When: a letter to my husband

 



Scotty,

When you asked me to marry you we were young and full of hopes and dreams.

When we were poor we didn't know it because we were rich in love.

When we had our children we were still poor; still full of hopes and dreams, not only for ourselves, but for them too.

When we suffered loss, we felt like our hopes and dreams were yanked out from under us, but we clung to one another.

When we hurt one another we lost a little bit of ourselves; we began to walk in different directions.  We almost lost each other.

Then we realized that love is a choice and WE are worth fighting for.

When life didn't turn out as expected we each handled it differently.  You patiently rode the waves and emotions with me. 

When I look back I see -
That we were never ever really poor.
Loss was really our gain.
Forgiveness brought hope.
And unexpected detours brought sweet blessings.

When you asked me to marry you I didn't realize how quickly our hopes and dreams would become our today; how different they would look then we had imagined.  God is always good.  Life has been ... interesting. And I am glad you are the one I get to live it with.

 

All my love,

Olivia

 

 

This post was supposed to be for Five-Minute Friday a couple of weeks ago - the weekend of our anniversary.  I didn't finish it in time and so didn't publish it.  You know how there are moments when you are overwhelmed with gratefulness?  That.  Life is life and we are in a season where some days it seems the only words we say to one another are, "Bye, have a good day" and "Good night, I love you".  Often we don't make time for US.  The thing about Scotty is that he just wants to make sure I'm good.  And if that means he makes dinner or throws the laundry in (which is always, lately), or rubbing my shoulders - he does it.  Without my asking, even if I am in a bad mood.  Especially if I am in a bad mood.  In the middle of our frustrations with each other's quirks, anger over this or that, and too little time for one another - it is good to know that the other will still be there.  That's the point of this post.  All the stuff is what makes up US and I like US.  It reminds me that no matter what is happening right now, in the end we will be able to look back and see that every season, good or bad, has made up the life that we built together.  That is the remarkable thing about marriage.  We know that the other is flawed.  We hurt one another.  We make mistakes.  And when we decide to stay anyway, it makes up a love story.  It's nothing glamorous.  It's just real and messy and beautiful. 

Love Story Part 3: And Then There Is God

Click here for part 1 and here for part 2.

Disappointment, regret and resentment were tearing our marriage apart.  And then, there is God...

I was 30 years old and my marriage seemed to be crumbling.  I didn't like my husband and my three closest friends had moved out of the area, all within a year of each other.  I was at a loss for direction of who I was and where I belonged.  I didn't like going to church alone so I started attending my parent's church with them.  I was desperate for a friend to confide in and I began to pray for one to help me navigate my way through the dark.

It was the Fourth of July weekend.  Out of the blue Scotty suggested we go to church.  To this day I don't know what prompted him to go.  ... Or maybe I do.  I called my mom and told her we were going to "our church" that day.  We were running late and since we hadn't been there for a while, we didn't know that the regular two-service schedule had been changed to just one service for the holiday weekend.  The thing about being late to church is that all of the seats in the back get taken up and you have to sit up front.  That was exactly the case this day.  To Scotty's dismay, the usher walked us up to the second pew and I was seated next to her - the friend I had been praying for.  I just didn't know it yet. We had met before.  She was in the same Sunday School class I used to attend.  I I liked her right away.  She was completely opposite of me - loud and fun. She laughed often - a loud, contagious kind of laugh.

I don't remember much about the service.  I sat there the whole time trying to muster up the courage to ask this lady I had spoken to just a few times, if I could call her sometime.  When the service ended she hugged me and asked how I had been.  "Fine." I lied.  Saying, "I'm a mess and I don't like my husband and all my friends moved away - will you be my new friend?" didn't seem to be appropriate, so I sheepishly asked her if perhaps we could exchange phone numbers.  That was the last time Scotty went to a church service with us.

The following week she and I met at a coffee and bagel shop.  We made small talk and then she leaned over and asked me,  "So, what's going on?"  She graciously listened as I poured my mess out on the table.  I would have scared me off, but she grabbed my hands and prayed with me and then with tears in her eyes she told me that she knew God had good things planned for me.  I wanted to believe her.  She asked me if I would be interested in doing a Bible study with her once a week.  I couldn't believe that she would be willing to invest her time in me that way! Of course I agreed!

Those Thursday afternoons were like water to my thirsty heart.  We met every week for several months.  We were studying the names of God.  We talked and prayed.  She did a lot of listening.  She was the most blunt and honest person I had ever met and she was not afraid to tell me the difficult things I needed to hear.  I was learning about God in a way I never had before - or maybe it had just never sunk in before.  I learned that God was not disappointed in me.  There was nothing I had to do to prove that I was worthy of His favor.  I did not have to earn His approval.  I finally started to believe what I had always heard - that God loved me more than I knew and had only good things to say about me.

While I was rediscovering who I was in God's eyes, there continued to be a chasm between me and Scotty.  I felt like I had to behave perfectly so that he would see God in me and come back to Him.  I worried constantly about my children and how they would view God as they grew up.  I could not accept my husband as an agnostic.  I felt like I was working so hard to be a good wife and to lead my children spiritually and I was. Just. So. Tired.  I resented Scotty for leaving the spiritual leadership of our family up to me. I shut him out - all I needed was my church family and friends anyway.  I was discovering the things I loved, like running and writing.  I ran a 1/2 marathon, went on a missions trip to Jamaica and spent as much time as possible away from home.  I wanted to be anywhere but home.
 
A person can only live under the cloud of discontent and anger for so long.  Something, somehow, had to give.  Scotty and I discussed the possibility of splitting up.  I couldn't imagine living in a constant state of resentment and regret for the rest of our lives.  I didn't want to grow into an angry and bitter woman.  I developed a five-year plan.  I would give myself permission to leave if something hadn't changed in five years, when our daughter graduated from high school.  I went back to school, taking one class per semester, hoping that in five years it would be enough.  I imagined different scenarios of how I would support myself if we divorced.  I almost wished Scotty would leave me so I wouldn't have to be the one to make the decision.

I've had just a few "God moments" in my life.  I'm not talking about the type of feeling you get like at a conference with a dynamic speaker, where hundreds of people are worshiping together.  Those experiences have been wonderful, but I can't say any of them were life changing.  I'm talking about a moment when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was reaching out to touch me.  It was a simple moment in my friend's living room.  I met God in a new way that day.  We were studying God as El Elyon, the Most High God; the Sovereign God who is in control.  Suddenly I knew - not just in my head - but I really knew - that the burden and the stress and worry I was carrying for Scotty and my children were not mine to carry.  God is a big, Sovereign, capable God and he had them in His hands.  It was like this quote from Helen Keller's autobiography describing the day she first understood that everything had a name:

 “... Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten–-a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that ‘w-a-t-e-r’ meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free!  (Emphasis mine) There were barriers still, it is true, but barriers that could in time be swept away.”- Helen Keller

I wept as I was flooded with relief and I finally understood what it meant to lay my burdens at His feet.  I didn't have to work so hard.  I could stop worrying and striving.  God had this.  That moment became a reference point for me.

Slowly, the resentment started to fall away.  I wish I could say it happened over night, but it did not.  Instead of praying that God would change Scotty, I started to pray that God would change my mind about him.  I began to see how ugly I had been and I didn't like the person I had become.  I had shut Scotty out and treated him as if he didn't deserve me and the kids.  I began to realize that Scotty is still loveable.  And why did I feel such dislike toward him when I had friends who were not believers whom I loved dearly?  Why was I able to accept them and not him?

It was a daily process - some days better than others.  We went back to marriage counseling.  He joined me in a Financial Peace University class and we started working on our finances together.  He played his video games less and less.  Before I knew it, I started liking him again.  We began running together on Saturday mornings - a true miracle!  Those weekend runs and coffee on the patio afterwards became our "thing".  Somewhere along the way, each of us decided that we were going to work on our marriage.  He gave some.  I gave some.  It was a day by day - no, moment by moment decision to not be easily offended or to be kind rather than snarky.  I had become good at snarky.

I am grateful that our children did not see or understand what was going on between us during those bitter years.  Divorce is not part of their story.  I am thankful that Scotty stuck it through with me in my selfishness.  He is a good man, he is loveable, and I am blessed.  It all has been worth it.

You will hear from Scotty next week - you don't want to miss it!

Love Story Part 2: When He Doesn't Believe

I am so grateful for Scotty and the life we share.  I am amazed by God's grace and how He has brought us through some very dark times.  This is the second of four (or so) parts.  You can read the first part here. 

When I was a little girl I believed that I could do whatever I wanted when I grew up.  I always thought I would become a school teacher.  In sixth grade my best friend and I couldn't wait for the day when we would be college roommates.  By the time I reached high school, however, college did not seem to be an option for me.  I felt my calling was to be a pastor's wife.  I wanted to do something significant for God, and helping my future husband bring people to Him was going to be it.  It seemed that everything was falling into place when Scotty and I fell in love and got married. We believed that we were going to make a difference together.

In 2000 we made the heart-breaking decision to leave our church.  This is the church I was raised in; the church where we were married.  It was all I knew.  We were leaving people we loved and cared for.  We lost many friendships in the process.

Having no church home and few friends drew us closer as a couple.  Each other was all we had.  Scotty began going to Bible college.  We had long discussions about where we were headed as a family and about God and about church.  We were hurting and desperate for friendship, but it was one of the best seasons in terms of our marriage.  By now we had been married for seven years and had said and done things to hurt one another - deeply.  For now, those things faded into the background as we tried to regain our footing and move forward. 

We began attending another church, and although we were gun-shy about becoming overly involved, we felt like we had found a place to regroup and heal.  We were deeply affected and somewhat disillusioned after leaving our previous church, but we did our best to press onward.  Scotty finished school with a double major in religion and electronics.  We began  marriage counseling to address some of the un-dealt with issues and hurts we had caused one another.  I thought we were on our way to recovery and that we would be on our way back into ministry.  And then ...

Scotty told me he was agnostic.  He was not sure if he believed in God and was not interested in church.  I was shocked.  It's not like he became agnostic over night.  I just thought he was still dealing with issues over the whole leaving-the-church situation and that he would pull through.  I had been nagging him about why he wasn't praying more or why he wanted to skip church sometimes.  He wasn't leading at home enough or he wasn't studying enough.  He wasn't measuring up to my expectations.  Ugh.  I was like the proverbial annoying constant drip.  Instead of hiding in the corner of a rooftop,  he hid in a world of video games.  He would start as soon as he got home from work and play until one or two in the morning.  We drifted further and further apart.  Soon, I had little to no respect for him.

Everything I thought I was sure of had been pulled out from under me.  I worried about how we would raise our children.  Would they grow up confused because of our differing beliefs?  I was afraid Scotty would go crazy and run off on me.  Amazing how far our imaginations will go when we are afraid.  I felt gypped.  This was not the life I had signed up for. Maybe he wasn't the one I was supposed to marry after all.  The hurts from years before rose to the surface like scabs picked raw.  I was an emotional wreck.  I felt like I was going crazy.  One moment I would want him to hold me, and literally the next moment - as soon as he touched me - I wanted him as far from me as possible.  I couldn't even look at him.

I was in a full-on identity crisis and I blamed Scotty.  For the first time, I mourned my teen years and that I would never experience prom or high school graduation or living on my own.  I was angry at the church and the pastor who married us.  I was angry at my dad for allowing it.  I was mad at Scotty for stealing my childhood.  Who was I really?  What did I enjoy doing?  What did I really believe about God?  What could I have become?  What kind of man would I choose to marry if I could choose as an adult?  HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS?  Sadness and anger were constant companions.  I went to sleep thinking about how I was cheated and woke up, head pounding, jaw aching from clenching my teeth in my sleep. 

I continued to attend church with a lump in my throat every time.  I dreaded getting the kids ready and going out the door alone.  It was lonely sitting by myself while the couples around me held hands as they worshiped. 

At that point my relationship with God could have been posted as 'it's complicated' on Facebook.  Two things kept me from walking away from God, my marriage and my life:  Taylor and Celine.  In the midst of all of my questioning and confusion I wanted them to have stability.  And leaving was the very opposite of that.  So I just went through the motions.  Church.  Grace before meals.  Bedtime prayers.  But I was so lost.  I just wanted to be me - whoever that was - and real - whatever that was.  I was desperately trying to claw my way out of the pit I had fallen in to. 

A Love Story (Part 1)

"...try to write in a way that scares you a little."  - Holley Gerth

This is the first of a series of posts about our marriage.  Writing about this scares me - mostly because I want to come across as honestly as possible, without making the assumption that my story is any more important than anyone else's.  And how honest is too honest?  I don't know.  I just know that we all have a story and maybe the telling of it is more important for the writer than for the reader.  And maybe the reader can relate.  Or maybe others need permission to tell their story too.  So, here goes...

Next week Scotty and I will be married for twenty-one years.  That's a lot of time to learn about each other.  A lot of time to hurt one another.  Deeply.  We have done plenty of that in our marriage.  Enough so that, a few years ago, neither of us was sure if we were going to make it.  We always said it would never be an option, but at the time, the 'D' word seemed a whole lot easier than the turmoil we were living in.  The death of a marriage is often subtle and slow.  Our troubles were a long time comin'.

I was a child bride.  Saying it makes me cringe a little inside.  I had no idea how marrying so young would affect me as I became an adult.

We got married on a cold Sunday on February 28, 1993.  I was 16, in love, and happier than words can say.  I was not forced into it.  It was my choice - a choice I was too young to make.  That being said, I am so thankful that it was Scotty.  As my daughter nears the same age, I can't help but wonder how the adults around me were okay with it.  I cannot imagine allowing my little girl to make such a grown up choice at a time in her life when she is still trying to figure out who she is.

We met at church.  It was just after my 16th birthday in June.  He was in the military and had just been recently stationed at our local base.  My first impression of him?  I thought he was sort of nerdy!  But he was the nicest guy I had ever met.  A group of us would often go to a restaurant after Bible study and Scotty and I would end up talking the whole time.  We talked about his time in Germany, about our families, about God.  I learned that he was the youngest of six children.  He loved Cherry Coke and he was a fairly new Christian.  A few months later, after receiving my dad's approval, Scotty asked me to date him.  He made it clear that his intention was courtship and marriage.

We went to PoFolks for our first real date.  I told my best friend that I hoped he wouldn't wear his suspenders and hiking boots.  Like really.  I'm talking Napolean Dynamite shoes.  Don't you know he wore exactly that?  Yup.  Stone-washed jeans with the knees busted out, a flannel shirt, suspenders and Napolean Dynamite shoes.  Both the suspenders and the shoes "mysteriously" disappeared after we were married *wink*!  We talked about our hopes for the future over chicken fried steak and soda in mason jars.   

Things moved very quickly.  We began dating in November - the week before Thanksgiving, and were engaged before Christmas.  Scotty gathered my family and friends in the middle of my parent's living room, got down on one knee and said, "Olivia Christine, will you marry me and promise to serve God with me for the rest of our lives?"  I beamed as I said yes and he slid a ring on my finger. 

Our courtship and marriage three months later were quite a scandal, I am sure.  Some of my peers asked me how I knew he was the one.  No one could have convinced me to change my mind, even if they tried, because I was confident that God had a special plan for us.  We both felt that we were called into the ministry and we were anxious to begin walking in that direction.  So I dropped out in my junior year of high school.  I dropped out of high school to get married because God had a call on my life?!  I realize the absurdity of it, even as I type it out.  The school counselor asked me if I was pregnant as I filled out the paperwork to un-enroll.  I wasn't.  I was saving myself for our wedding day.

Here is where I look back and marvel at the grace of God.  First of all, that Scotty did not turn out to be some psychopath (sorry, Babe), but also that I fell into married life very easily.  In fact, I loved it.  I enjoyed making our little apartment feel like a home.  I woke up early to make breakfast and pack Scotty's lunch before kissing him off to work.  I waited anxiously for him to return home, dinner ready to be served.  I read books on being the Proverbs 31 woman.  I felt the need to prove that I was a mature and capable wife, no matter my age.

Scotty left the military and we dove into ministry.  We were both in bands for a coffee-house type music scene our church put on every Saturday night.  Scotty led worship, oversaw the Saturday night music scenes and was on the pastoral council.  I was the nursery coordinator and church book keeper.  We were all that.  Or so we thought.  We were on our way to becoming pastors one day.

Our son, Taylor was born when I was 19.  He was the most adorable, smiley, bald baby boy ever.  Two and a half years later, Celine came along.  She was tiny and graceful and beautiful.  I was 21.  I loved being a mom and was happy with my life and our little family.  Scotty had a good job and I was able to stay home with the kids.  We laughed in the face of the statistics that said one in three teen marriages would end in divorce.  It seemed our lives were going exactly as planned.

We make our own plans but the Lord decides where we will go.         Psalm 16:9 CEV

 We could never have imagined what was next for us.

The one where I DIDN'T bite my husband's head off ...

 This morning was rough, guys.

I've switched my workouts to early mornings so I can have my evenings free to take Cel to her games and practices.  Let's just admit it.  Every morning is rough.  It's dark.  And cold.  Wah.  But today was especially difficult.  I don't know, maybe it was because I stayed up late trying to get some reading done.

Anyhow, I unraveled myself from the warm, soft, cozy blankets and stepped out into the frigid cold.  I pulled my work-out clothes on, then I proceeded to sit on the floor.  And sit.  And sit.  My eyes may have been closed while I was doing the sitting.  My tennis shoes waited expectantly next to me.  They eventually found their way to my feet and I got moving around a little bit.  Made the bed.  Washed my face.  Pulled my hair into a pony tail.  I found my way to the living room where Scotty was sipping his coffee.

Don't ask me why, but I sat on the floor again.  Since he wasn't doing anything, I felt like Scotty should know how tired I was.  So I told him.  I also told him that I didn't waaannt to worrrk ouuut.  It was a completely grown up conversation, I assure you.  This is the part where my husband got brave.  Reeaally brave.  He stood up and pulled me to my feet.  After a hug (smart guy) he pushed me toward the dungeon where the evil treadmill lives.  "You know you want to - get in there," He said.  Because after aaaall these years he knows me.  He knows that, although my flesh was weak, my spirit was willing and I would regret not doing it.  He also knew it was a risky move because, depending on the day, I very well could have bit his head off.  You know, with one of those "you think I'm fat" remarks and then a week of the silent treatment and probably a month of "don't touch me".

So this story has a happy ending because he said it and I was the mature woman I always am (...what?) and accepted his prompting as an encouragement and not an insult.  And I got my morning run in.  All is well.

We will be celebrating 21 years of marriage this month.  With Valentine's Day coming up and all, I thought it would be a good time to share some of our story.  Stay tuned!

- Liv

Five-Minute Friday: Fight

Starting off the New Year with Lisa-Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday!



This year I want to fight.

Knock-out. Drag down. FIGHT.  Kicking and screaming. 

I WANT TO FIGHT FOR WHAT IS IMPORTANT TO ME.

And maybe I have fought my whole life.  But I want to be more intentional about it, because I only get to do this life once and I am tired of just doing what I have to do over what I want to do. 

I have to go to work.  And cook dinner.  Ugh.  There are a lot of urgent things that need to be done.  Like paying the bills and laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. 

But what I want to do are the things that make me feel alive.  Like running and writing.  Laughing and loving and worshiping.  And all of those things are part of my life now,

BUT I WANT MORE.

More time to do what I love.  It is a struggle to make time to read and write.  Sometimes I'm just too tired to think or to articulate and sort the knotted ball of thread that tangles all of these thoughts up in my head.  And it's a struggle to get up on these cold, dark mornings to run.

More of God.  I want my times with Him to be more intimate.  I want my relationship with Him to be more than behaving, because I have learned to do that well.  I already know how to do church and how to do good.  I want to accept His invitation to know His constant peace and presence over the striving to meet expectations - mostly the ones I hold over myself.  And I want to fight to stay alive and awake to the everyday graces He has given me.

I want to fight for my children and my family.  To say no to good things so that I can have what I want: MORE TIME FOR MY FAMILY.  Time to tell my son how proud I am to be his mom and to teach my daughter about love and life and God.  Time to tell my mom how much I appreciate her and time to make more memories.

And I want to fight for Scotty.  I want to be the one person in his life who will love him unconditionally.   We have fought too many battles to just get comfortable and allow our marriage to be crippled by 'just ordinary'.   I love this song by Warren Barfield.

"Love is not a fight, but it's something worth fighting for."

Scotty has been and always will be worth fighting for.

I understand that these here are fighting words because anything worth having is going to take hard work.  And it's worth the fight to stay awake and to live alive and to stay in love.

What about you?   What are you fighting for?

Our Thing

Saturday mornings are ours.  We get up way too early for a weekend, lace up our running shoes and go for a run before the sun gets high.  After a few miles and a good stretch, we go home to sit on the patio and sip on a cup or two of French-pressed coffee.  Sometimes we talk.  Sometimes we just sit - no need for words. I find myself being most thankful on these days, because it hasn't always been this way.  I can't believe we found our thing.  I can't believe running is our thing!   I tried to get Scotty to run with me for years and he wouldn't budge.  He had absolutely no desire nor inclination to run unless he was being chased...by zombies.  You can understand why I gave up hope that he would ever become my running partner! 

The real miracle here is that we found our thing after all these years.  More accurately, the things we thought were our things turned out to not really be our things.  We are not the same people we were when we got married.  Things have changed.  We have changed.  More on that in another post, but I will say that we weren't sure if we would make it long enough to ever find our thing.

We haven't just found our thing - we grew into it.  Without having survived some hard times, running together would be no big deal - it would just be running.  It hasn't been graceful, in fact, it has been quite messy.  But our story is full of grace.  We sort of clumsily muddled through, unsteady and unsure.  When we looked up, we found ourselves shaken up, but still together.  Surprised by grace.

Here's to many more miles. 

- Liv

I'd love to hear what your thing is!