Seven Times Seventy Times

I love to process through writing. My family sometimes thinks I share too much on the internet, but in reality, the vast majority of my life goes unspoken on my blog. However, two of my dear friends write a lot about marriage and inspire me to live a little more boldly in this realm. The truth of my marriage is messy, embarrassing, and sometimes shameful. I’m not sure how much I will ever share online about what really happened, but in the end, redemption happened. The victory is the Lord’s and I don’t want to minimize that. God is doing marvelous things every day and we all need reminders.

To that end, I admire when friends want to be real, and I'm humbled when they ask to hear our story. I love the change that happened in my life when I was able to start speaking honestly. When I was able to stop saying, “I’m fine,” and reach out and ask for help. Sometimes now I find that I’m compulsively honest when people aren’t ready for it; I’m still learning where the balance is in that regard. But the bottom line is the same: I want to shout it, go on and scream it from the mountains, go on and tell it to the masses, that He is God.

This is our story:

A year ago this July, Ross moved back home. We’d been separated twice for a total of 5 1/2 months between June 2011 and July 2012. It feels very surreal to remember the pain of those separations. The confusion. The constant physical heart ache. The loneliness that reinforced every bad thought I’d had about myself. Feeling unloved and unworthy and unwanted.

When I got married, I thought that we were going to live happily ever after.

No, really.

Other people say marriage is hard, but we were actually in love and I knew Ross was The One, so we’d be fine.

They said marriage was hard work, but I breezed right in.

Ross and I had many small and a few large problems in our dating relationship, but I chose to turn a blind eye to them. I thought marriage would “fix” those right up.

Oh, to shake myself by the shoulders 6 years ago. Marriage is not for the faint of heart. If you’re thinking marriage will solve your individual or relational problems, take note: the minute you say “I do,” the work really begins.

I don’t say this to be glum or pessimistic. I say this because the devil hates marriage. Let me say it again. The devil HATES marriage, especially between two Christians. Why? Because the marital relationship reflects the Trinitarian relationship. If reflects God’s love for us. It sanctifies us.

Haven’t you ever wondered why opposites attract? Marriage exists to teach us sacrificial love. Humility. Grace. Forgiveness. Mercy. We usually turn a blind eye to these lessons because they’re hard, or we think we don’t need them. The truth is, the world teaches us that marriage exists to make us happy when, in fact, it exists to teach us the Gospel. The friction refines us. We suddenly find ourselves living with another person who holds up a mirror and shows us all the things we don’t like about ourselves. We can face it, or we can leave when the going gets tough.

Last March, the tough got tougher for us when truth came to light. I felt lost and confused and shaken. I thought I was at rock bottom. Little did I know, that was just the beginning. It took a few months for the whole truth about our marriage to come out. And it’s taken a full year for me to start to see the depths of depravity in my own heart.

The first big crack in the facade appeared last March, and over the course of a month, the whole truth about our sham of a marriage came out. I wanted to re-gain my footing, I wanted to stand on solid ground, but I felt like the earthquake wasn’t over yet. I was still falling through the darkness, the ground was still shaking. It was still happening.

Sure enough, a few days after the final confession, like the perfect, glistening cherry on top of the rotting heap that was our marriage, I got one last note on my car windshield. Above all the painful, hard truths that had come out over the past month, that one cut the deepest. My husband’s note said, “I’ve never loved you.” That’s when the doubt earned a foothold. A small voice in the back of my mind said, “I told you so. He never did love you and even if you force him to stay, he never will love you.”

My previously fierce determination wavered and I wanted to give in. At that point, divorce looked like the easier choice. And divorce is messy and painful and expensive, so that’s saying something. After reading that note I was mad. I stormed off, past Ross sitting in his car outside my apartment, and sped to our old church. No one was there to talk to me so I sat and cried and read the book of Isaiah. I was so tired of fighting.

And then, oh, then. I got back in my car and met up with a trusted friend. She told me that all of Ross’ kingdoms were crumbling. Every story he had built up was collapsing. He was being exposed. She went on to say that his eyes were being opened and he finally saw that, in fact, all the things he had done were not something a person would ever do out of love.

She said she and her husband tend to applaud men when they come to this realization because it’s the bottom of the truth. I didn’t feel like applauding (sorry, friend). I felt like quitting. I had found my threshold. This was apparently The Line. I’d been holding on to the idea that if Ross still loved me, at least we had a chance of making this work. And when he didn’t, I was empty. All used up. Ready to run and never look back.

What my friend said next will always stick with me: “So what you’re saying is, you’re willing to forgive him 70 times but not 77 times?”  (Matthew 18:22)

Yes, in fact.

Thank God for good counsel. Looking back now, quitting then would have been like surrendering right before the tide turned in battle. It would have been quietly slinking away in the darkest night right before dawn. I would’ve jumped ship in the storm and failed to see the rainbow. I needed to hold onto God’s love, not my husband’s.

I didn’t believe that our marriage could be redeemed. I didn’t think God was strong enough. But I had nothing left in me to do anything otherwise, so I decided to stay. Rock bottom is where you meet God. When there is truly no way you can turn this sh*t around, you have to rely on something greater than yourself. I didn’t want another hallow victory. I wanted a new marriage with Ross. I didn’t expect it to happen, but thank God for the tiniest spark of hope. Good counsel and the Holy Spirit fanned it into flame when I was ready to let it extinguish.

I don’t say this to sound high and mighty, like I forgave Ross for these great transgressions and then we lived happily ever after. No. I’m learning now that Real Marriage is messy. I thought forgiveness was a feeling, a one-time proclamation. In fact, it’s a daily decision for both of us. Last summer, I came to see that in the same way Ross ran from me, I had run from God.  All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). There is only Jesus, and everybody else. One Perfect Person, and the rest of us. No sinner is better or worse than another in the eyes of God. (In fact, sometimes I think big sins wake us up to this reality whereas small sins are easier to overlook and rationalize and blame on others.)

Last spring, amidst the heartache, there was some joy in knowing I wasn’t a crazy, paranoid, hormonal woman. The red flags that bothered me for years were very real promptings from the Holy Spirit that something was very wrong. There was some peace in knowing that God broke what we had because he wanted us to have something better.

I still struggle to accept the fact that God could still love me and forgive me, and that’s nothing but sinful pride. I remember sitting in the hard, uncomfortable pew at church on Good Friday last year, feeling numb inside. I felt deceived and alone and wronged. I was unable to comprehend that Jesus knew he was going to be betrayed by one of the people closest to him and he didn’t get angry. He didn’t seek revenge. He loved. He still died for that person. And praise God that our truth came to light during Lent, because remembering Jesus’ faithfulness kept me from walking away from the vows I made.

There’s no tidy bow on top of this messy story. There’s not one easy moral to learn. Things are still really hard, and there are a lot of highs and lows. In the past year, I have found myself in as much need of forgiveness as my husband. Sin is sin is sin. I have felt shame and I have learned humility. And I’ve met Jesus in the darkest times.

Ross and I renewed our vows last July and on that day we witnessed our marriage like it had never been before. We knew each other and still loved each other. Beauty had risen from the ashes. God is faithful indeed. Marriage has shown me that His story, even in the deepest valleys, is better than anything I could write for myself.

(photos taken the day Ross moved back in, by Erica May Short from Anecdotally Yours)

Just 6 Cookies

Sunday morning I woke up and basically couldn't stop coughing. A deep, painful, chest cough. And I couldn't catch my breath. My allergies had been giving me a pretty sore throat last week, but I was enjoying spending so much time outside in the glorious summer sunshine, I didn't mind! Until those darn allergies triggered my asthma. I'm now staying indoors until this wind dies down and my steroids kick in, which makes me pretty sad, to be honest.

It's been a good two years since my asthma has been like this, so I'm pretty discouraged, and wondering what I did wrong. Should I have stayed on my allergy drops? I quit taking them last November after about a year because I felt like they weren't doing anything. But maybe they were? I didn't need steroids the entire time I was on them! I will have to look into that...

In the meantime, I've been craving cookie dough. Probably seeking comfort and security since life is all up-in-the-air right now. Last night I finally succumbed. While I drove to the pharmacy to get my meds, Ross biked to the grocery store for cookie ingredients (we seem to be out of everything these days).

However, Ross and I have a terrible habit of eating the entire batch of sweets in two days, regardless of how big the batch is. This time, I decided to solve that problem by only making 6 cookies. Just 6. We each ate one in dough form (ahhhh) and two fresh from the oven. I was absolutely, embarrassingly, completely overjoyed. Total bliss. And knowing I only had two hot cookies to eat made me enjoy them even more. No dessert beats the simple comfort of chocolate chip cookies.

This recipe is basically 1/4 of the recipe for my absolute favorite gluten-free chocolate chip cookies. Here are the measurements for just 6 cookies:

2 Tbs butter, softened
2 Tbs brown sugar
1 Tbs powdered sugar
1 tsp ground flax or chia seeds + 3 tsp water
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/8 tsp salt
1/4 cup Bob’s Red Mill brown rice flour (brand makes a difference)
1/4 cup Bob’s Red Mill almond meal/flour
2 heaping Tbs gluten-free chocolate chips (we're suckers for the Enjoy Life brand)

1.) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line a pan with parchment paper or prepare with cooking spray.

2.) In a tiny bowl, mix the flax or chia with water and set aside.

3.) Beat the butter and sugars until smooth. Mix in the flax 'egg' and vanilla extract.

4.) Beat in the remaining ingredients, adding the chocolate chips last.

5.) Shape into Tablespoon-sized balls and place on prepared cookie sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes. Makes 6 cookies.


Hope these make your day like they made mine!

Sweet Tooth Dreams

I've bookmarked so many tasty-looking recipes lately. Please, someone invite me to a party so I have a good reason to make some sweets!

...I actually did make this 2-ingredient chocolate frosting and it was dangerously good. I used it as a ganache while it was still warm, and it was gooey and amazing.

...These blueberry coconut pecan breakfast cookies look outstanding. We bought some pecans on sale at Whole Foods a few weeks ago, but they were too good a la carte to justify using a ton in a recipe. I may have to change my mind and go buy some more, though.

...My mom found this buckwheat pancake recipe on the back of her bag of buckwheat flour recently, and she's made them multiple times. I finally made a batch at home and they're great. Simple and hearty, and great with real maple syrup on top!

...Speaking of buckwheat, I'm going to scrounge up the ingredients for these muffins soon, on one of those nights when I just want a little something sweet-ish after dinner. (Who am I kidding? That's every night!)

...I'm going to need to find some sort of social occasion to make these brownies. Because I know if I just make them for the two of us, they'll be gone in 24 hours!

...These cookies are pretty similar to a recipe I've posted previously, but the peanut butter and chocolate combo never gets old!

...On the other end of the spectrum, these healthy almond power cookies look pretty good too.

...As do these chocolate buckwheat cookies. (This link is also full of gluten-free baking tips!)

...Finally, the best for last: homemade coconut milk ice cream. I know. I don't even recognize myself right now! Ice cream is the one dessert I can usually take or leave, but now that I've tried coconut milk ice cream, I can't get enough!

Resigned

Welp. I resigned from my job* 4 weeks ago. My last day was June 14. No, I don't have another job lined up yet. This is my first week home and it's been... odd.

Why is this so embarrassing to talk about?

I grew up in a very performance-oriented household. This served me very well growing up, because my inclination has historically been to quit when things get hard (AP Calculus, I'm looking at you).

I'm so grateful that my parents encouraged me to persevere through, for example, nursing school, despite my existential crises and numerous threats to change majors. In that instance, perseverance was a very good thing. But there's perseverance, and then there's stupidity (if you keep doing the same thing over and over again, you'll keep getting the same results, right?).

In the past few years, I've taken perseverance to the extreme: piling things on my plate and brute-forcing my way through them because I can. Until... I can't.

Like the country song says, you have to know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. If you're anything like me, folding seems to be synonymous with failure. Like you didn't try hard enough. But sometimes, that's just not the case.

I'm excited and very anxious about where this path will lead. In the meantime, if you live nearby and want to hang out, let me know. My calendar is wide open!





*Disclaimer: This is NOT meant to be a reflection on my recent employer. It's very much the product of the progression of the last 2 years in my personal life. I am very at peace with my decision and I know it's the right choice at this time. Still, I'm sad that this job wasn't a better fit. I have had the honor of working with a truly esteemed staff of professionals. I would without a doubt go to this clinic as a patient because they provide such great care. I loved being part of a small but hard-working team. But at the end of the day, it wasn't the right place for me.

Peanut Butter Banana Muffins

Time to catch up on recipes we've been loving! This muffin is amazing. It's the most "normal" gluten-free muffin I've had to date. The texture is not too crumbly, not too dry, and not too eggy. Bonus: the peanut butter overshadows the banana enough that Ross actually eats these!

Ingredients:

1 cup organic peanut butter (use almond butter to make them Paleo)

3 organic eggs
2 ripe bananas, mashed
1/4 cup + 2 Tbsp coconut flour
1/4 cup honey or maple syrup
3/4 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla extract 

Directions:   

Preheat oven to 350. In a large bowl mix the bananas, eggs and peanut butter until smooth.  Add the remainder of the ingredients mix thoroughly. Divide batter evenly in a prepared muffin tin. Bake for 18-22 minutes. Remove from the baking pan and allow muffins to cool. Enjoy!

(They're especially wonderful with my grandma's strawberry jelly on top)

On What Makes Me Feel Alive

You've seen this quote by now, right? On Pinterest or Facebook or Instagram? I encourage you to read the whole post, but the gist is this:

Being a geek is all about your own personal level of enthusiasm, not how your level of enthusiasm measures up to others. If you like something so much that a casual mention of it makes your whole being light up like a halogen lamp, if hearing a stranger fondly mention your favorite book or game is instant grounds for friendship, if you have ever found yourself bouncing out of your chair because something you learned blew your mind so hard that you physically could not contain yourself — you are a geek.

As I sit on the brink of a time of beautiful, blissful unknown, I'm thinking about these things: What makes me tick? What makes me come alive? What am I really passionate about, as cliche as that sounds?

The answer, it turns out, is starting to take vague form as I spend my Memorial Day afternoon with my nose buried in a book: one of my first loves. In fact, if I had to sum up my favorite childhood memories in one sentence, I would say that I was happiest playing outside at twilight, reading a book, or helping in the kitchen. Is this accurate, Mom? Oh, and if family home videos are any indication, I also spent the majority of the summer of 1992 "helping" my mom take care of my baby brother.

Can that much change? I love exerting myself to the extent that I feel heart-thumpingly alive, gulping fresh air and becoming acutely aware of my own pulse. Twilight leaves me simultaneous happy and nostalgic and makes me long for a backyard to play in. The alchemy and art of baking is my go-to stress relief. Babies never fail to make my very heart feel a little lighter and more hopeful.

The only love I didn't really discover until later was the ocean. My first experience was with the brown shores of the Gulf near Houston and tears, screams, and heart palpitations ensued until my dad picked me up and held me safe in his arms above the dirty water which was surely, in my solidly Midwestern mindset, teeming with creatures who wanted to eat me. The only name I could give them at the time was sharks, which I had little knowledge but great fear of, probably thanks to the fact that The Little Mermaid was my favorite Disney movie. (I even had the accompanying book memorized and I remember telling my friend's big sister that I could read it to her, when really I was just reciting it by heart.)

Then for some unknown reason, I signed up to go to Seacamp in the Florida Keys in high school, saved up my paper route money, and found myself facing the very thing I used to be terrified of. There I found that the more I knew about the sea, the less scary it became. Indeed, I find that an ocean fix every few years reinvigorates me. Few things make me happier than salty air and the sound of waves lapping the shore.

So. Babies + ocean = working as a travel NICU nurse in Hawaii, right? Obviously my dream job. (I wish!)

But really, my interests allow for a lot of interesting combinations.

Biology is beautiful. Few things compare to the lightbulb moment that occurs when you finally glimpse the breadth and depth of the pathophysiologic symphony explaining the signs and symptoms you see in a textbook case living and breathing before you in the exam room.

Literature is beautiful. I recently re-read The Great Gatsby and the great American novelists remind my just how far I have to go to call myself a writer in any true sense. Words on a page hold great power and the true masters have harnessed great joy and grief in black and white type over they centuries.

Life is beautiful. It's no less stunning in the miracle of sprouting seeds able to produce a veritable cornucopia of culinary variety when exposed to sunlight and water, than it is in the first human heartbeat, visible on ultrasound at six weeks. I'm in awe every day that anything ever goes right in nature when growth of any kind requires millions of small and large interactions and reactions and offers thousands of chances for error along the way.

History is beautiful. Anthropology was an unanticipated and enjoyable discovery, threaded throughout my honors courses in college and opening my eyes to just how big this world is. Yet, even a thorough evaluation of your own personal history gives pause and takes the pressure off of every moment of this present life. From learning about your grandma's childhood to tracing your own genealogy to the point at which you can identify yourself with a particular region of the world and a particular combination of genetics and a particular culmination of world events that all contributed to making you uniquely who and where you are today, there's always more to learn.

Finally, I'm happy to digest all things pregnancy and childbirth related. And those NICU babies... the moment I can get a parent to understand the what's and whys of their baby's condition and help them bond in a way they hadn't before... those are the moments that job was worth it.

I'm so far from a personal expert, but these things really fascinate me. Honestly, a lot of the lines between travel, food (from planting to harvesting to rendering edible), writing, giving life, saving lives, and living my own life don't feel all that distinct to me.

My go-to books for leisure reading and re-reading often fall between fact and fiction: Barbara Kingsolver, Michael Pollan, and Bill Bryson take up their fair share of valuable bookshelf space in our one-bedroom apartment. I feel alive, albeit a bit vicariously, when I read their words and feel like I'm a part of their experience. Or when the potential to be a part of a similar experience is re-discovered within me.

How is it that Michael Pollan can make gastronomic anthropology so easily digestible, as it were, for the general consumer? And how, exactly, can Bill Bryson cover the vast domain between a Midwestern childhood, travel writing, Shakespeare, and, in fact, a Short History of Nearly Everything (quantum physics and all) and manage to make me laugh out loud while reading? These are people who truly love what they do and do what they love.

I don't know if these passions can culminate into one amazingly fortuitous and prosperous career. I don't know that they should, really. It's just good to remember sometimes. (And if I could just manage to find some sandy shoreline near all the people I love, everything would be even sweeter.)

Hope Does Not Disappoint

Oh hey. What's that? Sunshine? Thank God.


So jeez. It's May. In with a few snowstorms, out with 90 degree weather, that's what I always say.


Oh man, I need a vacation.


Life. It's happening.


I have all these things I have wanted to blog about, but haven't. Why not? Exhibit A: my ridiculous schedule. (I keep thinking I can do everything. And I. Just. Can't.) Exhibit B: this. (Read it).

Depression is a sneaky little devil. I found myself blindsided with hopelessness this spring. Genuinely doubting that God was/is good. Truly believing that life was/is nothing but a struggle. Fearing God. And then slipping into a weird zone of self-preservation that hurt me more in the end. Like the aforementioned blog post says:

At first, though, the invulnerability that accompanied the detachment was exhilarating. At least as exhilarating as something can be without involving real emotions.

The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief.  I had always wanted to not give a f*ck about anything. I viewed feelings as a weakness — annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore.

But my experiences slowly flattened and blended together until it became obvious that there's a huge difference between not giving a f*ck and not being able to give a f*ck. Cognitively, you might know that different things are happening to you, but they don't feel very different. 

Well, yes. I couldn't have said it better myself. So I found myself trying to climb out of this deep dark hole, and I couldn't. I just simply couldn't. I couldn't muster up the desire, the willpower, the energy, the optimism... nada. I'm slowly starting to see daylight, but I've needed an emergency airlift to get there.

See, while I think this author has eloquently yet humorously described depression to a t, I do respectfully disagree with her on one major point. She says, "And that's the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn't always something you can fight back against with hope." I would beg to differ. Indeed, hope is the only thing that can combat depression.

I mean yes, by all means, eat more vegetables. Start exercising: endorphins really do make you happier. Rekindle a beloved hobby or creative outlet. Yet one day, in the throes of it all, you may realize not even those things help. And in that terrible moment of realization, you also realize it doesn't hurt anymore. Nothing makes you happy, but nothing makes you want to cry your eyes out anymore, either. You're apathetic. Detached. Distancing yourself and putting up walls has removed you so far from the pain that you feel nothing. It's safer that way. Also, even more depressing.

{source}

If you get to that point, see a doctor who can evaluate your need for medication. But even then, medications can be a big band-aid if you don't address the root of the problem. (Please know I'm not bashing antidepressants. Been on them. Loved them. Currently loving life without them.)

Ummm my point is... hope. Hope placed in Jesus never disappoints. (I know, I know, you saw that coming. But hear me out.) Everything else will fail you. Has failed me. Everything else disappoints. Jesus it the only one who can keep every promise. The only one who can dry every tear from every eye. The only one who can give us the grace in which we stand and remind us of the hope of the glory of God.

Since Jesus suffered separation from God-- a true agony I never have to know since he bore it for me-- he can rightly encourage us to glory in our sufferings, because suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame. (Romans 5:5). I don't have to hate or fear God every time I suffer, because God is actually good.

The Lord your God is with you, 

the Mighty Warrior who saves. 

He will take great delight in you; 

in his love he will no longer rebuke you, 

but will rejoice over you with singing.

(Zephaniah 3:17)

I'm not sure how to say that without sounding like a naive goody-two shoes. I just know in my heart of hearts that it's true. And if you've ever been paralyzed at the bottom looking up, maybe you feel it too. You need something bigger than yourself.

I don't have much to say besides that.  

Hope does not disappoint.

I'm re-learning who God is the good old fashioned-way: by reading my Bible.

And, you know, I guess I'm back to over-sharing on the world wide web :o)