To my husband–curbed for public view–an open letter from my heart to yours,
On some days it probably seems like you took on the world.
My sweet goodness, in all of its craziness.
During most of my days, as messy as they are, I see very clearly you took on all of my world.
I like to think it was my irresistible dance moves and mad cooking skills but as time has lent to the truth, through the hardest of our days, I hear over and over —God put me and my little girl on this man’s heart.
I’m pretty sure I can speak for both us when I say…
Fear. Unfortunately, it exists. I like to think that I am untouchable by its presence but that simply is not the case. And so it is, thus far on this short journey on planet earth, I’ve yet to be convinced fear will ever be eradicated. From my life and yours.
But I also don’t believe we should do things afraid.
So what does that mean for those of us who struggle with fear?
I walked through those doors pretty certain of the outcome. If I had to put money on it, I would’ve bet a win. For me. As I set waiting for the judge to come out to deliver his truth, I wrote this one line, “God, your will be done. Not mine.”
Then our turn came. The request I was asking for would be decided. The peace I was trying to give my daughter would be on the line. And it was in the hands and at the mercy of a Los Angeles County judge.
While on hold for the court’s lunch break, I had hoped while enjoying his pb&j sandwich or milk and cookies, this judge would be hit with the epiphany of truth. I was hoping his stack of cookies would give him the wisdom to ask the right questions and my girl would get an extended break from the emotional rollercoaster that she so desperately needed.
But that wasn’t the case. That wasn’t the case at all.
“It’s not about the cards you’re dealt.”
With a gorgeous desert backdrop and rarely hesitating to shovel some of his savory life tips my way, he leaned back in his patio chair relishing in a favorite cigar.
“It’s how you play your hand.”
At thirty-eight, I enjoyed more than ever hearing my dad’s superpower — wisdom. My dad’s always had a sweet way of pouring into my hungry heart.
I know there is pain that I do not know, nor will I ever know all the pain delivered by this worlds heavy hand. I’m a firm believer we all suffer in deep places of discomfort to a degree that is painfully hard for each of us. The point of which we feel that pain arrives at different seasons and ages for each of us.
It is what we choose to do with the cards dealt us that separates, as they say, the wheat from the chaff.
It seems like most recently I’ve had a wave of opportunities piled onto my plate. A warm and savory serving of uncomfortable opportunities.
I’m unsure if this is a sign of how fabulous I will be in the next ten years, love from a God who knows I am in need of His continuous mercy or both.
I like the idea of both.
Perhaps you know what I mean.
The email you had thoughtfully laid out, fuming with greatness, went to the wrong co-worker. With good intentions, you gave untimely advice on an honest whim that dug deep into a good friend’s heart who really just needed prayer and not your words of ignorant wisdom. Damage control from too many glasses of wine topped with a splash of your favorite mixed drink — at your husband’s work party.
We all have a distinct path that journeyed us down the worn out road where many have paved the way and never-the-less, we arrived at the same title. Single motherhood. This title, worn as a badge of honor, knows not your income, your social status, your faith background, your ethnicity or the desires of your heart.
Yes, at times, this cold world knows no discrimination to who journeys down its broadening stretch.
Boundary line. Explicitly drawn. Leaving little confusion.
We can talk about boundaries all day.
We can talk about how simple they can be or how difficult they are to identify, then a time comes, a situation occurs, and there’s a pressing demand to voice one.
As uncomfortable as drawing that line in the sand can be for some, it is the key to sanctioning a protective barrier between you and the other party.
Regardless if the topic being addressed is of a professional or personal matter, the ability to voice your line is fundamental to your growth.
I swear to all goodness in the world..
One of the saddest days for me, as a single mom, was the day my daughter saw her father for who he really is. The day she could no longer lie to her heart. The day she called it for what it was. That was almost 6 years ago. That day, life for us didn’t get any easier. It actually got harder.
Today, I’m speaking to the single moms who are raising their littles with a father who’s been a perpetual heartbreaker to your babies. And you, mom, continue to catch the tears on your shoulders over and over through the years.
I have walked away from too many articles like this one and this one . I’ve come across too many books, like this one and this one. I’ve left one too many front row seats where “professionals” held the mic and delivered the age-old message of the negative impact of “bad mouthing” the other parent. I’ve left those books, articles, and speeches fighting back the shame of my emotions from the truth I have spoken to my daughter through the years about who her father is. Feeling ashamed that I didn’t try hard enough to parent with crazy.
For too many years, I’ve listened and entertained the idea that my child will be eternally damaged by my words of poor expression.
I call total bull shit on this theory and for the record, parenting with crazy doesn’t exist.
I opened my eyes in the bedroom of my quaint little two-bedroom apartment in Las Vegas to face another sunny Sunday morning. The night before I had gone to bed with plans to attend church. Now that morning had arrived, I wasn’t that interested. I hesitantly moved toward the bathroom to prepare myself for the day, because I had begun to make a habit of disproportionately committing to plans I made and ridiculously attempting to fit in a mold I never cared for.
At that time in my life, God was becoming increasingly more important. It was for these reasons I felt obligated to get up and go to church. After all, it was Mother’s Day, and I was the lucky single mom to a precious, beautiful, tanned skinned, brown eyed 10-year-old baby girl.
So what was the problem?
A few months back I was in a heated conversation. I wouldn’t call it a debate. I wouldn’t call it a fight. Simply, it was a conversation. But it.was.hot. because we were both sharing our hearts that had been storing up some serious thoughts and emotions.
The person I was having the conversation with isn’t so much the topic here…but rather a statement that was made in the middle of the mess and heated moment.
In the go around of words that seemed a perfectly orchestrated storm of emotions I clinched my fist and leaned in with an invasive shout, “I need you to DIG DEEP!”
With a pause and short hesitation, the response back was..