the death of dreams

I don't understand why we’re allowed to dream dreams that will never be. But we are.

And we do.

I've heard it said---and have even said it myself---that God wouldn't give us passions and dreams, and then not fulfill them. I used to swallow that whole, but I don't really believe it to be true any more.

Once you factor in free will, sin, and natural consequences, there is no way every hope, dream, and longing can be fulfilled.

Even when we do everything "right", life simply isn't fair. For reasons we may never understand this side of heaven, not every prayer is answered and not every dream comes to pass.

Consider a little league baseball tournament where boys on both teams dream of winning the championship.

You dream of a promotion at work. So do three co-workers who are competing with you for the position.

I dreamed of a restored marriage, while my husband dreamed of a new life with another woman.

It is simply not possible for every dream to come true.

I've had to come to terms with that truth in my life. It sucks. And it hurts. And I'm not totally sure what to do with it.

All my deferred hope has left my heart sick.

I miss those dreams that will never be. I miss the future that is no longer possible. I miss what could be and should be, but won't be.

I have to surrender those to God, trusting that even when it doesn't seem like it, He has my highest good and His maximum glory in mind.

I'm wrestling with the balance between surrender and hope.

I want to live surrendered---fully embracing what I'm given, rather than longing for what I'm not.

And I want to live with hope---faithfully trusting God's promises and believing Him for what I cannot see.

But how do I do both at the same time?

How do I hope while embracing what I'm given?

iMiss

My heart is tender these days. I miss people I love. I miss things I value and places I cherish. I miss hope, security, roots. I miss a sense of home and a feeling of being someone's someone.

I also find myself missing people I've never met and things I've never had.

Does that sound crazy? Maybe it does. But I know it to be true.

It is possible to miss what I've never experienced.

Almost as much as I miss what I have experienced.

Sometimes the aches are similar. And equally deep.

Sometimes they are so intertwined I can't separate them.

Sigh...

What do you miss?

maybe this is my new normal

I still choose indoors over outdoors, even on a gorgeous day. I still come to life when I talk about vision, passion, and Africa. I still make strange faces (and noises) without even realizing it. I still love deeply.

For the most part, I'm still the same me I was before my world shattered out from under my feet.

For the most part.

But there are a lot of ways I'm a different person than I was before my husband left me.

Emotional trauma changes us.

It changed me.

My life is forever split between before and after.

And after-me isn't the same as before-me.

Some of the changes are healthy, good, freeing.

But many aren't.

I "lived tired" before, but I still kept a fast (and full) rhythm in life and ministry. Now I simply don't have the energy to keep even half that pace. I've taken living tired to a whole new level while doing far less in a day than I've ever done.

My heart is more tender and my skin is less thick. Things that shouldn't hurt me, hurt me. My emotions are all over the place. I can spiral from high to low very quickly. And that scares me for a long list of reasons I'll never be able to share in this space.

Trust has always been the Achilles' heel of my life. But now I physically feel the fear of trusting in a way I can't even begin to describe.

I get overwhelmed far easier. By to-do lists, emails, appointments, the pile of books I want to read... everything. It all just overwhelms me. And by overwhelm, I mean incapacitate.

I tell people I have Fuzzy Brain Syndrome. I lose my concentration. I'm constantly distracted. I can't remember things---things I should remember. Things I want to remember. I so often can't even think of the word I'm trying to say. Not just occasionally. Frequently.

I'm just not the same person I used to be.

And, to be honest, I don't like who I've become.

I'm living with diminished capacity.

It's frightening, frustrating, angering, and crazy-making all at the same time.

And I'm starting to think it might not be temporary.

Maybe this isn't something I can bounce back from.

Maybe this is my new normal.

Which means I need to face yet another loss.

The loss of ... me.

Of who I am. How I am.

Before I can accept who I've become, I need to grieve the loss of who I was.

I need to let go of before-me.

And trust that God can still make something beautiful out of after-me.

the double standard of my heart

For months I've been praying for my husband's heart to return to the Lord. For Niel to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

For the consequences of his decisions and actions to open his eyes to how deceived he's become.

For him to hit rock bottom.

For God to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

But if I'm being most honest, I wasn't as concerned with Niel's repentance as I was with him feeling the weight of what he's done.

The reality is that I sometimes still want him to hurt like I've hurt, more than I want him to live forgiven and free.

I've had to come face-to-face with the double-standard of my heart.

Because my struggle to genuinely pray not only for Niel's repentance but also for his forgiveness really only means one thing---

I don't realize just how much I've been forgiven for.

I want to accept the work of the cross for my sins, but not for my husband's.

As if my sins have been lesser.

Or even fewer.

When they are neither.

"...God's kindness leads you toward repentance."

I remember gasping out loud when I saw that verse as if with new eyes.

And I've wrestled with Him long and hard over the implications of it.

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, but I've begun praying---with tear-filled eyes still---for God's kindness to lead Niel to repentance.

I've started asking God to smother him with His goodness and grace and mercy.

Some days it's easier to pray that way than others.

Some days I can't at all.

On those days, I just sit in the reality of what it truly means.

And I pray for God's kindness to lead me to repentance.

Originally a guest post over at In Progress >

i'm still not sure about this one

I meet new people all the time. And there's often a point in the conversation that goes something like this:

OPTION A Them: Where are you from? Me: New York. Them: How'd you end up in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION B Them: What do you do? Me: I'm the founder of a ministry in Africa. Them: Oh wow. What are you doing in Atlanta? Me: Well...

OPTION C A variation of A or B.

And then I have to try to follow the "Well..." with some sort of explanation.

It's got me thinking about the words I use to sum up my current life situation.

I'm short and sweet and to the point. I certainly don't unload my two-and-a-half-year heartache on them.

I don't answer with bitterness or anger or resentment. There is sadness in my words, for sure. There's grief in my eyes.

And I simply state the facts.

But now I'm wondering if I still say more than I actually should.

My six-sentence answer usually includes:

1. I've been married for 9 years.
2. My husband and I ran a ministry in Africa.
3. He had an affair.
4. He decided he wants a divorce.
5. I'm living in Georgia for a season of restoration.
6. I'll be going back to Africa.

And all of that is true.

But I wonder if I'm hiding behind #s 3 and 4. Because I feel like I have to mention the affair and point out that he left me.

But I wonder what my motive is.

My unconscious thought in that moment is that simply saying I'm going through a divorce leaves the question of why. And they might think I cheated. Or assume I'm the one who chose to leave.

So I seemingly take on a defensive position right from the get-go. I fight to maintain my image right from the start.

And maybe I shouldn't.

Isn't that just plain ol' ugly arrogance? Or at the very least, insecurity?

The fact that I am the head of a ministry adds to the complexity of this for me. I don't want people to wonder who left who when I'm asking them to trust me to lead Thrive.

But maybe I need to let truth speak for itself.

And let God defend me.

Right from the get-go.

I don't know. I'm still trying to figure this one out.