Saints and Sinners...

Today is significant for two reasons. The first is that today is Maundy Thursday in our church. This is the day that we commemorate the Last Supper of Jesus with his disciples before he is arrested, beaten, tortured, and nailed to the cross. Tonight at church, the final act of the service is the stripping of the altar, which I was so honored to be asked to be a part of. That part of the service has always been so emotional for me. Watching as the ladies strip away the important parts of our church piece by piece is difficult for me. And I always end up sobbing by the end of the service. 

Being a part of that process and helping carry away the pieces was no different. The beautiful silver pieces that hold the bread and the wine for Holy Communion. The cloths that cover the lectern and the pulpit and the altar. The candles that burn at every service. The Bible that our lessons are read from. Carrying those pieces and watching the front of the church being dismantled is so difficult. Knowing that these pieces are being taken away, symbolically representing Jesus being taken away and crucified just tomorrow, bring hot tears quickly to my eyes. 

These days tear my soul in two. Jesus. Sinless. Blameless. Perfect. A saint, not a sinner. Being crucified for me and my sins. Tortured and killed because of me, so that I can be saved. My soul is torn in two. 

The second reason today is significant? It would have been Brian’s forty-fifth birthday. But he didn’t make it there. I’m far enough away from the events leading to his death that I sometimes forget there are people who have entered our lives that don’t know. My husband was arrested and charged with two felony counts. My fairy tale of a husband and two little girls and a wonderful life was torn in two, and even further torn when he chose to end his life rather than going through the process for justice to be served for his victims. Brian. A felon. Not perfect. Not sinless. A sinner, not a saint. What a stark contrast to this day!

But, at the same time, a perfect lesson. A perfect comparison. A perfect example of what Holy Week is all about. Brian, like all of us, was a sinner. He made some really bad choices in the last few moments of his life. Two felonies. Suicide. Is he lost? Is he damned to hell? The loving, caring, compassionate God that I know says no. I believe that Brian was a Christian. I believe he made himself right with God. I believe that the clashing of these two events today is the best illustration of what it means to be a believer, saved, forgiven!

We are all sinners. We all do things to fall out of God’s favor. But, we are forgiven! We are cleansed by the blood of Jesus. He took our sins and carried them to the cross. He carried the lies and the bad choices and the felonies and the suicide. He took the pettiness and the judgments and the gossip. And he carried them all for us. He bore the weight of the world’s sins so that we can be washed as white as snow. So that when we die, we know that we will be in heaven with Father God and all the saints that have gone before. And, yes, I believe that even Brian will be there. 

The tears at the altar tonight seemed to open the floodgates. I grieve the choices that I have made that contributed to Jesus dying on a cross for me. The tears flowed freely as I carried the pieces of the altar handed to me. And they have just kept flowing freely. Tonight, I grieve. I grieve for the death of my Lord and Savior. For the suffering and the torture. For the moments He begged for His life and a different plan. I grieve for the unimaginable pain and suffering He went through. I grieve for my contributions to all of that. 

I also grieve for Brian. For the choices He made. For the broken dreams that I carry on my heart. For my girls who no longer have a father. For the moments that we are missing out on today like baking a cake for him. Singing “Happy Birthday.” Watching him unwrap some homemade trinket made by not-so-little hands. I grieve for the loss of my friend and husband and partner. 

But I also wait with anticipation at the hope that arrives on Easter morning where we can lift our heads, look to the Son, and loudly declare, “He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!” What a glorious day! A lot can happen on three days! Just watch and see!

Rewrite the Stars...

I am a firm believer in everything happens for a reason. The steps that we walk and the moments we share on this earth are all part of our journey. They are all part of the plan that our Heavenly Father has for us. As a Christian, I have faith in these facts and I know there’s a greater good in place for everything that happens. But I am also imperfect. And there are times that I want nothing more than to rewrite history. Change what has happened. Erase moments. Write my own fairy tale ending. 

Brian killing himself and all that transpired in those days and weeks, would be the first chapter I would rewrite. I don’t know where I would start the story over. Would I choose the same setting? The same characters? Where would I put the dramatic rise? The conflict? How would I pen the resolution? I don’t know. That’s the part of rewriting history that is hard. Which moments do you change? Erase? Make better? Everything happens for a reason. Even suicide, I suppose. 

I am honored to work at the best school in the district. With the best staff. The best parents. The best students. Lately though? It hasn’t felt that way. Across the district (I’m willing to bet it’s actually across the nation) kids are changing. The face of education is changing. We are being sent babies who are the products of divorce, suicide, jailed parents, cancer, deceased siblings, runaway parents. They are being abused: sexually, physically, emotionally. And we are expected to take these babies who are hungry, malnourished, unloved and unwanted, sit them down in a desk and teach them reading, writing, and math. They are worried about what they are going home to, not how to do two digit by two digit subtraction with regrouping. Their bellies are growling. They aren’t worried about contractions or nouns or verb tenses. Their minds are racing in an unmedicated ADHD fit, and slowing down to care about your lesson is the last thing they could do. But it is still our job as teachers to teach them! Increase their test scores. Help them read. Learn. 

This job gets harder all the time. We are being sent these little people that are struggling. They are screaming and yelling and in a rage. They are throwing furniture. They are destroying whole classrooms and pods. They are so disrespectful and smart mouthed. They know every swear word in the book, some I don’t even know. And we, as teachers, are at our wits end. We are tired and worn out and defeated feeling. We are reeling. Not because we are upset and angry at the kids, because that’s not it at all. We are sad. We are crushed for these kids. We pour our souls into our jobs and into our kids. When they hurt, we hurt. They are hurting and angry and acting out at school. And we are seemingly losing control of our building. It has become a war zone of little people that are begging for help and love and peace. And I have been a part of that building, that staff for long enough to know that we can dig deep and take back our building. 

We can rewrite the stars. Those babies are counting on us to do just that. Rewrite their stars. I have spent the last almost eight years working to rewrite Amelia and Emerson’s stars. I am not going to let them become a statistic. I am not going to let them be just another excuse, another problem kid in the world. So we talk and bond and pray and hold each other. We talk through problems. I discipline and hold them accountable. I praise and reward the good and extinguish the bad. I am rewriting their stars. 

We all sit on so many committees and talk the talk. Our days are filled with acronyms of things that are supposed to help. PBIS. ACES. RTI. One idea after another and we throw everything at the teachers so they can throw everything at the students. We don’t need more PBIS. We don’t need more ACES training. We don’t need more conversations or more committees or more mandates. The kids don’t need those things. They need love. They need trust. They need relationships. They need accountability. They need structure and boundaries and support. They need hugs and high fives delivered genuinely. They need to know they are safe and important and loved. Who better to show them these things than the staff and teachers at my school?! We are the best. We expect the best. 

So, I am calling on my staff and teachers who know these things. We need to take our school back. We need to be the elementary school that I know we really are. So, I am proposing that we take our school back. We are the best of the best. We are brilliant educators with hearts of gold. Let’s rewrite their stars! They don’t have to be destined for trouble and hard times! We don’t have to sit back and watch things unravel!

So, we talk to each other. We don’t hide the elephant in the room. We lay it on the table, embrace the chaos, come up with a plan, and work on moving forward. We do what we do best! We love them! We form relationships with them. Melissa and I walk the hallways and try hard to form relationships with the toughest little kiddos. We give hugs and high fives and secret handshakes. We remind them of expectations and direct them back to class or back to the rules. And they respond! Even just a little bit, but they respond! They crave attention and love. They want boundaries. So, reach out across grade levels and classrooms. Find one or two that you can bond with.  Every week make it your mission to connect with one kid who may need you.  One kids who maybe don’t even know.   Make a connection. Draw them in. Give them a reason to want to come to school. Give them another adult to look for in the hallways. 

Encourage your fellow teachers too. I don’t know how many staff members I have talked to lately that are done. Fed up. Want to quit. Are actively looking for jobs not in education. I’ll admit that it has crossed my mind a time or two lately. What a loss that would be! For any one of us to choose a different path. You are all so amazing! You are all meant to be in our building! You are there for a reason, a purpose. Things are tough right now, but don’t quit on these kids! Don’t quit on each other! Make it a point to reach out to your fellow staff and teachers. Give them kudos. Tell them they are amazing. 

And if you’re the faithful type, or even if you’re not, pray for them! I invite any staff member or teacher that is interested to join me in my office at 3:30 on Wednesday afternoons starting after spring break. Write it in your planner. Make time! Just a few minutes! Bring names of kids we need to raise up in prayer. Bring your toughest kids to the table and let’s talk about their best qualities. Bring staff members who you know need a prayer too! We’ll pray and come together for positive sharing. We’ll jot notes to these families letting them know how great their kids are. We’ll share with each other what is working and what isn’t. Just a few minutes. Just a few simple words. Just a few moments to rewrite their stars. We may feel powerless in some of these situations, but God is powerful and He listens to our prayers. And if you can’t make it in the afternoon, let’s talk about a morning during the week we can do the same thing! 

What an opportunity we have right now this very second. To turn this around. To make this a positive place again and to rewrite the stars...for our students, for their families, for our friends and colleagues that lay it all out each and every day. We are the best staff in the district. We need to heal. We need to help our students heal. We need to rewrite our stars. Because I am not willing to stand by and let things happen the way they are. And I’m going to tag each and every one of you that I know won’t let that happen either. It’s time, friends! It’s time to rewrite our stars right here. Right now. Let’s do this! I’m ready! Who will join me?

Rewrite the stars...one star at a time...

Never Enough...

My girls and I finally spent an evening watching The Greatest Showman. What a movie! What a soundtrack! What a cast! It was amazing and completely lived up to all the hype. It was eye-catching from the beginning to the end. A child with a dream. Overcoming adversity. Showing up his haters. Hiring the underdogs. Building up people who don’t feel good about themselves. The guy gets the girl. Every aspect of the movie was fantastic. His highs and lows. Each scene keeping you at the edge of your seat. Sadness at the end, wanting so much more. And the music!  The songs!! A blog post heaven for sure! So the first - Never Enough. 

Looking at this theme throughout the movie, the characters, especially the “oddities” that he hired for his circus, I identified with them! How many times in my life I have felt the freak. Too fat. Hairy arms. Acne all over my body. Wart on my nose. There were many times, especially in junior high and high school where I felt like I would fit in with the circus crowd better than anyone else. I remember the relief one day of walking through the University of Washington campus and seeing so many different people and thinking “there are other weirdos like me around. I blend in here.” 

I still deep down sometimes hear the “never enough” tapes in my head. You’ll never be pretty enough to find a boyfriend. You’ll never be good enough to be anything more than a bench warmer. You won’t be smart enough to be a doctor. You’re not bubbly enough to be a good speech therapist. And in my not so shiny moments still today those are the tapes that play in my head. That I’ll never be enough. 

It doesn’t matter how many miles I run, I’ll never be enough. It doesn’t matter how many pounds I lose, it’ll never be enough. It doesn’t matter how many miles I drive my girls to dance, it’ll never be enough to be a good mom. No matter what I plan, I’ll never be good enough at my job. Never enough...

Those words are from Satan. He whispers those things into my ear every chance he gets. And like the circus group in the movie, I feel badly about myself. I feel like I don’t fit. I feel like a misfit in a world of people who are so much better than me with everything. 

And then I remember exactly what season we are in. In the Lutheran Church, and many others, we are heading into Holy Week. The week that kicks off the Passion story. In four days, it is Good Friday. This day is a day to worship and remember the amazing sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He was sent to earth as a human. He preached His gospel and in an ultimate gift to us, allowed Himself to be beaten, tortured, tormented, and nailed to a cross. He suffered unthinkable pain and agony. He died and was buried in a tomb. For what? Why did He go through all of that?

For me because, in His eyes, in the eyes of my Heavenly Father, I’m enough. And I’ll always be enough. And even better than that? I don’t even HAVE to be enough. I don’t have to be anything except His daughter. Faithful and trusting in His plan and His purpose. Sharing my faith with others so that they may learn of the amazing things the Jesus has done for them. 

So listen! You are enough in God’s eyes always! Come as you are to His feet and listen to all He has to offer you! Redemption! Grace! Mercy! Forgiveness! Peace! Joy! Hope! What are you looking for this Easter season? Whatever it is, your God has it ready and waiting for you! 

You are enough! I am enough! And His love and sacrifice will always be enough!

John 3:16 For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son. That whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life! 

If you want to learn more, if you want to find out why He thinks you are enough, why you are worthy of this staggering sacrifice, please come and join us this week for church! Listen to His message! Feel His presence! Discover just how much He loves you! You are enough! Always and forever.

If you are compelled to join us for church, our services at Peace Lutheran are Maundy Thursday service at 6:30 pm, Good Friday service at 8:00 pm, and Easter Sunday services at 7:00 am and 10:30 am! Or check out any other of the wonderful churches on our area. This is an amazing time to be in the church! So much hope! So many messages of peace! So many reminders that you are enough! He loves you oh so much! Come hear more!

I Ain’t Settlin’...

I am soooo torn. As a fat person, the LAST thing I ever wanted was advice from people. I didn’t want to hear that I needed to lose weight. I didn’t want to see what other people were doing to get healthy. I certainly didn’t want to hear that I needed to eat less. But now, as someone who has dropped almost 150 pounds, I so badly want to help others! To tell people how amazing the other side is! You guys, I played tag with my youngest kid on the playground at the park yesterday. Like chased her and ran from her and climbed the rope dome. And I bawled like a baby at one point when she hugged me and told me she was so happy I was playing with her. Tears of happiness that I can play with her now. Tears of sadness and regret as I thought about the last almost 8 years of not being able to play with her. All the time that I’ve lost! 

But, I digress. As I walk through this world and I see all the heavy, hurting, unhealthy people I want to shout from the mountaintops how great this is! How amazing I feel! How I love the feeling of my muscles working. I love the rumble of my stomach that tells me I’m hungry. When I was fatter that didn’t happen. I never got to a hungry phase. I love seeing my thigh muscles bulging under my workout leggings. I love staring at my plate and see how healthy I eat.

Is my journey easy? Not by any means! It’s hard! Every day is a struggle to eat right and exercise. I ate a Reese’s Big Cup yesterday. Don’t even like them. But it was delightful yesterday. And then? I literally stomped my feet and cried when I came home from a long day and a kickboxing class and I still needed 4,000 steps to my step goal for the day. I didn’t care. I was not getting on that treadmill. Every day is a struggle. But I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Sometimes it’s one step forward and two steps back. But all those steps count!

I just want people to see how worth it the struggle is! I want to help people take care of themselves and get stronger and healthier and live!! But, I hesitate. I remember what it was like to be on the heavy side. I remember the guilt and shame. I remember how offended I would be if someone said something, anything about my weight. So I stay quiet. 

The same goes for the spiritual side. I am a Christian. I have faith in God as my Father and protector. I believe that God sent His one and only Son to suffer and die for my sins. That because of His sacrifice and because I believe in Him, I will be with Him in heaven when my time on earth is through. And it’s hard to me to keep quiet because the blessings that are part of the package deal are amazing and so worth it! The relationship that I have with my Heavenly Father is what gets me through even my darkest days! I cannot imagine going through the life I have gone through without my faith and my Father. 

Is being a Christian easy? Not at all! Once you sign on to being a follower of Christ, the real battles begin. You have signed your name to the Lord’s team roster and Satan wants none of that. He wants to win you over and the battle begins. Fiery darts fly towards you. Trials and tribulations intensify. Satan doesn’t let go easily. You will go through an intense war in your faith walk. Every day can be a struggle. I am in a constant tug of war between the grasp of my Father in Heaven, and the evil and darkness that wishes to drag me under. 

But, again, I want people to see how worth it the struggle is! The spiritual growing pains are all worth it when you know that following your Lord and Savior leads you to eternal redemption. But I hesitate with sharing this part too. So many people are anti-God. They don’t want to hear it. How can I believe that nonsense? What good does your imaginary God do? So I stay quiet. 

But, I can’t stay quiet! On the physical side or the spiritual side! I’m not going to approach you and tell you “You’re unhealthy! You’re overweight! You need help!” Because that wouldn’t do any good at all! If that had happened to me earlier in my weight loss journey, you’d find me in the McDonalds drive through ordering four Big Mac sandwiches and fries with a Diet Coke. I would be hurt and ashamed and sad and angry. But, I can’t stay quiet! Life is so different, so much better, so much richer when you are healthy and eat better and take care of your body. There are so many more things you can do when you take care of yourself. Will it be tough? Yup! But so so worth it! I ain’t settlin’! You shouldn’t either!

I can’t stay quiet about the spiritual side either! I’m not going to come up and thump you over the head with my Bible. Tell you you’re going to hell if you don’t believe. Convince you to join my church. Because that wouldn’t do any good either! If that had happened in some of my lowest times where my faith wavered, I probably would have pushed you away. Been angry. And never stepped foot in a church again. But, I can’t stay quiet! Life is so different, so much better, so much richer when you invite the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart! There are so many plans that our God has for you! There are so many areas of your life that He would like to help and heal. Will it be tough? Yup! But so so worth it! I ain’t settlin’! You shouldn’t either!

So, if you are reading this, and wondering how you start your physical journey to health and wellness, I am not an expert. I am just a person who has struggled and had a hard time with their weight. And right now, things are clicking for me and I am working hard. And I want to help, to show you how much hope there is in working hard and losing weight and making good choices with diet and exercise. I want to share! If you want to talk about it, I’m here!

And if you’re reading this and you’re wondering how you can accept Christ as your Savior, I am not an expert. I am just a sinner who struggled everyday with choices I make in life, but who has asked Jesus to come into my heart and my life and work in me and through me to share His word. And I want to help, to show you how much hope there is in putting your faith in God and knowing that He is with you always. I want to share! If you want to talk about it, I’m here!

Physically or spiritually! I ain’t settlin’! There is a full, amazing, wonderful life out there! And I want to help you experience the best that’s available! Don’t settle!!! Reach out to me! I would love to share my journey with you! It’s hard! But oh so worth it!

It Gets Better...

The night I found out my husband molested a girl, I kicked him out of my home, paced my house for like 40 minutes, then called my parents to come down. I needed them. When they got here, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t say the awful words that had just confessed their way into my ears. When I finally said what happened, my daddy grabbed me in a hug, told me he loved me and he’d take care of us, and said, “Well, it can’t get any worse.”

Eighteen days later, the Clallam County Sherriff’s office found his deceased body inside his car up a forest service road. When I went to Sequim to get my suicide note and hear the words from the deputy, on the way to the truck, my daddy hugged me, told me he loved me and he was sorry, and said, “It can’t get any worse.” 

When the plethora of other things that were part of this tangled mess started happening and I was reeling in grief and also trying to get things done and take care of two babies, when dad would hug me, I would lean into his ear and whisper, please stop saying it can’t get any worse, because it just keeps getting worse. 

There a new saying that has morphed its way into my head from my journey. So many people telling me “It gets better.” Better than what? Or even more important, better TO what? Better than my husband dying? Better than having seizures? Better than...not any better than “it can’t get any worse.”

I sat on many therapists’ couches over the last eight years, trying desperately to make myself feel better about the thoughts and feelings in my head. Every week I would come to the couch with a new mental health disorder that I was sure described me. Please tell me I’m not bipolar. I think I’m bipolar. How about ADD. I cannot concentrate or focus for the life of me. Do you suppose it could be schizophrenia? I felt crazy! And I searched for what was wrong with me. I needed a label because then maybe I could get better. I couldn’t get better from just being me. I needed something with a magic pill because this isn’t working for me. 

And then things did get better. Joy and peace came again. Calmness took over. But when you are someone who has been impacted by repetitive trauma, or perhaps even one trauma, the joy and peace never seem pure. I am constantly looking over my shoulder. Searching Facebook for the crisis that is lurking. Jumping when the phone rings thinking something is wrong. Wondering about results of blood tests or scans or someone being sick. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. It gets better? Sometimes, I regret ever asking for a diagnosis because when it finally happened and I saw the words “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” on one of my benefit statements, I felt my world was ending. That there would never be a better. 

There is a better. I have transformed myself inside and outside, or at least I pretend to. However, that right there! That is the skepticism that fills my mind with worry and stress. That, sure, things are good, but they’re not going to stay good. I can’t maintain joy and peace and happy. I won’t stay ok forever. It’s just a matter of time before I binge on food and gain all of my weight back. Or get pissed and unplug my treadmill forever. It’s only a matter of time before the darkness in my head wins and I am sucked backwards ten steps. 

So, when things are rocky, my heart quickens, my brain overthinks, and I start preparing for the darkness that will consume me. 

A sudden surge of weird and I’m wondering if I need to start seizure meds again. 

Someone I thought had changed shows their true colors and I realize that it’s no better. Now they’re just not being open and honest...with me. 

Work is hard and I find myself missing the “old JP.” The people. The kids. Even the gross building sometimes. 

It gets better. That’s the piece I need to press into God for. I need to trust that He is taking care of me and my health. I need to trust that He is in charge and that I don’t need to worry about fixing other people. I need to trust that He is even working at work. That, sure, there will never be people to replace Melody or Bonnie or Suzanne or Tess. But that together, with the people that we currently have, we can reinvent ourselves into something even greater. 

It is in the down times, the shoe drop times, that Father God swoops in and shows just how great He is! It is in the times when I am scared and sad and anxious and so down that He fills those spaces and reminds me that He uses it all for good. 

So, right now is a shaky time for me. I’m questioning a lot of different areas, yet I recognize that Satan is in the mix and I need to put my faith in the one who saved me. Who loves me and cares for me and wants me to prosper. 

It gets better. I just have to less cynical and more trusting. It does get better. And I need to trust that it can stay better. 

Dream Again...

The first time my dream died was shortly after my assault. I had been brutally raped at a frat party when really I should have been studying for my Organic Chemistry mid-term exam instead. When the attack stopped what seemed like days later I collected my backpack and walked back to my dorm room. My hands were crushed and bruised from where they stomped on them when I was crawling to get away. My head bloodied from the baseball bat he ambushed me with. My insides were sick with pain and worry. My mid-term was to start the next morning at 8:30 all the way across campus. I didn’t sleep at all. I spent most of my night in the shower trying to soak the blood out of my thick hair. I dragged myself across campus in the morning, grabbed my mid-term test as I entered the room and got to work. My eyes were blurry from crying. My head was throbbing under my cap where I was praying the blood wouldn’t seep through and no one would notice. The girl I always sat next to told me I looked terrible. I lied and said I was just tired. I wrote things down but, with what I’m sure was a wicked concussion, nothing was making sense. 

One week later I walked into Kane Hall and checked my score that was posted. I failed. The worst grade of my life. The first thing I thought about was my mom. What would I tell her? My grade in Organic Chemistry has plummeted to a 1.3. I was an honor student. Above a 3.5 always. I was so ashamed. Ashamed I had been raped. Ashamed I failed my test. So ashamed. I called my mom and told her I had been accused of cheating on my mid-term and failed. I’d rather her think me a cheater than someone stupid enough to get herself raped. 

Medical school was my dream. Pediatric oncology was what I was going to do. But not with a 1.3 in Organic Chemistry. My dream was over. Medical school vaporized right in front of me in a hazy mist. 

So, I pushed everything behind me, reconfigured some things and switched majors into something where Organic Chemistry didn’t matter. Speech-Language Pathology became my new studies and I was on the path to my new dream. I got a job and a truck. Met Brian, got married, had two kids. I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for blessing me. My first dream didn’t pan out but I was well on the way in my new dream. I understood that I couldn’t fulfill my dream of becoming a doctor because He had a plan for me to meet my husband and have children and love my job with the schools. 

And then Brian killed himself. I was grief-stricken. Shocked. So so angry. God had already denied me one dream. Why was He taking this one away too? I am a faithful person, but if my faith was ever tested it was in that moment right then and there. Why? What had I done to make Him angry? Why couldn’t I have at least one path lead to something I cherished? Why was I being punished? My faith faltered. Wavered. Cracked into a million pieces. I walked on, zombie-like. Existing day to day. Reeling in grief and pain and heartache. I was confused. Now what? I had two little children to take care of alone. I did the best I could to muddle through with the help of my amazing people. I had friends and family drag me from day to day. I had a prayer partner that pushed and pulled and prayed and helped me find my way in the darkness. 

James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you can be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” 

Yeah. 

Right. 

Pure joy? Being attacked was supposed be be joyful? Hearing a cop tell my mother-in-law that they found my husband’s body was joy? This was not joy. Joy was flirting with the cute frat boy on the couch and hearing someone say nice things to me. Joy was my wedding day. Joy was our last date before he died. Those things are joy!

My assault was not joy. That was fear. Terror. Searing pain. Stitches in my head. Not joy. Brian’s death was confusion. Grief. A hole in my heart. Silence as I worried what I was going to tell my girls. Not joy. 

I am 20 years past my assault. Next week, in fact. I can see through the pain to twenty years later from where I’m standing. And I consider it all joy! If I hadn’t been assaulted my entire life would be different. Maybe not in Bremerton. For sure not in the schools. Maybe no kids. My beautiful girls would be but another dream. 

I’m almost eight years past Brian’s suicide. I can see through the pain to eight years later from where I’m standing. And I consider it all joy! If Brian hadn’t died we would not be strong, resilient ladies. We wouldn’t have found how amazing our friends and family are. We wouldn’t know the joy of being a family of three. 

As hard as it is, consider it all joy! More hard times are to come. I can guarantee that. I’m hoping they’re not rape and suicide caliber, but hard times will happen. And my prayer is that I can sooner see that it is all joy! Why? Because my mighty Savior has a plan for my life. My steps are mapped out. My tears are numbered. He knows the number of hairs on my head. And there is a plan. My plan included an assault. My plan include my husband killing himself. My plan included being stripped down to my core so that my God could raise me up!

We went to a concert a couple days ago. Matthew West performed his song “Dream Again” and about halfway through. I found myself bawling. Ugly crying. Because as I sat there watching the lyric video and listening to the words, I got this vision of me with my grown children standing by my side and I’m in a white dress. Me? Get married again? My protective answer is “NO WAY!” Why would I want to do that? I love being single! I love doing what I want. I love not answering to anyone. I’m safe. I’m protected. I’ll just hunker down and ride out my life in isolated safety. 

But in the words of that song, my heart gave me permission to dream again. Maybe someday I will find a man who loves me. A man who doesn’t want to hurt me physically or emotionally or psychologically. A man who will love my girls and be a dad for them. My heart gave me permission to dream again. 

I consider it all joy! Whichever path God has for me, I consider it all joy.