passing of time to make it more 2 dimensional. I was holding on and wanting to let go at same time.  I stopped fighting it. I eased on the heat and addressed the fear. The fear was attached to my insecurity, my poor self esteem, my false pride, my ego. I addressed it and thanked each anchor for having kept me safe at some point in my life. I acknowledged its usefulness at that time, and then unhooked the ropes. I lifted each bag of remorsefulness. I looked for the messages of shame and rejected them. I saw in the bags the growth edges and the bags I had already dealt with. Again, I dropped the bags of shame. I kept the bags of stumblings that I could work on.  The balloon soared into the sky. The bright balloon against the blue sky. The dark cranes flew by. The remnant of the moon sinking in the west. It was beautiful for what it was. I let the past drift away, grateful for all of it.

The second analogy that came to me was the balloon as relationship. I have been trying to heal up from a relationship that I messed up. I was afraid, but deeply in love. Truth be known, I will always love her as a memory and person. The balloon of the past has left and I doubt we will cross paths again. It was beautiful for what it was, and I am grateful.

Early in the morning of the relationship, you begin to unfold all the equipment you both have brought. There is excitement and anticipation and some hidden expectations. The anticipation is palpable and electric. You fill the balloon with hot air. The hot air can be the result of the lies issued from the masks we wear or it can be the heat from the passion of true intimacy. It boils down to communication versus contact. I have had relationships of both kinds. I have faked it more often then communicated. I feel relief to be out of the contact variety, I feel regret from the loss of the communication one. I was afraid and misguided in my fear. Either way, as you board the gondola in the relationship, you can either handle the weighty issues and the self imposed limitation ropes with discretion and discernment, or you can throw them overboard and cut the ties with careless abandon. I have tried to discern and deal with them. I did better than I ever had before with the recent relationship, but still tried to ignore some issues without really dealing with them. It lead to a shortened flight and some resentments. The relationship is aloft and it is thrilling . Being present in the moment is the importance at this point. Enjoy it for what it is. Rejoice. As you land, don’t think of the end of the thrill, remember it for the memory of the adventure, the joy. You are still in the relationship even when the balloon is packed away, you are building on the closeness and thrill everyday, even when you don’t float on the clouds. The relationship is the ups and down, the sand bags and ropes, the packing and unpacking. The storing with care, the attention to the beauty in all of it. I will miss that balloon, it was beautiful , thrilling, scary, sometimes painful. The experience and time together was beautiful for all of it.

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Posted by on April 21, 2015 in divorce, journey, life


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“Dating is like crossing the monkey bars, don’t let go of one until you have grasp on another.” I was told this by another prepubescent boy in 5th grade. It made sense to me. I had just been dumped by Sharla and was feeling crushed. We had “gone out” for almost 3 days, a record in my short dating career. We were meant to be forever, or so said the scrawlings on my notebook. And when I tallied the letters in our names as they added up to the letters in True Love, it was supposed to be inevitable we would be together. Now three days later, I was picking up the broken pieces of my heart.

I was never all that good at dating. I was a bit chubby, had low self esteem, and didn’t like all the things the jocks (who seemed to have all the girls attention) liked. I repeated the “Sharla cycle” frequently through my adolescence. I rarely, if ever, dumped someone, I was always the dumpie. That isn’t meant to be a pity thing, looking back, I would have dumped me too. I was needy and fake. I tried to be whatever the girl seemed to want. I was in love instantly. However, I was so worried about being dumped, I couldn’t talk to them. It is tough to “be going out” and never say hello. I had a chance in 6th grade. In a moment of incredible courage, I asked Kristi to the dance. She was new at the school and was (and still is) one of the most beautiful people I knew. We got to the dance and the macho guys met her and I felt about 2 inches tall. I slunk away.

I continued this trend into college. I started to date and hold back my feelings, or decided beer seemed to be the ticket. It seemed to work. I fell in love still. I got hurt. But I just ignored the feeling or drank them away. I didn’t seem to be able to perfect the aloof. I couldn’t be totally detached. I would want to be, even pretend to be, but it still seemed to result in pain. I used to wish I could just be the Fonz, and drift from woman to woman. But I would get over attached and needy. I believed the lie of someone completing me or needing someone else. So, I kept loosing more of myself and feeling more and more empty and panicky with lost loves. My 5th grade playground profit echoed in my head. I started to serial date. It was rare that I was without someone. I never allowed for healing. I never allowed for growth. I didn’t break up with dates, I just sabotaged the relationship or became less attentive until they broke up with me. It allowed me to not have to be honest and to play the victim role and feel sorry for myself. It was the beginning of my self victimization role play.

In medical school, I met a wonderful woman. I still faked who I was and tried to be what she wanted. I changed my religion, I didn’t have sex with her, I drank less, and changed my friends. I even stopped being so judgmental, well I stopped talking about it out loud. I would marry her. A few days before I proposed, I tried to flirt with my resident. I told myself that if she wanted to date me then it was God telling me this wasn’t the right move for me. She didn’t and so I asked to be married. I was still in the mode of not letting go of the cold steel bar and kept flirting with other women. I even asked one to a movie. I was still wearing my wedding ring when we went out. She figured it out and ended the date early. I had a one night stand in our first year of marriage. I told my wife about it, half thinking and hoping she would ask for a divorce. She didn’t and we did counseling once or twice. I recommitted to the relationship and flirted continuously with other women, explaining that I was just outgoing and nice. I see now it was “coat checking” the next Monkey Bar, just in case. I am disappointed that was me at the time. I have forgiven myself for the craving for intimacy. I wanted it, feared it, and didn’t know how to do it or get it.

As the need resurfaced when I stopped hiding behind alcohol, I was more frustrated at not knowing how to do it. I felt desperate and more lonely than I had ever felt before. I felt lonely and isolated in my marriage even when we were right next to each other. I tried to fix it. I remember the day that my ex wife told me that she didn’t feel intimate to me anymore. We had just returned from a marriage retreat weekend. In hindsight, I panicked like I had done as a 5th grader. I went into full “Sharla mode”. She repeated it a few years later and I reacted by trying to find another monkey bar. It was weak and panicky. I know it was dishonest and creepy. I wish I could take it back, but I cant. All I can do is tell that scared, lonely boy, “Thank You for doing the best you could do.” I tell mid-schooler, “You are good enough and thank you for doing the best you could do.” I tell me as a high schooler and a college student, “Thank you for doing the best you could do with the tools and knowledge you had.” I tell myself that I did the best I could do, I made mistakes and caused pain. But I have addressed myself honestly and compassionately. I accept me. I am intimate with myself. I love me right where I am, but too much to leave me here.

I will learn. I will grow. I will accept. I will communicate I will love. I will be accepted.  I will be loved.

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Posted by on April 1, 2015 in divorce, journey, life


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I left

I left.

I was flipping through channels recently. I stumbled on “Ghost of Girlfriends Past.” Its a cheesy movie about a cheesy guy getting a glimpse through the holes of his cheese as he relives the experiences that shaped his journey in adult relationships. It was disturbing. I watched as life shaped a distorted view of love for the hero. I watched him react to pain, hurt, insecurity in the only way he knew how and it served to hurt him worse. He grew up to be a player. He drank to escape. He was crude. He slept around solely for physical gratification. He pretended to be on top of the world, he was miserable.

I flashed on my life of dating. There was a girl in 4th grade. I will call her Cheryl Lopez. In fourth grade we guys would bend our legs and walk around squatted down. We would say we were kids and hold hands with girls and call them mom. It was a way to hold hands with girls. It worked. I never got to date or kiss Cheryl. I was placed firmly in the friend zone. In a few years, she would be popular and date only jocks (I was a round kid). I think that instead of thinking about that as a success, ie I had made a friend that I would talk to for decades after that, occasionally. I thought of it as a failure. I thought I wasn’t good enough, or macho enough, or manly enough to be of interest to her.

There was another girl, I will call her Sherie. I got up the nerve to ask Sherie to be my girlfriend. I walked over to her house and hung out for hours with her and her friend. I wanted to finally get to kiss a girl. I never asked, I never tried. When I got home, she called and said her friend thought I wanted a kiss. She said I could come back. I was embarrassed. She asked why I didn’t ask. I felt stupid. I didn’t go back. Instead of learning to be direct and open about what I was feeling or my needs, I learned that my hopes and desires were embarrassing and shameful.

In middle school, I was attracted to two girls at same time. I had been ‘going out’ with Vickie (not her name) for a whole week. She would kiss, but that is all. I thought I was supposed to deserve more and when Wanda suggested she did more, I went with her. Problem was, I didn’t tell Vickie. I wanted to be liked. Instead of learning to follow my heart and not my boy parts, I learned to ‘cover my six.” I learned deceit. I learned to hide.

In high school, Tracy broke my heart. We dated for quite awhile. She was returning to her home town for Spring Break. She broke up with me just in case this cute guy from a year before would ask her out. I learned I was not worthy of sticking fast too.

In college, Tammy said she had to keep me a secret from her parents because they liked her ex boyfriend so much. When I finally met the parents, she ridiculed me for not being outgoing and enthusiastic about her brothers basketball game. I learned that I was worthy of being ashamed about and I was not good enough.

I got married. We hid our disagreements. I escaped into alcohol. When I tried to stop escaping, I was rejected. There was no time and no desire to work on learning to relate. I learned I wasn’t worthy of hard work. I learned that my opinions and feelings were unsatisfactory. I learned I was bad and wrong. I reacted to that and proved it to be true.

I am scared of what I learned. I am fighting my false teachings. I want to learn love. I want to receive and give it. I want to be who my heart says I am. I want to rejoice in love, in God, in life. I want to be all of me and have that be enough—not for someone else, but enough for me.

In the movie, the love of his life asks him to choose, “Stay and stay forever where you want to be, or leave and leave forever.” HE left. I left. I want to stop leaving who I am and be very real.

I am Spartacus.

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Posted by on July 4, 2014 in divorce, faith


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time flies, time lies

time. time out, times up, wasting time, killing time, spending time, counting time, time to go, on time, more time, hurry up time, time heals, time flies….time lies. Tick Tick tock, wind me up and ring my chimes…

I have been apart from my daughters for a stretch of time. The times have changed since I was a teenager in this town. It has been some time since I divorced, moved, started a new life. It has been a short time since my ex remarried. It seems like a long time away that my life will settle down at all. New job, new career, back to school, buying a new house, new surroundings. It seems like a long time before I will see my daughters again. tick tick tock

Time doesn’t seem to heal very quickly. It does it in its’ own time. And I think it lies about the past and makes a dream out of the future. The past is corrupted in its true vision. It is either rosy or very dark. Things are either great or awful. I blame flashbacks in movies, but it is really Time. Time demands to be attended to. Time demands to be lived each moment or the moment is gone. Time is a persnickity bitch. Time creates those waves that used to be used in 70’s sitcoms to represent flashback or future visions. Those waves distort the past and future. They can be spider webs of consciousness. We can get stuck in the distorted views of past or future and ignore the wailings of Time. tick tick tock

Time lies. The waves of past and future are lies about what really happened. They are a limited view of a much broader story. IT feels real as we join in the retrogressive groove. But it is distorted and in its distortion a lie. It tells us the future or past is better or worse than the current time. In reality, it will be what it will be and is as miraculous as we make it. wind me up

Time will tell. Unfortunately, it is when time is ready to tell when it will finally tell. Time hangs out with Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda, and Oughta. The regrets and the false hopes. Time uses them to screw around with our brains and hearts. We feel guilty or apprehensive. We feel wrong and inadequate. I cannot change what happened with my marriage or my daughters. I can’t go back and erase the past, no matter how hard I try. I don’t know if my daughters will ever call me Dad again or give me a hug again, but all I can do is live in this time. Time will tell.

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Posted by on June 24, 2014 in journey


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unicorns and selfishness

My ex-wife gets married tomorrow. From what I am told, I should be more upset. It hasn’t quite been a year since our divorce. She made sure that everything was opposite from our wedding. Her engagement ring is a big gaudy thing. The wedding is outside, with a full bar at the reception. It is in June instead of January. They are wearing cowboy boots with their finery. Its pretty idyllic, I understand. The quote from the old neighbors and my daughter is that, “It will be a perfect start to the perfect marriage.”

I am a little concerned about it. Not really about her being remarried, but rather because of my kids. I miss them tremendously. My heart breaks when I think of someone else getting to be at home with them, getting to hear their stories, comfort the pains, rejoice the victories. They really have pushed me aside and that hurts more than anything my ex could do. She knows it and so encouraged the pushing.

I am a bit conflicted. One part of me really, sincerely, hopes the fantasy is real for her. There is a part of me that cares very deeply for her. I would enjoy seeing her be happy. The other part of me wants to kick the first part of me’s ass. The injustice and the bad-mouthing and the evil that has come forth is tremendous. The third part thought it would go back and be miserable so I could be with the girls. That part is lost in a fantasy as well. It would never happen and I would never do it. I have struggled this year. It hurt and left scars. However, I have changed. I will not accept being the walking dead. There are more parts but they are shades of the first three.

I have family and friends that are going to the wedding. I am so proud of my dad. Despite all this, my family has taken the high road. they have told me that they will have a relationship with my ex and that I had better understand that. Her family blocked my email and phone (…and they will know we are Christians by our love…).

Maybe that is why things have been so tough, so that I could be settled with the need to move through this. Maybe that’s why stuff had to be so difficult with my daughters, to distract me from the wedding. Maybe if I wish real hard, a unicorn will ride a rainbow out my butt.

I do wish her fiancé luck, but I miss my girls. I want to be Dad again. I want Father’s day back. I want to hear, and cry, and laugh, and forgive, and nurture, and be, with my girls again. My concern over the wedding is simply that it is another barrier to me being in their lives. I am not proud of my selfishness, but I cant seem to shake it. I am not a great father, or haven’t been. I am a good father, however. My best thing was borrowed from my mom. I would sing them “You are my sunshine” while scratching their back as they went to sleep. It was necessary to change the words to “The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I had a dream I ate a big marshmellow. When I awoke dear, my pillow was gone dear…” They were 10 before they stopped giggling at that.

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Posted by on June 6, 2014 in divorce, life


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only rats win the rat race

OK…so choose.

You can be a victim, a hero, or a persecutor. The Karpman Drama Triangle describes how some people live in this trichotomy. The victim sees themselves as blameless. They desire to be loved no matter what.
The hero likes to be the rescuer, to be good. The persecutor likes to be always right.

The theory says that people who live in the drama triangle choose one or two favored positions. We live in one role and sometimes switch around, but the chaos protects us from actually dealing with the problem. There is no solution, only problems because the drama is the goal. The responsibility remains out in space, unowned. The internal conflict gets to be ignored because life is all about creating conflict and stirring it up in others’. There is no empathy, only absorption in the roles of the triangle. It feeds emptiness, and provides identity because the two people can jump from one identity/role to another.

I just recently was re-introduced to this concept. There are those who think that living in this triangle, particularly if someone is trying to break the cycle, that leads to divorce. I read that 75% of all marriages end because the woman asks for divorce. The majority of men polled said they had no idea it was so bad and were totally unable to change in time. Most of the time there were years of resentment and anger built up. There was a complete lack of communication and honesty.

It got me to thinking about my marriage and divorce. My first impulse was to point fingers and avoid responsibility. I tried to think of myself as blameless. (oops) I wanted to be safe and to be pitied. I will also admit that the understanding of my manipulation by assuming the victim role upset me and I thought of becoming the persecutor. I figured if I was right then I wouldn’t be the victim anymore. Honestly, then I thought if I took the higher ground I could become the hero. (I have always wanted to be a hero.) As I read about the triangle, I became a little more confused. I could see my ex and I running around the drama triangle with glee. I understood our need to avoid problems and pretend to be perfect. I could see how some of my responsibility taking upset that triangle. I was actually told once to stop taking so much responsibility. (I wonder if I was actually taking responsibility or was playing the victim.) I was so entrenched in blaming my ex-wife for living in the drama triangle, I forgot that it takes 2 to play the manipulation game. The triangle doesn’t work in isolation of relationship.

After thinking of that, I actually started thinking of myself as a victim of the triangle. I felt stuck in it. I decided to look at the painful reality of my responsibility. I decided to risk being honest. I needed to be honest with myself as well as those I loved. I vowed to not be too full of myself, or too empty. It wasn’t easy to really explore my inadequacies in my marriage, my parenting, my living. I had been ill equipped to deal with internal conflict, so I created it outside of myself.

Then I decided to look at respect. Respect of others and for myself. More importantly, I needed to learn respect of the journey and not the destination. I needed to respect confronting problems rather than ignoring them. I needed to say “No” and “Yes” when appropriate.

Finally, I needed to learn to make agreements that last. I needed to compromise. I needed to learn that problems are only solved together.

Its a process.

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Posted by on December 9, 2013 in divorce, journey


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not such a lovely moment

I am a bit bitter right now. I am mad for sure, but also sad. I feel confused and scared. I feel like running, I feel like hiding, and I feel like fighting. My heart is confused. My head is bewildered.

My ex sent me a reminder 2 days ago about my oldest daughters track meet. It was odd because she specifically has said that she will no longer communicate other than google calendar. I didn’t think anything of it. I figured it was just more convenient to get my younger daughter there. It is raining today and I stood out in the rain so I could cheer on my oldest daughter. As she finished the race I heard other people yelling for her. It turns out my ex brought her fiancé to the race. (He lives in Texas). I wondered away as I saw this stranger hugging my family.

How the heck does anyone get through divorce?

I was thinking today about how long my marriage had been mediocre at best. I thought about the times I wanted to switch careers. I imagined the Talking Heads singing, “This is not my beautiful house…” I had thought that I don’t really like my ex anymore and we really didn’t enjoy doing anything together. I remembered feeling remorse about getting married as early as the first few months. There were times that were pleasant, even good. We had fantastic kids. We painted a beautiful image, but it was a nice picture and that was it. I don’t want to be married to who she is now.

The mistake I made was praying for a life I wanted to live. I prayed to live real and honest to my God spark. You have to be careful what you pray for. I got it. And it hurts. I am not so sure I understand why I have to have so much pain all at once. I am hoping that to make up for the pain, God does some really cool thing in my life.

Oh yeah, He did. I have amazing friends. I have amazing family. I have connected with a wonderful woman. I have a house, a job (of sorts), and some dreams. I feel emotions again, sometimes all at once. I am learning about myself. I have passion. I know I am more of a weeble (I wobble and don’t fall down.) I know God is there. I know He loves me. I am safe, I am warm, I am loved.

How do we get through this? We wobble and don’t fall down. We pray. We rejoice. We feel. We live, we hurt, we dream, we LOVE.


Posted by on September 27, 2013 in divorce, journey


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a perfect poster

I just figured out I am a movie poster. I am an advertisement that comes in a new frame from Walmart. Funny story: years ago, my family had pictures at Winter Park YMCA done. My sister knew she was going to succumb to the cancer and decided to have “Christmas in July.” We took family pictures at that time as well. The photographer took pictures of my nuclear family as well. Several months later, we discovered that he used our pictures as advertisement.

Anyway, I figured out recently that I have relished the picture mentality of life. I had a glorified image of what life, marriage, parenthood, myself was to look like. I would capture the image and print it as a movie poster or framed image. I lived life trying to perpetuate that image at all times. It was important to me to be seen as that poster. Any deviation from that image was rejected and denied. It was great. The image was perfection. It was exactly what I thought it should be like.

The drawbacks are pretty obvious. I was two dimensional. I had no depth. I spent so much energy trying to print and show the image that I was worn thin. Paper thin. A poster or a picture is easy to tear. I deluded myself in thinking that since I looked strong in the poster, I must be impenetrable. I quickly taped the holes and tatters and pretended they didn’t exist.

I was stagnant. A poster can’t change or grow. The moment in time never existed. And even if it did exist, it was in the past. Regardless, the poster will fade. The poster image will be the same. It can’t be sad. It can’t be happy. IT can’t love or hate. It is a poster.

I was bigger than life. I always thought that was a good thing. It seemed like being noticed and revered was the goal of living. I needed for people to tell me I looked good, and fun, and worthy. In order to do that, I had to be huge. I laughed the loudest, I lied about being the smartest. I judged others. I was remembering a moment after I got sober. A patient wanted medical marijuana and I refused to write the script. As he was telling me how disgusted he was with me, he exclaimed that he used to think I was bigger than life. My answer was, “So did I.” He left a little confused.

I lived afraid that someone was going to look behind the poster. I was cowering behind the poster. I drank away the fear. I hid. I ran. I isolated. The worst part is that I taught my family that the image was real and needed protected. I needed the picture because I did not like the coward behind it. And I couldn’t maintain it alone.

The poster fell as the tears won out. The image fluttered to the ground, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. However, I was free of it. My ex-wife and even my kids have begun to erect another poster. I have been excluded from that and deemed not worthy. I am not worthy of a perfect picture. I am broken, fallible, imperfect. I am also redeemed, forgiven, 3 dimension, warm, safe, and loved.

Comments Off on a perfect poster

Posted by on September 27, 2013 in divorce, life


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