Grief is Not Jealousy

We've never been close,

They belong in a sea of people,

I am other than,

Bound by blood that isn't thicker than water,

We share freckles, lineage and passiveness. 

It's not jealousy, or greed. 

Grief. 

Grief at the reminder of my otherness. Grief that I am once again not chosen. 

Like a blade of grass under a magnifying glass on a bright, sunny day, my soul is singed by knowing. 

I am found wanting. 

I'm not a preacher, or a preachers wife. 

I'm not a baseball player, or a fisherman,

I'm not a neighbor, or a nurse. 

I’m just me. 

A singer and a poet.

A dreamer and a grower.

A binger and a loser.

I'm just me.

A flawed human being. 

A wildflower basking in the sun. 

A try hard and a people pleaser.

A rebel and a liar. 

I'm just me. With the blood that isn't thicker than water, freckles and otherness.

And I'm okay. Unchosen and unknown. Grief is human, and okay. 

Praise God that human choosing isn't a factor in His choosing.

The Branch

Following years of hanging on, I slipped and fell

from the cliff that had been threatening to consume me.

In terror I grasped for anything to break my fall,

I found Their Branch. 

They held me there in safety. 

With white knuckles and eyes clinched shut,

I clinged to Their Branch,

grateful for it's strength and protection,

for peace and quiet after years of turmoil and strife

For space to confess and confront my sin.

Until one day, I started to choke, flail and gasp for air

I opened my eyes to discover water rising

I was going to drown. 

This also came with another stark revealing,

my feet were on the ground,

they had been on the ground for a long time,

but I had continued to hold onto Their Branch, with white knuckles and eyes clenched shut,

even though it was time for me to stand on my own. 

I didn't have to drown, 

I could walk away. 

But I wasn't alone there, 

The soul knitted to my own had to go with me.

So I waited, as I continued to choke, flail and gasp for air. 

With heavy hearts we walked away. 

From our support system,

The support that had seen us through trials, 

and the laying aside of the sin that was entangling us.

The community who prayed with us, 

held our hands, taught us how to break patterns, 

who donated their skill and labor to replace the shag carpet in our home.

But had also kept us stuck. 

As we walked away and I could breath again, 

I sifted through what remained

some wreckage, some fruit, some . . . unlabeled debris,

the emotional fallout,

to find the truth.

It has felt like walking alone through a haunted forest by moonlight,

trying to decipher truth from malevolent shadow,

finding brightly lit homes where the people around me connect, 

but I am left standing outside wondering how to get in. 

Doing the right thing doesn't exclusively feel good, 

or lead to connection, 

but it is still the right thing. 

So I put one foot in front of the other, 

and trust that either in this world or the next, 

The truth will be clear and the shadows will be gone. 

A Poem of Lament

To start this series from the beginning, click here.

Alone in the wilderness,

I built a fire, constructed a shelter 

and surrendered to life there

waiting for my name to be called through the trees. 

Utterly alone, 

I thought I heard a voice, 

my name being called through the trees,

saying it's time to go home. 

It was a sound mirage, 

So I've learned to live life alone in the wilderness

Slowly building a life there,

surrendered to what is. 

I don't know if I will ever hear that voice, 

the one telling me I'm safe, and it's time to go home,

My soul hovers in the middle place,

between despair at being lost in the wilderness and trusting that I will eventually make it home. 

Like a Bubble Boy, I exist in the invisible wilderness bubble,

I see other people, but I'm alone there. 

I hear other people, but I'm alone there. 

I speak to other people, but I'm alone there. 

I am spoken to, but I am alone there. 

And that's the worst kind of alone.

But this I know,

He who formed the trees I rest in,

and built me in my mother's womb,

Hears my voice as it calls His name through the trees.

The God who brought me to this place, will take me home. 

Grief: Not Belonging

I don’t belong, but it isn’t anyone’s fault. Not theirs. Not mine. I just . . . don’t belong. They aren’t my people and I’m not theirs.

And that's okay. But sometimes it's not.

I've learned that they know. They know I don't belong. There is a cognitive and verbal acknowledgment that I am "other". I am left out, and left behind in favor of others. 

I accepted this abandonment based upon the premise that it wasn't intentional, that they didn't know what they were doing. 

Questions surface within my heart about what their knowing means about me. What is wrong with me? 

Shame overwhelms me. I have caused this. I must be unworthy of love.

And then the truth bursts in like a cowboy in a saloon. It began long before I could have had any culpability in it. 

The truth is that it has nothing to do with me. The preference for others is not about me. It can't be, because they don't know me well enough to make that judgment. This assignment of otherness isn't based upon some characteristic of mine that is found wanting. It's based upon a lack of knowledge. 

So, what now?

Acceptance. 

Even if they know they prefers others, they probably don't know what this has done to me. They probably don't know that this has left me alone and vulnerable. They don't know that like a sheep left behind in a wilderness, I was taken out by the roaring lion seeking to devour me. 

Even if they know there is favoritism, they don't know what it has cost me. And they don't know what it has cost them. 

So, I accept what is. I forgive them for the favoritism, and I forgive myself for the things I did when I was vying for their affection. 

I don't belong, and I don't know whose fault it is. It isn't theirs, and it isn't mine. I just . . . don't belong. 

How Bad Marriage Counseling Helped Save our Marriage

(I'm sharing this with Michael's permission.) 

It felt excruciating, and I couldn't see past the current circumstances. 

Each time my mind would run the gamut of possibilities, and I tried each one on. I imagined what it would be like and feel like to take whatever steps I saw as possible. What would it be like to get a divorce? 

I didn't allow myself to just think of the relief of not being linked to this person anymore. I imagined the hard things. I imagined sending my children off to spend the weekend with their dad and some other woman. 

As I allowed myself to explore the possibilities, I always came back to "the best possible scenario is making this work". And if I am going to make this work, I'm not going to settle for making it work. I'm going to make it good. 

I did that for years before he really started making an effort to change things. For years, I was the one reading books. I was the one trying to get better. 

And the truth is, with only me working with intention, our marriage got exponentially better. 

Even when we went to marriage counseling after being married for 13 years, when the counselor asked us to each rate our marriage, Michael rated our marriage much higher than I did.

He didn't know what marriage could be like, he thought that not fighting was the limit of what marriage could be. He didn't know that we could live in intimate communion. And honestly, I didn't yet know what it could feel like and what it could be. 

Funny enough, bad marriage counseling was the catalyst for a revolution in our relationship. The counselor unfairly blamed me for some of Michael's issues, and that triggered Michael to clearly see that I was not to blame. His drawing that conclusion helped me to understand that I wasn't to blame as well. This shift allowed me to let go of his part of things, and provoked him to step up his game. 

(Don't get me wrong. Originally, I was the source of a lot, and maybe MOST, of our problems. But I had been working so hard for so long that I had improved things as much as I could without him making the same commitment to the marriage. But even at this point in our marriage, I still blamed myself for everything.)

Here are some things we've learned:

1. A lack of conflict is not a sign that things are good. There is conflict in good marriages. The only way to have true communion is by showing up as our authentic selves. Being authentic can lead to disagreement, and that's okay. 

2. One person working on themselves can make a big difference in marriage. 

3. The first step to a good marriage is each partner working on themselves. This is more effective than pointing out the other persons faults. The only person I can change is myself. 

4. The most effective way to change my spouse is through prayer, doing my best to fulfill my own role, and honestly and lovingly communicating my needs and boundaries outside of moments of conflict. 

5. The best marriages have conflict. One or both partners are hungry, annoyed, triggered, tired, stressed, etc., sometimes and may not react in the absolute optimal way. It's okay to disagree, argue and have times that don't fit into Hallmark movies or "happily ever afters". It doesn't mean the marriage is bad. Maybe we need to work on things, However, we probably won't ever be able to work on it enough that there are absolutely never ever times when we disagree. 

For us, I think the benefits we received from bad marriage counseling is a very real manifestation of God working all things for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. He used bad marriage counseling to help us build a better marriage. I don't recommend bad marriage counseling. Get good counseling, but if it's not available to you . . . get what you can.