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Divorce and the Land of Israel

(If you are here, the very first thing I want you to read is this: Writing about a divorce can be sticky. I would never want to hurt B in any way. So, please know this post is about the divorce, not about B.)     Rejection.   In the past, I’d had friends hurt my feelings. I was dumped in college. There were jobs I wasn’t offered. There were times I wasn’t invited. But that was pretty much it. The rejection I had felt in my life was, what I would consider, typical.   When I found out B had filed for divorce, I was devastated. Normal, right? I think so. I was intensely sad and cried every day. This too, did not surprise me. In fact, during those first few months, I didn’t fight it. When the sobbing began, I would stop what I was doing so I could heave it out until that episode was over. I also expected the standard emotions that sadness brings with it; disappointment, depression, grief. I wept through each of these and these sorrowful emotions became increasingly better wit
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God, and our rental home.

I was still living in the home that once held our family of five.  Rooms were now completely empty, the living room bare and our bedroom was...well...void.  B and his kids had left. I would collapse at the smallest emotional trigger, a "train-wreck" as some people commonly refer to it. I shed tears daily, sometimes hourly. The failure of my marriage felt catastrophic.  Spiritual questions loomed in my mind. Could I hear the Lord? Where was he in all of this? Wasn't he here...somewhere? It didn't feel like it. And if he was, I certainly couldn't hear him. I'd been taking steps one-at-a-time for a couple months, but on one particular day, I was told I had to find a new place to live too. I was crushed. Taking the first steps were hard, but having to leave our home, this home we'd bought together, lived in together, made memories in together...the permanence of this step was overwhelming.  I could barely think straight.  In fact, all I really knew was that I

They've been disarmed.

“Eric held him down until the police could get the gun out of his hand.” My friend, Beth, told me this story about her husband, a firefighter who helped wrestle a person to the ground during an emergency call yesterday.    This troubled man reached and successfully grabbed an officer’s gun from her belt, but was immediately subdued when four people, including Eric, pounced upon him. They restrained him until they had retrieved the gun and could carefully stand up again.    The culprit was disarmed.   Everyone was safe.   I love a story of valor.   Just a day before, I’d been reading through Colossians and came to chapter 2, verse 15, “He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, triumphing over them…”   My eyes veered back to “disarmed.” The Holy Spirit seemed to be highlighting that word in my heart, giving it an intense weight. I studied it. Originating in the late 14th century, it meant to “deprive of power to injure or terrify, render harmless.” Unable to caus

Layla - YES!

  Little miss walked into the kitchen and hiked herself up on her usual stool at the bar as I was fixing myself a grilled cheese lunch.   “Hey!”   “Well, hello little miss.”   “I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”   “And what’s that?”   I continued to put the butter on each side of my bread pieces as she was talking.   “A couple of weeks ago, on August ninth, I was upstairs in my room at my mom’s house.”   “Yes.”   “And I was looking at my laptop, all by myself.”   At this point, I heard her become a bit nervous. I put my buttering knife down for a minute to look at her. I wasn't sure if a confession or an announcement was on the horizon.   “Yes?”   “Well, while I was sitting there, I heard God speak to me.”   My demeanor changed to a cautious excitement.   “You did?”   “Yes.”   “And then what happened?”   “Well, it was like nothing I had ever felt before and I knew it was God. So I just said, ‘Y

Marriage: The First Year

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I don’t compete. Not really anyway. I mean…If I’m playing Catch Phrase or Heads Up, ( or maybe basketball with a five year old ), I will totally get into the game. I can yell and scream and cheer with the best of them. But I don’t really care if I lose. Maybe that is more what I mean. “I’m not competitive” = “I don’t care if I lose.” Don’t get me wrong, during the game, I want to win. I think everyone does. But if I don’t win, I don’t lose any sleep. Now I’m married to a man who has an ex-wife. At first glance, I would tell you that I feel no need to compete with her. I have never needed to feel “prettier” than her.   She has seen me in comfy pants, hair up, and no make up. She’s seen me in torn workout clothes and I don’t wear Lulu Lemon. One time I opened the front door panting and she could see lines of sweat dribbling down my forehead. I never gave it a second thought. I’ve never felt the twinge of financial jealousy. She works ve

Ethan got saved!

This summer we took all three kids to VBS at our new church here in the Woodlands. I was there with them each day because I was helping in the 4 th grade Bible study room.   Each morning, all ages of the VBS kids would meet in the sanctuary and the teachers would head up to a 9:00 meeting/prayer time. Well, on Wednesday morning, I took them into the sanctuary like normal and then completely forgot about my 9:00 meeting. I have no idea why, but that prayer time didn’t even cross my mind.  I ended up staying in the sanctuary, along the wall, to secretly check on how the kids were doing. First let me say that Ethan is our quiet guy. He is on the shyer side and while he feels emotions very deeply, he doesn’t show them often. He is reserved in most settings and sometimes it even takes a nudge from us to “get him out there”. As I searched for each of our three kids, I found Ethan first and I couldn’t believe what I saw. I stood there. Watching. Staring. Wait. Was that real