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What I’m Reading: Demon Copperhead — by Barbara Kingsolver

Southwest Virginia, Lee County

Barbara Kingsolver is from Appalachia and set out to write The Great American Appalachian Novel… AND DID SHE EVER.

Y’all… 21 hours and 3 minutes (560 pages) and I SAILED through it. LISTEN TO THIS BOOK instead of reading it. The narrator is absolute perfection. No one could be a better Demon. Unlike some of the reviews I’ve read, I absolutely wanted it to end. This is not an easy read. It made my heart bleed and overflow almost simultaneously. Regardless of his misfortune and addiction, Demon IS SO GOOD. He remains so good throughout the entire book, which is a testament to humanity as a whole. He describes the happy times of his childhood as anyone would. I can relate to his descriptions of playing with friends outside during childhood years. This gives us all a thread of continuity and weaves us into Demon’s train of thought and perspective.

I loved Ma and HATED Stoner and Romeo. These men prey on single mothers and are horrific subhumans. I literally reacted to much to the gut wrenching parts of this book that my Apple watch congratulated me on my workout… and I wasn’t working out… While most of us aren’t Ma and Mariah, we feel like it. Motherhood is so hard and we all feel like we are failing unforgivably sometimes, and honestly, sometimes we are. Parts of this book made me recall my inadequacies as a mother and wonder how my kids will remember it all. I was angry at Ma for staying with Stoner, but in her position, and as beaten down as she’d been her entire life, she’d just given up years ago. I can’t imagine and I’m grateful I am not and never will be in that position. I was so stupid at 18 years old, but I thank God for family and resources that would never let me sink into Ma’s life.

This is a necessary read and truly a work of art. I was up at 3:30 am this morning thinking about Demon and his chosen family, as they aren’t fictional characters at all. There are countless Demons and Emmys and Dories and Junes and Hammerhead Kellys and Tommys and Fast Forwards all over our great nation and the world, surviving as they know how. I watched several documentaries that realistically depict the drug epidemic in Appalachia. The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia is a 2009 documentary film directed by Julien Nitzberg chronicling the White family of Boone County, West Virginia. It isn’t an easy or tame watch, but I highly recommend it. It elicits the same emotional rollercoaster as this work. And under the differences, traumas, addictions, lifestyles, and intensity is the raw underbelly of people just doing their best to survive bigotry, shame grief, and hunger. Most humans on the planet can relate in some way to that. 

The style is unmatched. It reminds me of Cutting for Stone in the sense that you need to read it slowly to absorb all of the beauty, but I loved it even more. I loved the way Demon references religion and the Bible. I can totally see his perspective. And OH MY GOODNESS the figurative language in this masterpiece… Otherworldly. It addresses society as a whole – poverty, addiction, domestic violence, child abuse, discrimination in various forms – while fostering the connective heartbeat of raw, unfiltered humanity straight through all of the impossibilities and devastations.

Some of my personal favorite gems from this masterpiece…

“Pestering the tit of trouble”

‘The monster truck mud rally of child services”

“Keeping secrets from young ears only plants seeds between them.” (woosah….)

… and that is just in the first 11 minutes…

“One nation, underemployed”

“A thing grows teeth once its put into words.”

“Spittin’ poison in my brain” referring to Stoner’s influence on Demon regarding Maggot’s sexuality

“Breathin’ the halitosis of summer…”

Buy Demon Copperhead HERE

Barbara Kingsolver’s Instagram

Kingsolver Interview on Demon Copperhead – MUST LISTEN!!!

Characters:

(Most of the character analyses for this book are paraphrased from LitCharts. There are a ton of characters and I was so enamoured with the writing that I didn’t take great notes…)

Demon Copperhead – Demon, born Damon Fields, is the novel’s protagonist. Demon is born in a trailer bathroom to a young mother who is addicted to drugs. Throughout the novel, Demon struggles to overcome the circumstances of his birth—poverty, generational trauma, and his mother’s addiction, which he ultimately inherits. He serves as an example of the hardships that people in Appalachia face as a result of external forces like inadequate social services, poverty, and a lack of employment opportunities. Demon’s character, in particular, helps illustrate the harm caused by pharmaceutical companies that targeted the Appalachian region and overprescribed opioids they knew to be addictive.

Ma – Demon’s mom is young when she has Demon. During Demon’s childhood, Mom works at Walmart and tries, at various times, to enter recovery from addiction.

Maggot – born Matt Peggot, is Demon’s closest friend growing up. Demon spends as much time at Maggot’s house as his own. When Mom becomes involved with Stoner, Stoner forbids Demon from spending time with Maggot because he suspects that Maggot is gay.

Stoner – Murrell Stone, nicknamed Stoner, is Mom’s boyfriend who is physically and verbally abusive to Mom and Demon.

Satan – Stoner’s dog

Mrs. Peggot – Nance Peggot, more often referred to as Mrs. Peggot, is Maggot’s grandmother who, along with Mr. Peggot, helps raise Maggot after his mother, Mariah, is sent to prison. The novel portrays Mrs. Peggot as kind and caring, and she and her husband become a surrogate family to Demon.

Mr. Peggot – Mrs. Peggot’s husband, is a kind and patient man, He helps raise Demon. He sustained a leg injury while working in the mines and has not walked easily since.

Mariah Peggot – Maggot’s mother, serving prison time, 18 when she went to prison, due to retaliating for domestic violence.

Romeo – Maggot’s father, egotistic and self-proclaimed too good for Mariah, “A fox in the hen house” as Mrs. Peggot says

Emmy – the daughter of Humvee, who passed away before the novel takes place. After Humvee died, the Peggots took in Emmy. When Maggot’s mom was sent to prison, though, the Peggots couldn’t raise two children, so Emmy went to live with her aunt June in Knoxville. June eventually formally adopts Emmy. Emmy is depicted as smart and wise beyond her years.

Aunt June – Maggot and Emmy’s aunt who becomes Emmy’s adoptive mother. June is a nurse in Knoxville who then moves back to Lee County to be closer to her family. She also steps in to help both Demon and Emmy when they are at their lowest and then financially supports their journeys to sobriety.

Angus – born Agnes Winfield, is Coach Winfield’s daughter. She does well in school and initially plans to leave Lee County to go to a four-year college as soon as possible.

Fast Forward – the larger-than-life football star who Demon first meets at Crickson’s farm. At first, Fast Forward seems charming to everyone who meets him, and Demon thinks of him as a kind of real-life superhero. As the novel, progresses, though, this charming façade peels away to reveal a darker, more sinister personality.

Coach Winfield – takes Demon in and helps raise him. Demon lives with Coach and Coach’s daughter, Angus.

Dori – Demon’s girlfriend. Demon is surprised to learn that Dori is a heavy user of opioids, which are prescribed to her father Vester, who is dying of cancer.

Tommy Waddell – one of the foster boys whom Demon meets at Mr. Crickson’s farm. The novel portrays Tommy as a sweet, kind, caring, and gentle person. Tommy is one of my favorite characters in the book.

Betsy Woodall – Demon’s paternal grandmother.

Dr. Watts – the doctor for the football team and the doctor at a pill mill, a kind of pain management clinic that will write prescriptions for anyone who pays for one.

Kent – Aunt June’s boyfriend who is a pharmaceutical representative. Kent’s job consists of trying to get doctors to prescribe opioid painkillers more often.

Hammerhead Kelly – a cousin in the Peggot family, related through marriage. He is a sweetheart.

Miss Barks – meets Demon when he is 10, one of Demon’s case managers through the Department of Social Services (DSS).

Mr. Crickson – the foster parent whom Demon first goes to live with after Mom overdoses.

Mr. McCobb – one of Demon’s foster parents.

Mrs. McCobb – one of Demon’s foster parents.

Dick – Betsy’s brother and Demon’s great-uncle.

U-Haul – born Ryan Pyles. Coach Winfield’s assistant who will later become an assistant football coach.

Mr. Armstrong – an English teacher at Demon’s middle school. He recognizes that Demon is a strong student and recommends him to the gifted and talented program.

Ms. Annie – the art teacher at the high school. She encourages Demon to pursue his talent for drawing. Ms. Annie is married to Mr. Armstrong. Ms. Annie is white and Mr. Armstrong is black.

Mr. Ghali – the owner of Golly’s Market

Rose Dartell – one of Fast Forward’s friends, though Fast Forward seems to treat her only with contempt. Rose seems jealous of Demon for the attention that Fast Forward gives him.

Vester – Dori’s father.

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What I’m Reading: Dial A for Aunties — by Jesse Q. Sutano

Official Penguin House summary…

ABOUT DIAL A FOR AUNTIES

“Sutanto brilliantly infuses comedy and culture into the unpredictable rom-com/murder mystery mashup as Meddy navigates familial duty, possible arrest and a groomzilla. I laughed out loud and you will too.”—USA Today (four-star review)

“A hilarious, heartfelt romp of a novel about—what else?—accidental murder and the bond of family. This book had me laughing aloud within its first five pages… Utterly clever, deeply funny, and altogether charming, this book is sure to be one of the best of the year!”—Emily Henry, New York Times bestselling author of Beach Read

One of NPR’s Best Books of 2021!

One of PopSugar’s “42 Books Everyone Will Be Talking About in 2021”!

What happens when you mix 1 (accidental) murder with 2 thousand wedding guests, and then toss in a possible curse on 3 generations of an immigrant Chinese-Indonesian family? 

You get 4 meddling Asian aunties coming to the rescue! 

When Meddelin Chan ends up accidentally killing her blind date, her meddlesome mother calls for her even more meddlesome aunties to help get rid of the body. Unfortunately, a dead body proves to be a lot more challenging to dispose of than one might anticipate, especially when it is inadvertently shipped in a cake cooler to the over-the-top billionaire wedding Meddy, her Ma, and aunties are working at an island resort on the California coastline. It’s the biggest job yet for the family wedding business—”Don’t leave your big day to chance, leave it to the Chans!”—and nothing, not even an unsavory corpse, will get in the way of her auntie’s perfect buttercream flowers.

But things go from inconvenient to downright torturous when Meddy’s great college love—and biggest heartbreak—makes a surprise appearance amid the wedding chaos. Is it possible to escape murder charges, charm her ex back into her life, and pull off a stunning wedding all in one weekend?

Characters:

  • Meddy (Meddelin) Chen – Meddy Chen is the protagonist of the novel, photographer in the family business, dissatisfied personally and professionally when we meet her at 26 years old
  • Big Aunt – Meddy’s oldest aunt, 20 years as a pastry chef, meets with potential clients
  • Second Aunt – Meddy’s second oldest aunt, does hair and makeup for the weddings
  • Forth Aunt – entertainment for the weddings
  • Ma – Meddy’s mother, does floral arranging for the weddings
  • Nathan Chen – Meddy’s college love, she’s still in love with him at 26 when we meet her, the CEO of the event hotel on an island off the coast of LA
  • Selena – Meddy’s best girlfriend
  • Jake – Meddy’s blind date, her mother catfished him into a blind date with Meddy, continues to insert how rich he is in conversation, super pushy, Meddy tases him, he wrecks her car, and winds up as the problematic dead body in the story
  • Jacqueline – the bride, she’s a sweetheart and not a good match for her jerk fiancee, Tom
  • Tom Cruise Sutopo – the groomzilla
  • Maureen – Jacqueline’s Maid-of-honor

I fell so hard in love with Jesse Q. Sutano while reading Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers. My goodness, this kind of love is so much stronger than anything I’ve ever felt for some dusty male… I can live in a world of entertaining fiction with this soulmate and I’m all for that. Escapism is what keeps me going…

I love all of the pop culture references in this book. It makes Meddy more relatable and gives us immediate commonalities. Meddy’s family’s first language is Indonesian, and Meddy’s is English, so this makes for fun comedy. The interactions and accents are based on Sutano’s own upbringing and family, so it is absolutely endearing and not stereotyping at all.

Sutano peppers in Chinese/Indonesian cultural tidbits of knowledge, which I loved. It was such a full-bodied, fun read. I really loved the characters, except the ones we are intended to not like.

<a href=”http://<a target=”_blank” href=”https://www.amazon.com/b?_encoding=UTF8&tag=chassati0d-20&linkCode=ur2&linkId=b2f2101fca3679494ffdc46a0663ceee&camp=1789&creative=9325&node=283155″>Buy Dial A for AuntiesBuy Dial A for Aunties HERE

Jesse Q. Sutano’s website

Check out Jesse Q. Sutano on Instagram

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My Favorite Force of Nature

My son’s birthday hits me hard every year. It makes me reflective, honestly seeking out and isolating parts of myself that must improve. September 12th signifies a time to begin tackling a few stubborn, carefully chosen Goliaths in my life, because if we are all honest, we should only choose two or three to battle at a time. Kannon, by God’s design, forces me to be better and do better simply by meeting the spectacular challenges he presents hour by hour and day by day. He was born to shift perspectives and paradigms, and while change makes him uncomfortable and grouchy on a personal level, his spirit is crafted to force forward movement on those around him, assuming they don’t fall willingly into the rhythm of his current.

Anaiah was carefully planned. Ren and I lost two babies while trying for Anaiah and we were desperate to get pregnant. After I found out I was pregnant for the third time at ten weeks along, the first trimester was the longest few months of my life. I worried about every tiny thing under the sun that could go wrong. I read every book I could find on vitamins, development, folic acid and the Ferber method versus the Sears method of sleep training. I was adamantly against co-sleeping, rice cereal and formula. I was the poster child for What to Expect When You’re Expecting and homemade baby food. In short, I was the the epitome of injury prevention and had no real world knowledge under my belt. I knew nothing, but felt really good about it.

I was on birth control and breastfeeding when I got pregnant with Kannon. I didn’t go to Dr. Wang until I was between four and five months pregnant. I was sure stress and lack of sleep were responsible for my weight loss efforts tanking after having Anaiah. Ren was already not Ren anymore, our life was crumbling faster than I could glue it back together, and a baby was absolutely the last thing we needed to add to our stormy, tumultuous equation. Ren would be home some, then not at all, then come by randomly at 3am and take off with my wallet and my car… Such was our life for all of 2011 and 2012. I had no idea what was happening to my husband and, at that specific time, I didn’t have the emotional, mental or physical energy to completely attack the demons on his back as I had consistently and successfully done in the past. I was about to bring a perfect, baby boy into all of this horrible, broken mess and I was completely overwhelmed at the prospect. I had to practice saying, “I’m pregnant” out loud in front of the mirror for two weeks before I could verbalize it out without bursting into tears.

My son was scheduled to make his entrance into the world via c-section a week early. I registered my friend, Gina, to be with me at the birth because Ren was hit and miss. He ended up being there for Kannon’s entrance into the world, but left the hospital a few hours later. Kannon’s first night was spent right next to me in the hospital bed. We both fell asleep breastfeeding and there he remained, asleep snuggled next to me, until the nurse woke us both at 6 am to take our vitals. I looked around the dark, empty hospital room then down at him and thought, “It’s just us.” It was the first time I internalized the cold, hard facts that were slowly weaving in and out of life as I knew it and changing it forever. My husband was a stranger. It was Kannon, Anaiah and I. That was it. Kannon forced the three of us to turn a corner by simply entering the world. He was a catalyst for stretched limits and uncomfortable progress from birth, and continues to offer growth opportunities to all of those in his life.

The intensity of who my son is at the core matches my own, and matches the intensity of the conditions under which he was brought into this world. My intensity is quiet, simmering at my core. It is pensive and flashes are reserved for maybe ten people in the world. Kannon’s intensity burns hot and bright and loud. He is a bonfire. He’s a gorgeous ’56 Chevy with a huge, burly engine and absolutely no power-steering. He reminds me that amidst this horrific, chaotic world and weaved in the folds of the wake he creates by his simple existence, there is still magic, brilliance and wonder in leaves and caterpillars and rain. Slow down. Be quiet. Listen. Even when the demands of being a mom and a decent human and million other things are screaming about laundry, groceries, email and Haitian orphans. Those eyes. That smile. They take me amazing places when I have no choice but to stay right here for right now.

Kannon’s favorite song at six years old, besides “Jesus Loves Me,” (someone clap approvingly for me, please and thank you), is “Hurricane” by The Band of Heathens. It is so very fitting for him. He has a stubborn will of steel that makes me completely crazy but will serve him well as an adult in this world. He was born into a figurative hurricane that is seemingly impossible to navigate at times from my perspective, but he continues to surprise and encourage me by beautifully cruising in and out of tough spots seamlessly, and is only picking up steam as he rolls through life. Such a big man in a little body, struggling to get all of those emotional, mental, spiritual and physical levers balanced just right, while trying to please those directly in his path the best he can, if it fits into his agenda. This guy has an innate purpose to come in with guns blazing and shake things up. I absolutely cannot wait to meet 10-year-old, 16-year-old, 32-year-old and 55-year-old Kannon and look forward to every single twist, turn, hug, smile and side eye before, after and in between.

 

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Happily Marrieds, Hashtags and Self-Validating Facades

A few disclaimers, because I have some pretty harsh critics (who I genuinely appreciate), and because I’m not super touchy-feely in general, and the holidays wear me out physically and mentally…

#1 I say “happily married” because that’s what you say. I don’t know if you’re happy. You do. I’m trusting that you know more than I do on the topic and we’re going with it. 

#2 None of my writing is directed specifically at anyone, unless I mention you by name. It is beyond self-absorbed to truly believe that any one person could elicit an entire blog post from me. I apologize, but my life is maddeningly busy and I genuinely don’t have time to sit around and think about specifically you that much, even if I really love and adore you. At this point in my life, my attention is commanded, not willingly given. In short, it’s not you, it’s me. 

#3 “Words are a mirror. They either give us perspective on ourselves if turned inward, or perspective on the world around us if turned outward.” – Dr. Meyer, my Ethnic Lit professor in college

It’s not my responsibility to tell you which way the mirror needs to be turned for any set of specific words. That’s on you.

Now that the housekeeping is finished, we’re moving right along…

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With the abundance of warm and fuzzy social media posts surrounding the holidays, there is an overwhelming amount of posts from people wishing to shout from the mountain tops how very happily married they are. Oh the hashtags… #mrssoandsoforever, #imnotaquitter, #marriageissacred #strongerthandivorce #quittingisntanoption #marriageisntamood. You guys…

First, let me congratulate you on your thriving relationship. I assume that is what you are wholeheartedly seeking, and I am genuinely cheering you on from the sidelines. Perhaps it is because I am more minimalistic than not, but posting these declarations to a select group of people who you have accepted as your virtual friends seems redundant. I am assuming that you are planning on staying in your marriage for your entire life until death parts you, because you chose to be married. I have never met a person that expected their marriage to end, but still chose to exchange vows and shoot in the dark anyway.

Sometimes (a lot of the time) people publicly proclaim how amazing or wonderful their partner is because of blatant or suspected infidelity. In 2016, the only logical action is to blow up all social media outlets with some version of the following: “Oh my gosh!!! My husband is SOOOO amazing to me and his three small children!! He truly treats me like a queen and I am SOOO blessed!” … while simultaneously scrolling through his private messages that you hacked into while he’s unsuspectingly drooling on the pillow next to you. These beauties give themselves away almost always by the time posted… 3:15 am, 1:45 am… anytime after midnight, really. My grandpa used to tell me that nothing good happens after midnight. His logic persists.

Happily married people also declare their love and devotion from the highest mountain tops because they are truly having problems. Maybe if they say all is well repetitively to as many people as possible, it will feel like all is really okay. The fake it ’till you make it mentality. I jump on that bandwagon all the time when it comes to parenting, so no judgment from me, but own it if that’s you. If you are a spouse or partner that needs your ego stroked via social media (“Awww, look Bob. Linda posted that she appreciated me taking out the trash this morning. She must really love me.”) you may need to reevaluate your priorities.

The meat and potatoes of this issue is that you should ultimately be communicating with your partner, and the success of your relationship should shine through your genuine love and respect for each other. Who am I to speak on marriage anyway, you may ask (as beads of judgement and self-validation pour from your palms and forehead)? I am, in fact, a devout believer in love and marriage. Afterall, I’ve done it twice (it’s a joke, calm down, take a moment to wipe that reproach from your brow…). While the majority of marriages do not weather the storms of time and ultimately sink in divorce, the shipwrecks we are left with are almost always horribly surprising to those of us at the helm. I promise we don’t plan the devastation experienced in the aftermath of a split and sometimes, (gasp) it is unavoidable and the best decision. In my last post, I discussed the difference between what we want and what is ultimately best. Marriage is sometimes, unfortunately, a perfect example. I wanted my marriage to last. I wanted my husband and I to die in each other’s arms seconds apart like Noah and Allie in The Notebook. Turns out, the best decision for us was cutting ties and beginning again with just the kids and I. If your first thought is, “There’s no way that’s true,” I ask that you and I sit down and discuss. You may need to hear something I have to say.

The disconnect occurs when a person cannot fathom anything horrible happening in their own lives that would constitute divorce, and their partner surely would never engage in any behavior that would validate leaving, scrapping the marriage, cutting losses and walking away. I’m not encouraging pessimistic mentality in relationships, but I am pushing you to realize that we are talking about humans in a broken world, and any sense of control we think we have regarding the actions and behavior of any human (even YOUR human) in this broken world is a farce. You and your partner are Christians? My ex-husband and I are Christians. God is in control? Absolutely He is. GOD is in control. Not you, regardless of how strong, fierce and well-meaning that perceived control is according to you. And sometimes, because of other people’s (Christians or not) free will, the BEST place for you and your children is NOT in the God-ordained marriage you excitedly created and built from the ground up. 2fee8baa2662a964b48cdbb41c7f98d2

Let’s revisit these hashtags whirling around the internet, validating relationships left and right.

#mrssoandsoforever – Yes, we know. You’re married. We assume that your expectation is that it lasts forever.

#imnotaquitter – You know what else isn’t a quitter? Abuse. Addiction. Infidelity. Food for thought for the publicly self-proclaimed happily marrieds.

#marriageissacred  – Absolutely. As is our children’s well-being, emotional and spiritual development and life. Safety. The ability to sit in your own house with the doors locked and fear what is outside instead of what is within. All very sacred.

#strongerthandivorce  – Fantastic. But are you already scrolling through his private messages that you hacked into while he’s unsuspectingly drooling on the pillow next to you? Please tell me you see the problem there. Are you stronger than addiction, abuse and mental illness? If you say yes, you haven’t had those issues brush close enough to your own life to weigh in.

#quittingisntanoption – Please see #imnotaquitter. Sometimes it is absolutely the BEST and only option.

#marriageisntamood – I’m kind of beating a dead horse, but neither is addiction, abuse, mental illness… you see where I’m going with this.

I love seeing anniversary posts and birthday posts and lovey dovey posts from all of you who really capitalize on a special day to lift your special someone up and recognize their place in your life. However, you should know that continually posting how amaaaaazzzing your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/non-organic partner/baby daddy is in a pretend dimension (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc.) actually communicates the exact opposite. Its two shakes away from those joint social media accounts. If people weren’t talking about you before, they will be now, and they’ll be wondering which one of you cheated or lied or talked to the neighbor a little too long in the driveway this evening before dinner.

And you do know social media is a pretend dimension, right?

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‘Tis the Season

Four years ago.

I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a post commemorating the Sandy Hook shooting. It said, “We will always remember four years ago: 12/14/2012.”

I stopped breathing for a minute. My back involuntarily tensed and my face flushed. I had to consciously gather myself and remember I was, in fact, at my desk waiting on my software to update. This is probably another reason why you should never open social media at work, even if you have legitimate dead time to fill.

Sandy Hook was definitely devastating, but the date is what knocked the breath out of me. December 2012 was four years ago. Four short years that have seemed like a lifetime a hundred times over. Four years ago was our last Christmas with the boys. It was the last time we saw them, actually. Four years ago, I thought I was losing the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. Four years ago, La Vega hadn’t happened. Four years ago, I still got a quick kiss and tight hug every once in a while from my husband, even though his eyes were empty and his mind had been a million miles away for at least a year. I had no comprehension regarding the strength of mental illness and addiction versus the strength of love. I still truly believed that as long as you had love, you had enough. Four years ago, I was praying desperately for a miracle, completely broke and struggling to pay for counseling and medication that Ren was quite literally flushing down the toilet. Four years ago, my body was in the best shape of my life, but my spirit was broken and my heart was grieving a best friend and life partner, physically alive but ravaged by meth, mountains of whores, false friends, mental illness and other drugs.

“Have faith in God,” Jesus answered. “Truly, I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” Mark 11:22-24.

Over the rocky terrain of 2013 and 2014, I shouted this verse at God. I was so angry above all other emotions. I told God time and time again how angry I was that He  discarded my desperate, fervent prayers. I spent a few years distancing myself from God because I felt absolutely passed over and betrayed. I believed God had lost interest in me, but nothing could have been farther from the truth. In fact, God graciously and deliberately responded with the complete opposite of December 2012’s disillusioned, impassioned pleas. I received my miracle. Ren swirled down the toilet right behind his expensive medication and rejected counseling. That’s not what I prayed for and absolutely not what I wanted. I prayed for what I wanted, and received what was best. I wanted my husband back. I wanted our family Friday pizza and movie nights with all four kids to continue until they graduated from high school, then maybe beyond that when they came to visit with their spouses and children. I wanted the life I had planned, and I fought long and hard for it. I lost myself in the fight for my family, home and future. I lost the ability to define love for what it was, and was only able to define it by what it was not. Exodus 14:14 says, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” If you insist on fighting your own battles, God will step back and wait for you to get your ass kicked so miserably that you have no choice but be still. I am relentlessly stubborn, so I’ve taken this route more often than not. It’s taken my entire 35 years and about a million paradigm shifts to learn that I’d rather be still  and ask God to fight for me at the first suspicion of battle regardless of how large or small. Life clicks along better that way, and aftershocks and post-traumatic damage are kept to a manageable minimum. Crushing defeats transform into growth opportunities before your mortal eyes. You can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks.

Grace is the power we receive to live our life from the standpoint of victory regardless of the circumstances swirling around us. Grace is received only through faith. God’s grace is sufficient when we actively trust that His all-encompassing view is much superior to our ridiculously limited perspective. I am the tuba player marching in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and God is the blimp overhead. It is in my best interest to trust the blimp’s perspective instead of my own. The blimp can see everything for miles. I can see the sweat beading through the back of the ugly uniform directly in front of me. I’m learning. I am learning that what we want often looks completely different from what is best. In this season of Christmas, I am so grateful and humbled that I get what is best, even though I deserve what I want instead.

So many changes have violently elbowed their way into our world over the last four years, and I’ve come to appreciate and savor the value in them all. The process of absolute brokenness and subsequent rebuilding has made me unrecognizable to those who don’t know me deeply. But those who do say I just put the pieces back together differently.

December 2012 was bondage I didn’t recognize as bondage. December 2016 is freedom. I am finally true and honest with myself, which evolves into truth and honesty in all aspects of my life. I spend my time on people and treasures that make me think and feel and laugh so hard I cry. Freedom means pausing my Gabriel Garcia Marquez documentary to watch The Farting Preacher, then jumping right back into Marquez, but pausing once more to catch Jason Boland live on Instagram. Freedom means swiftly and completely disregarding opinions and advice of those who have no concept of what our world looks like. Freedom means putting effort into what I know is important instead of being obligated to extinguish petty fires every moment of every day. Freedom means having the courage to live in the present instead of being comfortably chained to the sinking bricks of the past.

2017, we are ready. Morning by morning new mercies I see.

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And the Greatest of These is Love

It’s important to believe in happily ever after. It helps. I don’t know if I’ll ever find that one person to spend happily ever after with, but just the hope it offers is quite comforting. The general consensus of the masses is that we should say, “I love you” more, and there are endless examples of this everywhere we look. “Love makes the world go ’round.” “All you need is love.” Both ideologies are overused and absolutely false. We should mean it more and say it less. Love has become an excuse and a loose interpretation for any number of things, at the very best.

Love is a get-out-of-jail-free card in our society. “But I love you…” And that is supposed to mean what? The definition of love varies so drastically from person to person. We give it so much power. Love can make or break days, months and decades, if we allow it. I sit in random coffee shops and bookstores and work on my computer, read while I’m eating lunch, or write while I’m soaking up some vitamin D in the park. I hear a socially predominate idea of love resonating so much more than any other. “If he loved me, he would have put the clothes in the dryer.” “If she loved me like she says, she would let me go out with my boys.” “If he loved me, he wouldn’t have slept with her.” “If she loved me, she would remember that I don’t like crunchy peanut butter.” I actually have heard every one of these and then some in the last few weeks, and every time, I cringe. This interpretation of love is disgustingly self-serving. Me, me, me. I’ll tell you what it means to love me. This is the modern, stylish, chic interpretation of love. It’s easy, comfy and sexy.

Love is not self-serving. Love is not romance novel material. It isn’t sexy or gentle or smooth. It is serious, intense and uncomfortable. It requires an individual to sacrifice and plow through virgin snow with vengeance and disregard. And you have to do these things and expect nothing. Shakespeare once said, “Expectation is the root of all heartache.” Part of love is not expecting. It is letting go when your brain and pride tell you the complete opposite. Sure, you don’t want to hurt, but loving means you definitely will at some point. Lovers, kids, grandmas and everyone in between will hurt you at some point. No kind of love is immune. Heartache is part of love, and ultimately makes it stronger and more stable. We are taught to avoid heartache and despair at all costs. If you love, these things will find you. But, trust me, its not as awful as you’ve been lead to believe and not all bad, either.

Alice Walker once said, “Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be,” and that is real talk, my friends. But you are never more powerful and confident than after you’ve conquered a huge storm in your life, even if you crawled all the way through it while sobbing hysterically. You made it through, and it makes you more powerful and better armed to fight another day. And how much more do you have to offer those you love after fighting hard and coming out on top and stronger than ever? So heartache and despair really aren’t the enemies in love. In fact, we need them to chisel us into a more complete person.

Love is hard and intense and really very exhausting sometimes. Please remember, though, that hard and intense and exhausting aren’t necessarily negative. I have been told I love very hard, and I do. I take that as a compliment. If I love you, I will walk through hell for you. I really will, and I will have a smile and a hug for you when we both make it out. I do not expect that from anyone else. Most people aren’t capable of it, and that’s very important to accept. I can take a lot of hits in many different ways, and I don’t mind doing it if it helps the ones I love. Everyone has his or her strengths.

Loving hard means I don’t say “I love you” lightly. It’s awkward when someone says it and you don’t say it back, and that’s been me a lot over the years. However, I’ve never said it and wanted to take it back. Relationships fail as time persists, whether they are friendships, family or romantic in nature, but fault seldom has anything to do with love. We are all human, and that tends to get in the way. Obviously, none of my romantic endeavors have withstood the test of time, but I don’t regret a single one of them. Regret is a waste. I’ve learned from each of them and chosen differently according to what I’ve learned. I’m discovering more about myself, others and the world around me daily. My wise friend, Yvonne, periodically reminds me that it is a process, not an event. I forget that and I push, rushing things and ultimately creating a stressful mess. I attempt to force a conclusion when the process continues to rock along, whether or not I prefer it that way. Love is a process, not an event. As humans, we are egocentric, obstinate and strive to compartmentalize everything we think and feel so we can digest it more easily. This isn’t possible with love. Some things are bigger than we are, and that is okay.

Regardless of the inevitable flaws, being human is lovely and beautiful. Every single member of my family is very human, has unmistakable, obvious faults and every single one of them is immeasurably beautiful. I learned what love means from my family. It sounds cliché, but its true. I was and continue to be taught to love hard, completely and every chance I get. My cousin, Katy, remembers every birthday, anniversary and holiday. She makes every single one of us feel special with her kindness and consideration, and she does it without expecting anything. She’s a busy mom of three and a devoted wife, but she takes time out of her world to bless ours, and that is lovely and beautiful. I remember birthdays days in advance, then I forget, then I remember again in the shower the day of, ultimately failing to recognize them at all. I’m just not that good. We all have out strengths, and that’s not mine.

Love was my grandmother’s strength, all day, every day. She used to peel the strings out of my celery because I didn’t like chewing them. Occasionally, I would get mad for some crazy, unsustainable, nine-year-old reason and scream at her, telling her I hated her. Unmoved, she would grab me, hug me tight and tell me it would really hurt her feelings if she thought I meant that, but she knew I didn’t. Then she’d ask me what I wanted for dinner. Love. No expectations. Hard. Thankless. Life-saving. Life-giving. So beautiful.

That’s how my kids love and that’s how God loves. It isn’t a coincidence. We try other ways and explain it in language and deeds that are easily digested and fit best in our busy, frivolous lives and into this brutal world, but the truth remains. The greatest of these is still love. We just have to dig deep and love like we are made for it, because really, we are.

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Confronting Fear – Past, Present, Future

Fear

Being away from the kids for a full week is outwardly refreshing, yet completely unsettling on the inside. The house is quiet, and I need quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that can make your ears ring and cause your head and heart to explode in earth-shattering, terrifying ways. No kids means minimal distractions. Minimal distractions forces introspection of my past, present and future. All the feels, y’all. And all the feels are messy. And I don’t like mess.

I’ve been participated in Beth Moore’s bible study, “A Woman’s Heart,” with a group of ladies from church. It has been such a blessing and I’ve taken several things away from it. The three most significant Goliaths God revealed to me during this study are fear, pride and my broken heart. The wheels are turning for some future blog posts even while I’m processing through this one. Get excited.

Several of my friends have messaged or texted me the following meme over the last few years at different times:
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They all follow it up with “this is SO you” or “I automatically thought of you when I saw this…” or something similar. I like that people perceive me a fearless, strong, well-rounded badass. Those are parts of my character that very much exist, but were birthed out of dire and desperate necessity. I promise you I was not born like that, most definitely did not wake up that way randomly one morning, and there was absolutely nothing glamorous or sexy about earning those stripes. Fear changed me permanently. The end result isn’t negative, but getting here was. Figuratively speaking (kind of), I was grabbed by the throat and shoved under the shit-sludge that is life sometimes: betrayal, deceit, hopelessness, mental illness, addiction, and so much fear. I had to find air again by any means necessary, so I did.

Shadowy Fears of the Past

It was someone else’s mental illness and addiction, which in turn manifested the betrayal, deceit and hopelessness, but it was mine all the same. I took the “in sickness and in health” pretty seriously, and Mark 10:7-8 (“For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife,  and the two shall become one flesh; so then they are no longer two, but one flesh) echoed in my mind and heart while cleaning up vomit and blood from drug-induced suicide attempts and reluctantly asking my parents for money to cover bills because our joint account was mysteriously empty by the 15th of every month.

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The fear that comes with losing your everything is overwhelming. I was afraid of him leaving, losing his mind to a point that was irrecoverable, hurting the children and me to depths that we couldn’t reach again after his wake settled among so many other things. I was afraid of losing my best friend and my life partner, the man I was planning to love forever and die with, The Notebook-style. We all know I don’t open up easily, and when I do, all those eggs absolutely go in one basket. After I realized that he had lost his mind to an irrecoverable point and I had already lost the man I married, I was deathly afraid to breathe, move in any direction, love or live again. I blocked all songs that were perfect representations of our story (Burning House by Cam, Broken Window Serenade by Whiskey Myers, High Cost of Living by Jamey Johnson, Say Something by A Great Big World, I Guess It’s Time by Josh Abbott Band) so I’d never hear them again, then I’d unblock them and listen to them on repeat for days. It’s a very foreign, unnatural place to be. I lost all my eggs in one fell swoop. Crushed. Obliterated. Completely and unrecognizably destroyed. I couldn’t save Humpty Dumpty and put him back together again. I had to separate saving him from loving him, and that concept was so foreign that it didn’t even stick in my mind or heart until a few years post-Humpty Dumpty. The most important lesson I learned while my lungs were screaming for air and my heart was bleeding for a man that no longer existed and fear was dictating every, single move I made: You cannot save people. You can only love them. Stop. LISTEN TO ME. You cannot save people. You can only love them. Give it a minute. Think about it. Internalize it. That person you’re trying to save? They are too heavy to carry. They can walk, but they won’t. Put them down. Love them, maybe from a distance, and take care of you. The past has cultivated too many fears to count. So stop. Leave them all there. Get your ass out of the past and join us here in the present. It may not be what you planned, but it can be a bright and shiny place, depending on your willingness to move onward and upward.20160803_114614

Relative Fears of the Present

I have to be very careful with fear and parenting. I’m too hard and stony with Anaiah sometimes. I know what the world can do to soft-hearted, emotionally-needy females. Fear gets the best of me. People will continue to be selfish and inconsiderate and will ultimately interact with my children accordingly. I have to fight the urge to reprimand my daughter for simply being soft-hearted and emotionally-needy. I restrict Kannon more than I should because he has no fear, so I desperately try, unsuccessfully, to reign him into some kind of submission. I intentionally impose fear on him, or my version of fear, which he effortlessly brushes off without a thought. I’m still figuring this parenting thing out, obviously. The most important step I’ve made in this arena so far is recognizing what concerns are driven by fear and which aren’t, and responding accordingly. We generally try to destroy what we fear, and I am making a conscious effort to let my children develop into their own without imposing my fears on them and subconsciously destroying the parts of their personalities that elicit fear in me. I fail miserably sometimes for sure, but hopefully I will continue to get better as the years tick by, and offer apologies freely as I recognize shortcomings or overkill on my part. I’m sorry goes a long way, thankfully.

I have also had to recognize when others are speaking from the platform of fear versus a platform of reason. Well-meaning people who sincerely love you will be afraid for you.Your issues and decisions will keep them up at night and will create anxiety, causing them to be nauseated to the point of skipping meals and falling behind on projects at work. This is not your problem and their fear is not your fear, regardless of the source. Pillars of our support system believe that they know better than we do and know what’s best for us, however most of the time they aren’t selflessly motivated and are not engaged enough to provide us with a sound and fortified course of action. A person close to me has told me on more than one occasion, “If you keep in contact with Ren and allow him to be a part of the kids’ lives while he’s in prison, you’ll be more likely to go back to that relationship when he’s out.” This person is speaking to eighteen-year-old me. They don’t know thirty-five year old me well enough to weigh in on the extremely loaded and complex topic of contact with my ex-everything and the father of my children. They are imposing their unfounded fear on me, in response to who I was half of a lifetime ago. They are implying that my decisions are emotionally driven, and emotion drives nothing in my life anymore. I have feelings and recognize them, but have the ability to respond devoid of them. I love this about thirty-five year old me.8fdd9c3572990dedf9051c5246931e20

Very few people in this life will actually take the time and spend the effort it takes to know you and attempt to understand your perspective, then help you according to what they know and understand. If no one has ever held a loaded gun to your head, you may not tell me what you would or wouldn’t do if you hypothetically experienced that. It holds no water. Emotional, mental and spiritual intelligence are required to really hear someone else, and people generally are exhaust their reserves on themselves. The people who do shed their masks and step in your nasty, unsightly issues voluntarily usually don’t come to you with advice or opinions. Their feedback is usually in the form of actual time and help. They are available to move furniture, fix your lawn mower or keep your children without asking questions or expecting explanations. These are the people that have known the kind of fear you know and recognize that adding their fears to the fire will not diffuse the problem, but will cause an explosion. While spending time with someone very close to me recently, we happened upon the subjects of personal parameters, family and the last two years that Ren and I were married. This person said, “I didn’t always understand or agree with what you did or the decisions you made, but it all makes perfect sense now. You knew yourself and your situation from the inside and were thinking about the big picture. All I could see was a lot of red flags and trouble.” That observation is monumental, and applicable to almost every situation we face personally where well-meaning, loving people close to us feel the need and inclination to drown us with their versions of our plights. When people ask you how they can help you, tell them, “Pray.” When they don’t ask and offer unsolicited advice, the best course of action is to smile, nod, disregard, then continue on your path. Shut out the voices, shut out the opinions, shut out the relative, perspective-based fears of others and keep moving forward to the best of your ability. Your ability, your path, your circumstances, your life. Yours.

The Future Ain’t What It Used to Be

I can remember being in the fifth grade and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I would be blissfully married veterinarian with six kids, a lovely two story house, twenty-eight dogs, a boat and at least a dozen horses by the time I was twenty-five. My plans changed a little by the time I graduated high school, significantly by the time I graduated college and the only thing that remains now are the two kids. Life creates a spirit of fear. The more life we experience, the more potential that fear will be among our most dreaded but familiar acquaintances. It sometimes becomes such a common, constant emotion for us that we actually feel more comfortable being diseased with fear than being overcome with peace. My future is changed forever because of fear created by events, people and situations in my life.

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(Photo compliments of Carolina Creek Christian Camp)

But my future is changed for the better. God does not always take us the easy way on purpose. Surprise! Some of that hard, nasty shit? We need that. Often we only recognize the most fearful, horrible parts of our lives as absolute negatives that broke us into a million pieces… but is broken pieces all you took away from those times? How do you feel after you come out of that hell? What about when you finally resurface from the shit-sludge I mentioned before, grip loosened from your throat, and fill your burning lungs with air again? There’s power there. And also more love and compassion for yourself and those around you.

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Fear has the potential to cripple us and keep us in bondage forever, but it’s our personal choice to allow it. We have the ability to respond to fear with bold courage. A conscious, firm personal commitment is involved, and it will be uncomfortable, but it’s so worth it. That may mean standing still when we would otherwise act. It may mean throwing ourselves full-force into something we would much rather avoid. Everyone’s journey is different. Experiences increase our self-discipline, creating and fortifying boundaries in our life. You can fall in love again, but you now have the ability to use your brain AND your heart and not just the latter. You immediately notice warning signs you didn’t before and can respond accordingly, instead of being slapped in the face years later. Fear has a place in our futures, but only when we channel it into power, love and self-discipline. My thirty-five years have been what they are for very specific reasons. Some are revealed to me now and then, and some I will never know. There’s so much comfort in knowing in my heart that I am not in control of my life, and I am only part of a much larger picture. When I view myself in this way, any fears present in me shrink and anxiety fades to bright, bold expectancy. I am strong, I am driven and I give grace as it’s been given to me. I have known fear in my life and will continue to brush up against it now and then, but it does not define me in any way. We have hope and a future brighter than we can imagine. Shed your bondage and reach out for it.

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New Year, New Everything

Our little family started 2016 with a new home, new schools, new job and new town. We moved about three hours away and are getting used to south Texas. We have discovered the places we want to be and those to shy away from, and will hopefully be buying a house in the Shiner or Hallettsville area at the end of next year, maybe sooner.

This move was desperately needed in about a million ways. The kids and I need to be away from the Waco area and all of the awful memories we’ve acquired over the last five years. I couldn’t stand driving by the Delta Inn every morning on my way to work. I hated going by our old neighborhood every day on my way to get the kids. The gut punches never dull or cease. Its been almost three years and it still takes my breath away. I’m ready for something to take my breath away in a positive way. I am waiting expectantly. Good things are coming.

We miss some people and things about home, but honestly, my couch feels the same as it did on Wingate, and then on Lawndale. There have been some unexpected but welcome byproducts of being away from central Texas. Historically, I have a tendency to coax along relationships with people I desperately want in my life (family, friends, romances, otherwise). It is exhausting and fruitless. In a purely circumstantial but definite kind of way, those people who want to be in our lives will have to work at it. I have a few in my world who continue to sit on their ass and expect me to make up the difference even three hours away. It is a relief, because those relationships are dead weight that I should have stopped nursing along years ago. Now, we can all mutter something about busy lives and kids and miles apart and sleep okay at night. The people who have been a solid rock for us to cling to in the past are still there, and remain unchanged. I remember a good friend telling me over and over again, “Relationships aren’t really that hard. The good has to outweigh the bad. That’s about all there is to it.” So if the good doesn’t outweigh the bad, inevitably you will fade into someone we used to know. Its not as bad as it sounds. It actually tastes a little like fresh air and freedom.

I’m learning a lot about myself and what I want out of my next 35 years. It is entirely different than I thought it would be ten years ago, but I feel like I’m closer to who God made me to be than I ever have been. I’ve spent the last five years clinging to comfort zones, and I’ve spent the last five weeks sprinting into the most uncharted territory I’ve ever been through.Team Thiele’s theme for 2016 is Pushing the Limits. Stay tuned…

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And All of A Sudden, There Was God

Rene had the gift of prophecy. You know those stories about the man who feels led to buy a gallon of milk at midnight in the pouring rain and take it to a random house and knock on the door? After knocking, an exasperated, young mother answers his knock and cries, “Oh my goodness!! I have no money and the baby is so hungry! I just prayed that God would provide and here you are!” That man was my husband in countless scenarios over the years. I was the chauffer for three of the random milk trips, among countless other short and long adventures that I followed him on, simply because God told him to move, so we did.It sounds far-fetched. If you haven’t had the opportunity to see God work tangibly with your own two eyes, it’s a hard sell. I needed some convincing at first, but after a cynic like me sees, hears, and feels God working in undeniably clear ways, I’m a believer for life.

After my marriage became something unrecognizable and my life fell off of the edge of the earth and shattered into a trillion pieces, I grieved for many things. I processed the loss of my best friend and partner fairly normally. I went through the stages predictably enough and came to terms with the end of us and the emergence of I. I missed the father Rene used to be for all four of the kids, but I worked through that and leaned more on my family to help fill in the gaps. After all was said and done, my relationship with God was really the only wound that still laid torn open, raw and bleeding. I never lost faith or questioned God’s existence, but my interactions with God were very different after I lost Ren.

During the good years of us, the God I had come to know was very much present in our home, at our dinner table, at soccer games and in line with us at HEB. My husband was an amazing spiritual leader and lived in prayer so he wouldn’t miss his next opportunity to carry out his purpose. I could tell stories for days that would give you goose bumps – both the good and the bad kind. Through amazing victories and gut-wrenching spiritual warfare, we fought together, supported each other, and believed whole-heartedly that we were exactly where we were supposed to be. I felt it.

The tallest and most substantial trees fall the hardest. According to him, Rene had issues with abandonment from childhood. There was some abuse mixed in there with general apathy, which was the same thing in his mind. The issues led to hard drug use at a young age, which we know makes quite the difference in terms of addiction, recovery and recidivism. The drugs made their exit when Rene accepted Christ, but we all know the life of a Christian isn’t guaranteed to be easy and free of temptation. We are actually guaranteed the exact opposite. In fact, Jesus tells his disciples at Gethsemane, “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.” (Matthew 26:41) The body’s weaknesses create quite an elaborate feast for Satan. He preys on preexisting, toxic behaviors and aliments we have and pushes the buttons he knows are likely to make us stumble. Addiction was Rene’s weakness, and mixed with compounding mental illness, it was the only axe that even stood a chance of falling that tree.

After the fall, I doubted that what I saw in Rene was real. I doubted everything and everyone I knew to be true and just and right. For years, I slunk back into apathetic Christianity. I desperately needed to understand why God had allowed Ren to fall as he did and if his tangible presence in our lives was simply a figment of my spiritually romanticized imagination. Losing the God I knew so intimately for years resulted in me losing my purpose and myself. I still knew God, but He was more like a distant third cousin than my dad. Because of the lack of understanding and doubt, I had no idea what kind of God I even knew anymore. I am stubborn and very often have a one-track mind. I need clarity and specific directions. God knows this. I depended so heavily on the very clear and tangible directions literally plopped in my lap for years that I forgot how to seek guidance and direction from God. I prayed for some kind of recognizable two-way communication from God so I could know for sure He was hearing me. Nothing. I got nothing. I prayed for God to please talk to me in a way that was familiar. Silence. I couldn’t hear anything. Desperation, anxiety and sheer panic all made their home in the pit of my stomach every day all day. Lots of things happened. People came and went in my life. More hurt and more uncertainty prevailed. I prayed. I heard nothing. La Vega happened. I accepted the job. I have to drive by our old neighborhood every day on my way home. It hurts every day. Like clockwork, I pass Kendall Lane and here comes desperation, anxiety and panic again, so familiar that they are almost welcome. The job is draining on all levels, with the very rare burst of validation from a student once in awhile. It seems like a very hard, possibly wrong path in my journey.

And then one afternoon, Mr. Smith came into my room. He cleans the school and I’d never looked up long enough to notice him before. It was after school and I was entering grades. He came over to my desk and said, “The kids are going to be okay.” I looked up and gave him a painted smile. I said, “Oh yes, they will be fine. This is just a hard stage for them and some of them come from less than desirable situations at home.” He said, “No, your kids. They will be fine. They have everything they need. You are loving them and it will go a long way. They will be just fine, Miss.” And then he said, “I didn’t want to come in here. I don’t know you, Miss. I told God that I didn’t want to come in here and I didn’t know you, and he said, ‘I know her,’ so I came in to tell you that. You’re a threat, Miss, and you’re on display. Satan thought he had you, but when he got to you, you were already God’s, so he couldn’t have you. You were already spoken for. All he can do is torment you and make you miserable, if you give him the chance. Don’t give him the chance, Miss. You got this. The battle is already won. Think about who is leading your army. You got this, Miss. I just wish I could make you see it like I see it.”

My goodness, I saw it and heard it, bright, shiny, loud, and clear. I know the look a person has in their eyes when God is telling them to say or do something that makes them feel awkward or exposed. I know the sometimes reluctant leap of faith it takes to follow God’s call when you’d rather retreat into your bedroom and sleep for a few years, or put in your ear buds and keep buffing the hallway, in Mr. Smith’s case. I know the burden, the stress and the pressure associated with it, too, and how it shows in your eyes and sounds in your voice and is embodied in body language. Its not all magic and rainbows and happy endings. Following God’s call is never easy and always costs us something. I thanked Mr. Smith and told him I saw what he was saying. He said, “I know you do. Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep moving. That’s all you have to do. You got this, Miss. He’s got you. He hears you. You think you’re not praying right or saying the right words. He knows you. You’re His.” And he walked out of my classroom.

I never lost faith, but my path was so clouded with doubt and desperation. I needed to hear with my ears and see with my eyes that God still had me, and that he always has. I desperately needed reassurance that what I saw in Ren and what we had was very real and not delusional. So I needed it, and in a very tangible fashion that He knew would be a breath of fresh air, God said, “I’m here. I’m listening. Lean not on your own understanding, but on Me. You know Me. You always have. Just keep moving. You got this.”

Since that day about a month ago, I’ve talked to Mr. Smith only a few times. He said what needed to be communicated, and faded back into the background. If La Vega was a wrong turn, and the last several years have been a complete wash, I am okay with that. I needed to have that man walk in my classroom that day. I needed to hear what he had to say from a complete stranger and see the awkward, shifting eyes and the reluctance in the demeanor. My life has not been ideal, but some things I know to be true. I always have. I just needed some reminding.