More than just the sum of my story

 Life has been interesting to say the least these last few months, and I’m still trying to figure out what to make of it all. Over the last several years of highs and lows, I’ve learned that it’s ok to not have all the answers, and it’s ok if big things don’t always make sense at the time (or ever.) I’ve learned that it’s ok to not know how to pray, or what you even want to pray for. I’ve learned it’s ok to not be sure of how you’re really doing, or how blessings could possibly come through pain. I’ve learned that God is faithful with or without my permission, and that God doesn’t need me to tell Him how to be God. He’s God, the Great I Am, and that’s enough for me…but as I’ve sat bearing the full weight of the unknown, I’ve still sought some sort of validation from this ol world. 

I’ve needed someone else to give me permission to feel the way I feel. I’ve needed someone else to be hurt over what breaks my heart. I’ve needed someone else to see hope in the midst of uncertainty, and for some reason I’ve still needed someone else to tell me it’s all going to be ok, and that I’m not crazy for having a hard time dealing with things that have felt so hard for so long. 

In the midst of trying to come to terms with all that’s happened over the last 8 years specifically, and try to begin to dig into the trauma I’ve carried for so long, I reached out to counseling services I’ve only attempted one other time before. My mental health has been in critical condition for so long that I knew I had to do something different. I owe it to myself and to my family, to not continue to carry the weight of every difficult thing in our lives, letting it erode my soul to an unrecognizable image of who I once was. I’m tired of trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense, and I’m tired of trying to be ok with things I may never be ok with. 

The intake questionnaire was lengthy, like 30-45 minutes worth of questions I had never thought would be important to explain, but I answered each portion honestly (to a fault even) because I hoped that by giving a professional the full picture of everything they wanted to know (even the things I don’t feel impacted by) they would have a better idea of how to help me sort through the important things I need to heal. 

I’m not entirely sure how the full process works, I just know that once they review your file, providers have the opportunity to decide if they feel capable of trying to help you, and then they contact you to dig deeper into the questions you’ve answered in advance. The process felt long and daunting, at times I’ve wondered if it would ever be seen at all, but I’ve trusted that they do things the way they do for a reason, and that even the hardest parts of my own story won’t seem like such a big deal to someone who helps people sort through the messy things day after day.

As I sat across from a woman holding the answers to my questions in her hands, she explained that when she looked over my chart, she expected I would be a hot mess beyond their capability to help.  As we took each question, piece by piece and I explained the things that are most difficult for me, and why (to the best of my ability) she was surprised by how seemingly normal and self aware that I am, considering all that my questionnaire contained.

At first I was satisfied thinking “well at least I’m doing better than to be expected…” knowing all that they know (but also don’t know) but as I’ve had some time to think about that, it’s really eaten away at me. 

I’ve spent the rest of the entire day wondering how many people passed me by because they saw my story on paper, without ever getting to know my heart? How many people only saw me as a hot mess contained within several pages of black and white, but have no clue what I have to offer the world outside of trying to sort through the really heavy things? How many people wouldn’t even consider helping me wade through the things I’ve never told another person out loud, even though it’s what they do day after day for others? 

How many times have I been the one on the other side of the room, dismissing people because I know their story but not their heart? How many times would I dare not get involved if I knew the hot messes I felt ill equipped to fix, when all they actually needed was for me to listen? How many times do I glance upon circumstances I truly know nothing about, and make a snap decision about someone before ever giving them the time of day? 

I’m not too broken to be listened to, cared about, or loved. 

I know I’m not perfect, and I have a lot that I need to work through, but that’s what makes me human. 

I pray that if I gain anything from that interaction, it’s an eagerness to hear people for the opportunity to see beautiful pieces of their heart, rather than dismissing them because I know parts of their story. 

I’m so glad that someone was willing to take a chance on me, because I’m so much more than the sum of my story…and so are you. 

The men that helped raise me

 There’s a part of my story that not many know, but that didn’t occur to me until today. Some of the people closest to me, including my own children didn’t know that there were chapters written in my early childhood, that included a man who loved and helped raise me, that wasn’t my biological dad. 

I didn’t realize until I was much older, that the story of my life was not only unconventional, but frankly taboo, until I was probably in early adulthood myself-but that part of my story is relevant because each chapter paints a picture of the investments of others that made me, me. 

There may be portions of that part of my life that I still don’t fully know, or understand (even though I’m almost 40 years old myself) and there may be things that other people wished I left unsaid because the weight of the past is often measured with heaps of shame and regret…but I was living a part of that story, in the years that more than one man raised me. 

When I was a small child, my biological dad wasn’t around a whole lot, and I only know small pieces of why that happened, along the way. For a long, long time his absence broke my heart, and then there were many years I was glad he wasn’t around. I thought I hated him, and never wanted to see or speak to him again. I was wrong, and we’ve since reconciled (which is a miracle all of its own) and in this season of life that I’m in now, he’s the dad that I’ve always wanted him to be. 

But there’s also another man who loved me, corrected me, invested in me, provided for me, cared about me, and helped raise me when I was a little girl. Still to this day I don’t know why he and my mom split, but I do know that everything happens for a reason, and life always works out the way it’s meant to. 

I still remember the special Fridays he took us out for dinner because it was his pay day and he felt like we needed a treat. I remember him training our dog how to duck hunt in our back yard and I got my love for labs, from him. I remember the building where he used to work when we were little, and the names of all of his closest friends. I remember my brother lying about biting a hole in his brand new weight bench, and being shocked that he knew which one of us it was even though no one fessed up. I thought he was magical, but apparently there’s a big difference in the appearance of baby teeth and big guy teeth, when they’ve chomped down into a weight bench.

I remember gathering in the back room of our house, as he whispered to us kids and held a small little box in his hand. He respected us enough to ask permission to propose to our mom on Christmas, and I think we all cried when she said no. 

We felt like he hung the stars with the way that he loved our mom, but she swore she would never get married again (and she’s kept that promise all this time.) 

And then I remember how much my heart broke, when he and my mom split up for good. 

I cried many many times from that, because he was such a huge part of our lives. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay, and yet I was simultaneously eager that my dad was back in the picture again…because that is what I had always wanted. How confusing for a little girl to be torn between the dad she’s always wanted, and the man who has loved like a dad should all those years. I wanted both, but both was never an option. 

As my biological dad (I just call him dad because he’s my dad, but call him biological dad here so it’s less confusing) became a solid part of our family again, the man who had been like my dad all those faded out of the picture into a new season of life all his own. He eventually married and had a child too. I was never upset at him for that because I knew my parents were trying to work things out and restore our family, but I missed him too, and have always been thankful for the ways he loved us so well. 

Over the years I knew his relationship with my parents was a touchy subject-one of those things you aren’t supposed to speak of, but I’ve never fully grasped all the things that made life turn out that way. I know it’s not important for me to have all the details (and I’m being a bit vague as to not share more than I should) but when I think of the love that helped me become the woman that I am, it’s because there’s two men that helped to raise me. 

Life has been extremely hard over these last several years, but over the last few months my spirit has been broken in every sense of the word. I’ve found myself in a place where I don’t even know how to articulate the lowest lows, or explain what I need to see a way out of it. Our finances are in shambles. My mental health has been in crisis. My body hurts. I can’t sleep. And I feel like there’s not a soul I could really speak to concerning the things that weigh me down, except my husband, and my dad. In the middle of the night a few weeks ago, my dad sent me a message having not a clue what had kept me up at all hours of the night. Yet, even though he was so many time zones away, the Lord stirred his spirit to reach out to me, because I needed the comfort of my dad. I needed someone to hear my heart when I couldn’t sleep but didn’t want to wake my husband because he’s spent so many sleepless nights hearing me cry. I needed someone not to try and fix me, or blame me, for ending up in this crappy place where I feel like I’m gasping for air, I just needed compassion and a long distance hug, only my dad could give. 

A few years ago (though I’m not sure how many) someone told him “you may have screwed things up when the kids were little, but there’s still a chance for you to be there for them now that they’re grown.” And for years I thought that nothing could be farther from the truth, but through a repentant heart and a whole lot of prayers I never wanted to pray, I’ve found myself needing my dad. 

And he’s been there, better than I could have thought to ask him to be, and he’s been so much more than I’ve needed him to be. 

Then today as I was getting ready for church I got a message from the other man who helped raise me. He asked if I would be home today, because he wanted to stop by. We do talk a little bit here and there from time to time, but I haven’t seen him in person in several years. He usually messages me on my birthday (and I often cry that he still remembers after all this time) and recently he messaged me to tell me he was proud of me (having no idea how badly I needed to hear that.) Today however, he wanted to spend some time with my family. 

As I greeted him at the front door one of the first things he said to me was “I talked to your dad.” And then he went back to his truck to grab a cooler. “He said that things have been tough and you haven’t really been eating well, so I wanted to drop by some food.” And then he opened the lid.  The cooler was full to the brim with salmon, moose meat, sausage, ground beef and chicken-things we will gladly eat but don’t currently have. It’s not that we’re going hungry, but when life is hard sometimes all you can muster the energy to feed yourself or your kids comes from a can, or a box of cereal, many many nights in a row. We aren’t eating quality things, so he helped to meet a need. It felt like we were presented with a kings feast, and it was given with love to my family. 

My kids don’t remember meeting him previously, they were much too little the last time, but they were so glad to have someone special come over today, and we invited to stay for a while if he could. I showed him around our messy house, and we talked about life for several hours. We spent a little while talking about what’s been going on, and had a few laughs before he needed to go, but it wasn’t until I had a quiet moment tonight that the magnitude of things hit me like a ton of bricks. 

When life has felt like it’s been turned upside down lately, and our family hasn’t quite known what we’re going to do, we’ve found hope, and help, in the hearts of the men who helped raise me. Not only have they both shown up in every way they can, for us, but they’ve reached out to each other to combine resources to take care of us during this season of need. They’ve taken the time to have conversations as men (who have both been hurt by each other over the years) to make sure my needs and the needs of my family are being met, and I’m truly in awe of that.

 Never in my wildest dreams would it ever have occurred to me, that the two of them would be willing to reach out to one another to help take care of me. 

Men, the dynamic of your own families may be unconventional, broken, filled with anger, hurt, and pain, but I promise that the children in your lives will some day be thankful to be on the receiving end of the love and effort expressed on your behalf. 

I’m truly grateful for the men who helped raise me.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭3:20-21‬ ‭