Words

When I read your FB text last night, I instantly related.

You are so consumed with your own pain that it makes me feel like I’m not your [relationship descriptor redacted].

Get on some meds you psycho bitch!!

No I am not [wonderful] but I think I am kind, and you were kind to me so I hope you will find peace and happiness in the future.

No time and in no way is it appropriate to be rude, unkind, cutting, demeaning, speaking out of rage and anger, and belittling others. I have seen you do each of these things with a measure of generosity. I have watched you shred those who even mildly suggest that you’re out of line.

Hi JD, I just wanted to say “Me Too”. My emotions are too raw to say anything beyond that, but ME TOO sister.

You need to get off Facebook and find some real friends.

I have a whole bunch of emotions there for you my friend. Anger, sadness, frustration to name a few. I haven’t been publicly posting on your timeline but have been following to some degree. You can – no, will – rise above this and find your own sense of self and all that entails.

This is a much more reasonable place to be. Not that being unreasonable is bad – I’m not saying that. But this post has much less estrogen-filled drama and is much easier to process (for me).

You think you are telling the truth but in fact you’re just regurgitating this woke woman diatribe that is out there in ultra feminist blogs.

I don’t have rich parents who come to my rescue every time things get a little bit hard.

I’m glad you’ve contacted scabies. I accept that as what you’ve got coming for what you’ve done to me.

You take care of you. We’ll keep praying, as always, for only good things for you – whatever those may be.

The truth? You mean your exaggerated story and outright lies that make you look like an abused victim.

I miss the person you suppressed not the person you are now.

You are a unicorn: pretty, but fierce as fuck. Damn. I mean, DAMN.

You’ve always been a bitter person.

You are beautiful inside and out.

omg! it’s impossible to reason with you.

Proud of you.

I can’t stand the woman you’ve become.

I was thinking about you and wanted to send you some love. There’s not really much I can say about the myriad things you’re going through, but I can at least let you know that much!

I’ve really, really been wanting to message you for a little while because I’ve felt so compelled to share with you a little bit more of my story. Extremely random, especially because it’s not something I’ve shared with very many, but I figure if anyone is going to understand, it’s going to be you.

Fine. I see how I rate with you now.

I don’t know what all is going on, but I admire your being upfront with how hard life is right now for you. When I felt my world was falling apart (my husband had left me and our two little ones to live the “carefree” life of a meth addict)…I kept it all to myself. I tried to make it look like everything was fine on the home front. I didn’t cry in front of my kids. The one friend I finally confided in told me what a disservice I was doing by acting like everything was normal…when clearly it was not. It was a sad time. Crying would be appropriate. Asking for help, support, love…would be appropriate. Live and learn. And pass on those lessons.

i commented, Jennifer, because from what i see, you need help. not only, but how you’re going about things mortifies me. i have no earthly idea how you can think this helps you, your kids, your extended family.

I can only say that I am proud of the decisions you have made. Teaching your children what courage and resolve look like in the face of adversity is an incredible gift.

That was really harsh the way you just talked to dad.

Hi Jennifer, sorry to hear all of the pain in your life these days. Very sorry…I can’t imagine what you are going through and I’m glad to hear you have a community around you. That is great! Thanks for sharing about your family.

You disgust me and I will hate you until the day I die.

I love you. You’re the best mommy in the universe.

 

Living Above the Curse (Part 3 – The Curse of Man)

We all know the Venus and Mars stereotypes. Women are complex multitasking nurturers, men are singularly-focused aggressive hunter/providers.

Woman with the flu, a cramping, hemorrhaging uterus and a baby attached to her boob pushes through her daily myriad of responsibilities to take care of the family vs. male devastated by Man Cold.

Generalizations? Sure. It’s that spectrum thing again. There’s a wide range of expression of gender roles and no real “supposed to be’s.” There just IS for each of us what IS based on our unique makeup. What IS, generally speaking for the cisgender male, is a testosterone-driven drive to accomplish and conquer in order to find satisfaction and self-worth.

This is neither good nor bad, to be neither admired nor mocked (though I’ve totally indulged in misandry along with every other woman by doing just that). It’s biology and psychology. It just IS. The writers of Genesis recognized it in Adam’s curse.

“Cursed is the ground because of you;
    through painful toil you will eat food from it
    all the days of your life.
18 It will produce thorns and thistles for you,
    and you will eat the plants of the field.
19 By the sweat of your brow
    you will eat your food
until you return to the ground,
    since from it you were taken;
for dust you are
    and to dust you will return.”

The Woman’s complexity of curses are tied to the flesh from which she came. The Man’s curse is associated with the dirt from which he was God breathed. The curse of Man is the futility of his work. He has to toil very, very hard his entire life, be frustrated every step of the way, and then die and return to dirt as if he never existed.

Damn. So much for satisfaction. Honestly, I don’t envy a man his curse at all. It may be singular but it’s very, VERY heavy. From my observation it also makes him more vulnerable (not weak). Vulnerable to what? Despair. A Woman’s complexity and connections are her strength. When one pillar falls, there are others to compensate. When a man’s focus of satisfaction and self-worth disintegrates it more often than not turns him to denial, distraction, and destruction and a desperate grasp for control – anything but facing this reality that his desires and drives are going to be continually frustrated and in the end…utterly insignificant.

A theory I’m working on, but this might be why a lot of men keep such a tight lid on open expression of sadness and fear and are often dismissive of a women’s frequency and freer expression of the “difficult” emotions. For a man, it’s a sign of the despair and failure he’s trying so hard to outrun, so he does what he can to shut that shit DOWN. Just a theory.

Males also have a typically strong and aggressive sex drive that demands regular satisfaction. Biology. It just IS. So it is no mystery nor shock nor anything new under the sun when every single male on the planet frequently satisfies themselves in the most efficient ways without “toil” or risk of frustration or rejection in coordinating with an equally-willing Woman by taking it into their own hands, so to speak, with the help of readily available visual aids. But there is also taking it by force and through deception/coercion. Survey a group of 20 women and 19 of us can tell you the first time we were groped, harassed, or sexually violated. All of us can tell you the constant pressure we feel to be enough to satisfy a man along with everything else we’ve got going on with our bodies and brains.

Long story short – humans are ALL sexually frustrated and incredibly insecure. Being a truly satisfied human – mind, body, and soul – isn’t easy and only we as individuals are responsible for it, but most of us give up trying and settle for an endless string of cheap fixes outside ourselves to get us by, especially when life gets overwhelming. Add the handicap of having the body/brain hijacked as a child (which is the tragic case for SO many) and…well, it’s a jungle out there and there’s a lot of carnage that perpetuates with each generation. We are, as humans, truly cursed.

If my mind wasn’t hardwired for satisfaction through intimacy and connection with an actual person (one in particular after all these years) and I could be stimulated that easily with externally accessible equipment less than an arm’s length away at all times, I’d be every guy too. I honestly wish it were that simple for me. It would make my current (and possibly permanent) situation a lot easier to come to terms with.

Y’all know where I’m going with this and the only reason I am is to take away the stigma and power once and for all. There is nothing that has happened that is truly any earth shattering thing. As a matter of psychology (not morality) my husband took it farther than some and I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s where most men wish they could and plenty already are and they are your neighbor, your boss, your pastor, your brother, your son and your husband.

Everybody has done the math by now, and math was one of the reasons why I felt I had no other option than to go public. Care and provision for the family were being compromised. Because of the psychology involved (as explained in the previous post), there has been no private rational discussion possible. I’ve been desperately trying for over a year now. All he can do with me is deflect and dismiss and spin. He could barely ever talk about very minor things he’d done that hurt me, so expand that out to our current situation and…there is just no way. It is too much. He is not going to pull out of this any other way. But I have faith he can, at least to some extent, if he has nowhere left to run and no reason to. He has always been able to turn on a dime and switch out an addiction when it stops serving him. I’ve done what amounts to an intervention to make that the case. He doesn’t want to be that man, and now that it’s out of the shadows, he won’t.

This isn’t about sex. This isn’t about betrayal or a moral failure. It is about a Man, like any other, crushed under the weight of despair…except he’s not just any other man, he’s the love of my life and the father of my children and by far the most influential person in terms of shaping my spiritual life. There is no me without him. He surfaced enough the last time I saw him to be able to say the same – that there is no him without me. We are one flesh and one life. Nothing he has done or will ever do can nullify that.

I have no idea what we’re capable of being next, but I do know I’ve got to crush the Snake’s head NOW to stop the hissing lies of fear so that the Man can at least have a shot at living and we can eventually come back together as…something good, whatever that looks like, anywhere on the spectrum of possibility.

As I said before, he was there for me when I had my mental/emotional breakdown at the beginning of our journey with Four Creeks. Now I’ve got to be there for him as he broke at the end, and this, believe it or not, is what it has to look like. It’s because I’ve done the work to understand us (with professional help) that I’ve been able to figure out his language, learn not to be afraid when the most horrific things come out of him, and recognize they are a spotlight on what he feels the worst about himself that he cannot handle and therefore HAS to project on me. It is all he can do when he is consumed by fear and failure. The Curse of Man crushed him hard. As I said previously, no one could survive what we’ve been through without breaking. No one could be as isolated and vulnerable as he is right now without being utterly terrified and at rock bottom. We may process and express our humanity in vastly different ways, but I know that desperate place all too well and I cannot and will not abandon him there.

The only way to end this is to simply say out loud what is real and then let him see that the worst that is going to happen is that there are a whole lot of people who love us and nothing otherwise has changed. He has lost nothing, he will lose nothing, and he is free from here to do whatever he can and will with all pressure off from me.

There is nothing more for anyone to fear. Nothing more for anyone to hide and no reason to. There is no shame. There is no condemnation. There is only love. This is why I must finish the story and be done so we can all be free to love.

Reality IS Redemption

What Jimmy and I are experiencing is universally common to humanity AND ALSO personally devastating. And you know what? I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY OWN LIFE as the whole person I AM now using my own discretion alone to decide what is wise, what is good, what is beneficial, and what is love. I am a Woman who thinks, feels and now speaks without any fear. The truth has set me free and now I’m using that freedom to set other captives free. I picked up my own cross, shared in the sufferings of Jesus with countless agonized tears, kicked over a few tables in the temple because YES, I WAS ANGRY, I went all the way to that humiliating and torturous death alone, and I rise now to new life having conquered sin and death – AKA what it means to be a fucking Christian.

I lived it out in front of you, gave everything to all, went all the way into death and now I’m ascending outa here. Stop standing around looking forlorn up at the sky waiting for us to come back and do some more feel-good miracles for ya. You’ve got everything you need. Get off your ass and walk the path yourself, set yourself free…or don’t. As for me and my house – we are on to life abundant.

 

 

Living Above the Curse (Part 2 – Desire)

Are all men jerks? Of course. So are all women. We’re all assholes – foolish, narcissistic assholes, every single last one of us. Sexism in every form – misogyny, misandry; bigotry, racism, war, murder, rape, deception, thievery, slander, tyranny…all different flavors and labels for the same reality – humans are wired to be dicks, to themselves and each other, and there ain’t a one of us who, if we aren’t outright swimming in one of these, hasn’t at least dipped their toes in them ALL at one time or another and will consistently do so as long as we are breathing. Like I said in the last installment – we’re all cursed. That’s universal. The individual hows and whys are uniquely personal, and (as I’m going to keep circling back to) every aspect of being human falls on a spectrum.

Despite what any human tribe insists (and humans are wired for connection, so we ALL tribe up with whomever makes us feel most protected), there are no absolutes, no certainties, no “should be’s” no “have to be’s.” Nope. There just IS. This idea is all that remains now that everything else has been burned away. Everything is an AND ALSO

We are each and every one of us sacred images of God, capable of incarnating love and redemption AND ALSO complete idiot assholes capable of great, GREAT harm to ourselves and each another – often at the same time even within the same breath. I am, of course, absolutely no exception.

I am also fully aware that me admitting this out loud is what makes me so damn scary to so many people. Nobody wants to admit this about themselves. We all want to imagine we are immune, so we indulge in that original sin – fall for the lie and partake of the forbidden fruit that somehow we alone know the secrets to “getting it right” and hold the true knowledge of good and evil and how to apply it which manifests by obsessing on how everyone else is getting everything so wrong and trying to control everyone and everything in life but ourselves.

Ourselves in the moment is all any of us ever have control of. As such, I am, in this moment, taking control of my own life, ripping the band aid off, and writing the final chapter of the Exodus from Church World, the grand climax being the very public implosion of my marriage.

Is it the most excruciating and impossible thing I’ve lived through to date? Absolutely.

AND ALSO

It really is nothing special. There is no scandal or “moral failure” here. It’s just what it is to be human and to go through life. None of us gets out alive, much less unscathed. We all take our turn at being the oppressors and the oppressed. There are no bad guys or evil people in this story, only sacred, very worthy, very redeemable humans. “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

I’m under a great deal of pressure from all sides not to talk about any of it and have been shamed and threatened every step of the way for the last 6 or 7 years for not only openly expressing what is happening in my own goddamn life out loud but also my natural human emotions of sadness and anger associated with grief and loss that have been inherent in this process. It threatens the ability to self-protect and pretend of everyone else around me, and when people feel threatened they do very, very stupid, harmful things. It is because I understand this that I do not hate. It is because I understand this that I forgive. It is because I recognize this in myself that I declare there are no bad guys or anyone at fault or in need of punishment (because I surely want mercy and grace for myself). It is because I understand this that I’m still (perhaps delusionally) holding out for a spectacularly redemptive end to this story.

There just IS what is and I’ve got to deal with it as best I can.

By putting it all out there as honestly as possible (what I’ve been doing all this time in all my writing) is to expose the lie (the snake) that seeks to kill and destroy for the powerless nothing it really is. A lie can’t do anything to you in and of itself. You have to believe it and act on it for it to do any harm, and the harm is always self-inflicted and then deflected outward on others from self.

I’m setting everyone involved, myself first, free from the lie so we can ALL stop spinning around in the muck, get up, and get to living.

It is my great relief and pleasure to once and for all expose to anyone and everyone my own unique fucked-up-ed-ness and curses.

The Curse of Desire

“Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.”

Hello, my name is Jennifer Dickenson and I have attachment issues. I fall under the spectrum of class C personality disorders as a fearful avoidant. On a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being utterly unable to function in a relationship) I’d grade myself about an 8.5. At least I did before I died. Fear is no longer an issue as there is absolutely nothing left in this life for me to fear. The worst (for me as far as things I fear most) has happened in spectacular fashion, and it needed to be epic in direct proportion to my extreme survival coping mechanisms that I relied on to keep me numb and “safe” all these years. There’s nothing left now that I’m utterly destroyed. No shame, no avoidance, no self-protecting…but let me back up. This is who I WAS for 45 years before I died and why.

Family of Origin

If you have parents and family (no matter how exceptionally nurturing and supportive or exceptionally not) then you’ve got issues, because parents are human holy assholes too. Add abuse, neglect, or loss into the family dynamic and the issues become exponentially more complex and extreme. Point is again, none of us gets into or out of this life unscathed. We all have unique family-of-origin genetic and experiential curses.

It is being faced with my own human holy assholery as a parent that gives me all the respect and admiration for my own parents now as an adult even as I deal with our family-of-origin issues. The family I was born to is exceedingly wonderful AND ALSO unique in its very real dysfunctions.

I have a brilliant, kind, extremely passive and avoidant father. I have a much-more-brilliant-than-she-realizes mother who is not at all passive. She learned from her family of origin that there is a certain “right” way of being and doing and that her identity and worth and therefore her family’s (female – connected through her flesh) depended on staying within that “safe” and “right” way.

I have elements of both. Despite how I come across in writing, my speaking voice and mannerisms in person are very non-confrontational and, for the most part, shy and reserved. I’m actually extremely passive about most things and am most comfortable shying away from a challenge or fight. I don’t like it. I don’t like to be uncomfortable and I absolutely HATE making other people feel uncomfortable. It’s the worst as far as I’m concerned. But you push certain buttons in me that I care deeply about and I get super NOT passive really quick, especially if they are connected to the things that I am connected to through my flesh as a woman.

The easiest, least confrontational path to acceptance for me has always been to substitute avoidance of criticism for love. That’s my #1 survival mechanism/dysfunction from childhood that I carried through and relied on throughout my life. The price for that was to deny my own honest thoughts and feelings, stuff them down to the point of not even being aware they existed, and to put all energy towards being the good girl doing the “right” and “safe” things as dictated by someone else. Anyone else. Just never myself. I handed over my own power and autonomy out of desire for acceptance. No one took it. It’s no one’s fault or failure. It just IS because I’m human raised by a tribe of humans.

We also moved on average of every 2 years growing up. Sincere, meaningful relationships are extremely important to me. I can’t stand surface level anything relationship wise. That’s why I avoid most relationships until I recognize something authentic that makes it worth it to me. I wanted to belong and be accepted SO bad wherever I went, but just about the time I’d start to feel like I was known and accepted by the herd (school and church), it was time to uproot and move again.

Enter the teenage years and awakening of desire for the opposite sex in combination with those dysfunctions and you had a girl with very low self esteem, desperately wanting relationship, but horribly insecure about how to go about initiating one and therefore found herself saying “yes” to any boy who showed interest in her. Surely another one wasn’t going to come along and she’d better latch on to whichever one would want her. Then once in a relationship, she felt a sense of obligation and responsibility for the boy’s feelings – not her own. Remember, she didn’t HAVE feelings or wants of her own. In her mind it was right and safe to place those outside herself.

By age 18 I’d broken someone’s heart because I’d stayed with him out of a sense of obligation for his feelings and not my own for far too long, and I turned to another boy who showed interest in me to break it off with him, not out of romantic love but as another manifestation of my dysfunction and insecurity. But I was right back in the same situation of feeling responsible for the feelings of a boy, so I stayed with him because surely another wouldn’t want me and I didn’t want to hurt him the way I’d hurt the other. That boy, that sacred human, son of a mother whose heart and flesh were ripped apart forever, would be dead less than a year later because he loved me.

The reality of that was too much. I dissociated. I stuffed that horror down deep and ran hard by jumping back into freshman college life as if it had never happened. That is the traumatized, dissociated, nowhere near in my right mind (if I ever had one to begin with) condition I was in when I met Jimmy. I was a girl consumed by her own curses who fell for a boy consumed by his own. We were a codependent match made in heaven, destined from the very start to go through hell together. It could be no other way because we are each who we are. It is our story and it IS a love story because it is a life story. It is a human story.

A year to the day of the anniversary of the death of my boyfriend, Jimmy proposed to me. I technically knew this as it happened, but I simply would not allow myself to consider the implications or significance or absurdity of any of it. The curse of my desire was way too strong at that point – the desire for none of the trauma and horror to be real – desire for this Man I desperately wanted in every way for the first time in my life to be the “right” man who would take care of me and be the one to hand over the reigns of my life to. He never took a thing from me. I in my dysfunction and utter brokenness projected on to him everything he never had the capacity to be. All things considered, I’m incredibly proud of us both. We did the best we could with what we knew as who we are and that was pretty wonderful AND ALSO that old way of being together absolutely needs to die now.

Yes, a man ruled over me for 26 years, not because he is malicious or predatory in any way – HE IS NOT – I handed over my power and control out of my own desires – period.

Breaking the Curse

I know I’ve done a lot of talking about narcissism in relation to Jimmy. This is not a character flaw or moral failure in the least any more than is being an introvert or extrovert. It just IS an aspect of personality. Truth is we’re ALL on the spectrum and have narcissistic tendencies. My husband just happens to be heavy on one end of it and there are plenty of other humans out there on that end with him. He is the dismissive avoidant to my fearful one. On a scale of 1-10 (10 being a true sociopath) I’d rate him an 8.5 when he’s in his right mind and functioning. He has a tremendous amount of compassion and tenderness. It’s just compacted in the 1.5 and difficult to access and operate out of in ways most people conventionally do. But he DOES. He has been good to me and his children. He is a good man, and everything about our life in ministry together has been genuine.

He has his own family-of-origin curses and I know what they are and how they have shaped him, but his story is not mine to tell aside from the parts that are connected to my own. What I can tell you are aspects of his personality that have always been there and are not anything I haven’t always been aware of. Now they just make total and complete sense. To understand the why and the how is making all the difference in being able to let my desires for the husband I’ve wanted him to be die in order to truly love the husband I actually have.

Some of Jimmy’s defining characteristics that I no longer resent and can now accept for being what they are since taking control of my own life and allowing my desire to die:

  1. Elevated and grandiose thinking of oneself. He is, in actuality, quite brilliant and handsome, so there’s a lot to admire and appreciate. However, when he neglects the 1.5 it gets fucking ridiculous.
  2. Strong desire to dream and take risks – really big ones.
  3. Reluctance to see anything through to completion and abandoning projects/people in favor of a new dream/plan/exciting fix.
  4. Addictive personality.
  5. Great difficulty self-evaluating from a negative angle or admitting failure. Again, he CAN so he’s not a true narcissist in the clinical sense, but DAYUM is it excruciating for him to do so and he almost never will unless forced to, and if you manage to get him to that point he dissolves into a massive pile of pitiful butt hurt in direct proportion to the amount of dismissiveness and deflection he used to fight it. It’s why individuals high on this particular spectrum are so adept at gaslighting and why they do it.
  6. Tendency towards delusional thinking and flipping the script in the face of pain or fear rather than acknowledging and dealing with reality.
  7. Greatest fear is rejection and abandonment – hence all the extreme survival mechanisms to compensate.

Again, I cannot emphasize enough that my husband, though exceedingly opportunistic, is not at all malicious. I also cannot emphasize enough how genuine he has been throughout our lives together, especially in ministry – super especially Four Creeks. He and I both were operating exclusively out of our respective 1.5’s for an extended number of years. That took its toll. He was there for me when I came undone at the beginning of our journey with Four Creeks. I have to do what I can for him now that he has broken…and he has.

He broke and gave up over a year ago. No one could go through what we have without breaking, not even the superman he imagined himself to be. And when superman goes down – he goes down hard. When he is in his right mind at 8.5, he’s functional and loving. When his mind trips and he loses all hope, he goes from 8.5 to 11 into true sociopath territory. He did it in the beginning of our marriage and I knew when he’d done it again a year ago, I just didn’t know exactly what or how bad and I knew I couldn’t afford to until the right time or one of us might not come out of it alive – and I mean that quite literally. Twice in my life have I contemplated suicide, each one in the bookends of trauma in our marriage. Had this come out while I was in Visalia I don’t think I would have survived it. Not there. Not in that desperate place of rejection and isolation. I had to get out here to my family and find the strength to stand on my own first.

The timing has been everything. The only way out was to bring it into the light and expose reality and there was no easy, dignified or sanitized way to do it. I know this man and I knew he COULD NOT do it himself. I knew what I was giving up for myself as well as the condemnation and criticism I was inviting by going public (my biggest fears). But as a woman no longer held captive to her fears and desires I knew when I was ready to stop being a codependent and rise as Ezer. Jimmy is alone and vulnerable and drowning in HIS worst fears right now without me as the codependent he’s relied on to function our entire adult lives together. He needs all the love and support anyone and everyone can possibly give him to figure out how to be in this new reality. We need him to be OK and to come back to some level of sanity and functioning. He has lost nothing but his ability to hide. Everything, including me, is here and available to him in whatever capacity he is able to come back to. Without any reservation I will accept and work with whatever that is.

For those concerned about our kids, they are saving our lives and being absolutely amazing. All four of them are SO over their parents at this point, and it is for them that I am getting this final chapter out so that we can move on together – all 6 of us – in whatever capacity we are able. The 2 adults in their wisdom have removed themselves as far away from the drama both personally and online as possible and are focused solely on their own lives, as they absolutely should be. I am so very, very proud of them. The youngest two are amazingly resilient and are helping me pull my own head out of my ass (especially Libby) as fast as I can. As soon as I get this final chapter out, the focus and momentum is squarely back on them – again – as it absolutely should be and needs to be. There is a lot of exciting and joyous life to experience this year and we quickly need to get to a place of being able to live it.

I have only one more installment for the Curses – The Curse of Man – which is going to reinforce even further just how good a man my husband is and how very NOT shocking or “immoral” anything that has happened is in reality. Then one more piece of art as a goodbye/love letter to the old us and then…? I don’t know. I do know there will be no more talking openly about our marriage or him personally from that point on. The old us WAS for everyone. The new is exclusively ours, whatever that’s going to be. I had to finish the story though. How could I not? I’m narcissistic enough to believe it is of great cosmic significance and needs to be told for not only our own freedom and healing but also for that of many others.

All The Best

ALL THE BEST

I wish you love
And happiness
I guess I wish you
All the best
I wish you don’t
Do like I do
And ever fall in love with
Someone like you
Cause if you fell
Just like I did
You’d probably walk around the block
Like a little kid.
But kids don’t know
They can only guess
How hard it is
To wish you happiness

I guess that love
Is like a Christmas card
You decorate a tree
You throw it in the yard
It decays and dies
And the snowmen melt
Well I once knew love
I knew how love felt
Yeah I knew love
Love knew me
And when I walked
Love walked with me
And I got no hate
And I got no pride
Well I got so much love
That I cannot hide

Say you drive a Chevy
Say you drive a Ford
You say you drive around the town
Till you just get bored
Then you change your mind
For something else to do
And your heart gets bored with your mind
And it changes you
Well it’s a doggone shame
And it’s an awful mess
I wish you love
I wish you happiness
I wish you love
I wish you happiness
I guess I wish you
All the best

John Prine, artist

 

My Life in Pictures

I held a funeral for my life, our life, in pictures yesterday. It was an odd but necessary few hours of letting go; odd in that I was the only one in attendance and, unlike most funerals where photos are brought out and displayed, I was permanently putting away and deleting.

One by one our smiling faces, snuggling bodies, tender stances of 25 years from the beginning to the end removed from digital memory and social media documentation. The “perfect” couple, the “perfect” family no longer on display. Some still exist as hard copies buried in boxes in the home where we built a life together and loved two more lives into existence. Some adorn the walls. They are yours now. Most have been deleted into nothingness, never to be seen again except in my mind’s eye where they can never be erased. It is where they belong and will forever remain as they were only ever truly mine to begin with  – my reality that I loved sharing with the world – until that world disintegrated.

I was happy in each one, a genuine permeating fullness kind of happy that I only feel when I’m close to you. Each and every picture of the two of us elicited dozens of glowing comments from friends and family.

Now, they are just mine. My mental timeline. My history. My reality. My truth. It was real. I was not pretending. That has never been who I am. I may miss the mark in mind boggling fashion much of the time…but I am inherently sincere, even in my greatest delusion and confusion.

No amount of evidence, pictures, words of truth written or spoken seem to make any difference in what you’ve made up your mind to believe, and you’ve never believed I was happy with you or ever could be. Yet you always liked our pictures together, telling me how beautiful I am when I’m happy. Well, you giant idiot, who was I with in the pictures being my most beautiful?

We woke up this morning at 3 a.m. to the first day of our new life having shed every last remnant of the old. We’re each free, Babe; free to create and present our lives as we wish going forward. If you want to take some new pictures of us together to have for yourself, all you ever have to do is ask…and I’ll be happy to be beautiful next to you. I’m going to be my own happy and my own beautiful regardless, but I’ll always want to be that with you. Always.

The Day I Officially Came Out as a “Done”

 

October

I’ve only attended church twice as a nonprofessional in the last few years, and both times were in Nashville. Just about this time last year, I made a trip out to see my oldest kids and used the opportunity to meet my blogging brother, John Pavlovitz, as he was speaking at an LGBTQ-affirming church in Franklin. John and I already had a legit friendship/kinship established and had a blast finally meeting in person.

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The next day, my daughter Kathryn and I made our way to church to hear John speak. It was in that service during the worship time (church-speak translation: music concert/congregational karaoke) that I had quite the jarring epiphany.

I knew it was time to pull the plug on Four Creeks.

That in and of itself wasn’t the thing. We’d been coming to the end of everything for a while; people, money, sanity…will to live. Jimmy and I had set out to have Four Creeks be a church community where absolutely anyone of any persuasion, background, identity, ethnicity was valued and welcome to participate in absolutely every facet of church life. We did exactly that. It just turns out there wasn’t a market for it where we were, at least not one we were capable of tapping into by ourselves without resources and support. We had zero of either after the church that originally sent us out yanked everything out from under us very early on. We knew from the start we were dead walking. It was just a matter of time.

As I looked around the sanctuary at the beautiful diversity of humans worshiping together and the genuine love and enthusiastic community all the congregants shared, I welled up with thankfulness and awe that it did exist somewhere and that I was there to witness it. That Sunday last October, seeing the dream in vivacious reality in Nashville in stark contrast to our terminally ill child at home, I knew the time had come.

There was only a relieved resignation in that thought. It was the next one that I had never prepared myself to consider. If Four Creeks ceased to be, if our 20 years as professional Christians truly was coming to an end, what now? What kind of church would we want to join and in what capacity? Then came the epiphany.

None.

This was the exact moment I allowed myself to BE what I’d already been inside for a decade in Church World – DONE.

As glad as I was that this church existed and that so many people were being loved, valued and finding value in it, all I could think as I was immersed in the familiarity of a typical worship service that just about anyone else from my evangelical tribe would find familiar and appealing (except for worshiping along side a married gay couple or 20) was, “I don’t need this. I don’t want this for myself.”

Having been on the production end of church my entire adult life and living behind the veil working with pastors and church boards as employers (dear, wise friends when we were lucky; dangerously insecure and immature mega jerks when we weren’t), I’m basically ruined for the entire church machine. I can’t just sit back and enjoy the show. I haven’t had the luxury of finding value in church from that side of things since I was a child.

I get other people finding value in the routine, their preferred music (whether it be modern praise band, hymns or liturgy) or looking to their favorite pastor to inspire them. I just don’t. Having been raised in that world with a view behind the curtain, my oldest children don’t either. My youngest have zero concept of it as all they know of church is Four Creeks, which by both design and fate had no programming or any traditions to speak of other than simply meeting, breaking bread together and studying scripture and its practical applications with integrity. Kathryn and Ryan have since expressed just how relieved they are that their younger siblings won’t be raised in the church culture they were (before Four Creeks). I am too.

I’ve heard a lot of people admit that even if they themselves don’t really want to go to church, they feel they should for the sake of their children. I’m just weird, I guess. I told my therapist that it is for the sake of my children that I don’t want to go to church ever again.

That was last Thursday. Three days later I went to church with my children…because I wanted to…and it was profoundly healing and wonderful.

 

Coming Out

Hello from the other side.

I’ve been away from blogging for a bit as I’ve been undergoing the final stages of a massive life overhaul, “massive” being a bit of an understatement.

Here’s a list of things that if you’d told me even a year ago I’d be doing now I’d have laughed in your face or possibly slapped it:

  1. Terminating 20+ years as a professional christian.
  2. No longer identifying as christian, except when I do (more on that later).
  3. Getting a tattoo.
  4. Relocating to Tennessee after 30 years as a California resident.
  5. Living separate from my husband for an indefinite number of years.
  6. Changing my political affiliation from Republican to Democrat with the intent to vote for Hillary Clinton.
  7. Learning to be happy, confident, healthy and whole – mind, body, and soul – for the first time in my life (despite the majority of people I know being unable or unwilling to accept any of that to be possible considering numbers 1-6).

The process of coming out has been exactly that – a process – spread out over the last decade, the final fiery refining crucible in the last year. The years leading up to this big one were all about wrestling with my comfort and security lust to be able to get to the place of being willing to die to everything in order to see what remained  – what held true – after all that was consumable and expendable was burned away.

To contextualize my life in biblical metaphor (which I’ve always instinctively done since childhood), the last 10 years were my garden of Gethsemane where I agonized over whether or not I was willing, or even able, to go all the way. The last year was Good Friday to Easter Sunday, actually doing it and seeing it through to the end.

My first post-resurrection blog is an attempt to reveal the pure mustard-seed-sized gold nugget that remains now that the flames have subsided. I totally just mixed my metaphors there, but you’re with me, right? That’s all I ask, friend…that you stay with me without fear or agenda. Hear me. See me. Me is all I can be anymore and all I can give. That said, here’s all of me that remains after dying.

Oh Hey, I’m Ignostic

I’m a personality profile, self-reflection junkie. I’m obnoxiously obsessed with it, really. Perhaps this is over compensation for my personal lifetime baggage of believing my true self was not to be trusted or respected. Figuring out the real me and then loving her by honoring and trusting her has been the single most important thing I’ve done in this process. Realizing the futility of looking to any other human for my self worth, be it my parents, church people (gah, such disaster there!), or even my husband, was the second most important discovery. Though it’s natural to do so, it is unfair to the other person(s) and doomed to result in bitter disappointment and distract from the real work that only I can do in myself.

That’s why I get super excited when I come across words or ideas that perfectly explain what it is I’ve been feeling but haven’t yet been able to put together cohesively in my own mind, much less able to explain to anyone else.

The concept of ignosticism or igtheism was one such “Oh, there I am!” liberating discovery.

Here’s a boring wiki explanation, should you care to read http://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Ignosticism, but this is my take on it –

You might be more familiar with agnosticism, which claims nothing can be known about god’s existence, so the agnostic claims neither faith nor disbelief in god.

As an ignostic, one may claim genuine faith and spirituality based on personal experience (as I definitely do) but considers all god talk to be stupid, and by stupid I mean wholly inadequate to explain or quantify whatever god there is (my way of saying the “One True God”).

This very much includes my former tribe’s canonized god talk, the bible.

I no longer see the bible (though it was demanded I must) as “God’s Word.” I do see it as 100% the word of humans, gloriously representative of the complex mix of ridiculous, horrible, lovely, noble and sacred that we all are.

Am I calling the bible stupid and without value? Absolutely not. As I showed you above, the biblical stories, metaphors, and traditions are intricately intertwined into the tapestry of my life, from which I could no more untangle myself than I could unravel my own DNA…nor do I wish to.

Whatever honest human expression we create in regard to a conception of god is not stupid. It is holy and god-breathed in as much as a human made in Their image is. But to declare any of it to be absolute truth and to justify dehumanizing those who disagree CANNOT be God, and no matter how great the external pressure may be to conform, I will have no part in it. I’ve lived through (or rather ended up dying because of) so much human arrogance in the name of God.

Ironically enough, I take great comfort as I read the bible and see this cycle being played out over and over throughout the ages. There is nothing new under the sun. We have a long history of slaughtering prophets who dare challenge their culture’s iron-clad and bejeweled God Box, culminating in Jesus himself.

Sooooo, with this new perspective, I no longer entertain any thoughts or discussion regarding absolutes of “God is…” or “God says…” or “God wants…” but if a person is willing to engage in discussion centered on “what God is like” based on Jesus’ words and example, then I’m more than happy to engage.

The only absolute god talk that has any value to me is –

Whatever God there is, IS (I AM). God is Love. 

The only practical application (religion) I’m left with then is –

I AM in God’s image as a human. The only way to experience God is through my humanity. To worship/commune with/experience God is to cherish and honor the divine I AM that I am and the divine humanness of my neighbor. 

The quickest way to get me to disengage is to get angry and aggressively defensive with this very personal conclusion, as it is the only thing that remains after the inferno as my mustard seed nugget of faith and hope. If the simplicity of this so unhinges you, then you cannot handle ME, nor will I give myself over to you to be handled.

Heaven, Hell, afterlife? I don’t the fuck know, and – this is important now – neither do you, your grandma, your pastor, any preacher or teacher (celebrity or otherwise), religious tradition or any human that has ever lived and died on this planet, not even and especially the ones who wrote/edited/compiled/translated the writings a fraction of us in time and space call the bible.

You can tribe up around whatever god talk in which you find value and I won’t try to talk you out of it or think less of or belittle you (THAT would be stupid), but the only way for me to be now, on the other side, is tribeless – cage free.

Which begs the question:

Am I a Christian?

Hmmm, it’s complicated. I guess it depends on who wants to know and why. I know for a fact that I’m disqualified from being considered a “true Christian” by my former evangelical tribe’s standards. I’m well acquainted with the parameters of that particular God Box, and I definitely don’t fit within its confines. I tried stretching my legs within that box, but the tribe would have none of it. Rather than even consider doing a little remodeling to accommodate natural growth, they shoved me out and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not accepted there, for which I’m exceedingly grateful.

I’d spent so many years contorting and distorting myself in order to fit within that God Box that I honestly thought that muted and mutilated version of myself WAS my true self. I don’t think anything less than being ejected from that world would have gotten me out in the open and free. I was disoriented and in tremendous pain at first, but now I’m hitting my stride. The possibilities are wide open before me and I’m free to roam. Every once in a while someone within the box tries to shame me back in. It’s getting easier to just smile and say, “Nah Bro, I’m good, peace out” then continue to explore freely rather than waste any energy arguing about boxes.

But do I identify as a Christian anymore? Sometimes. Sometimes not. The week before we moved, my youngest son came down with strep throat. In the emergency room at 2 a.m. the clerk taking down our information asked about religious preference/affiliation in the event of a hospital admission and need for a chaplain. I paused for a second and then did what would have been unthinkable at any point prior in my life. I declined to identify as Christian and answered “none”…and it felt so deliciously right.

It took me a second to realize I had a big stupid grin on my face and how weird that must have looked, but that’s just it; no one cared. Nothing happened. No lightening bolts from the sky. No one jumped from around the corner to revoke my christian membership card.

Instead, a peace that made no sense, especially considering I was in the ER in the wee hours with a sick child days before moving, washed over me as I just let it BE what it IS, which in that moment truly was none, nothing, nada. I’ll have to do a separate blog on this sweet revelation and release into nothing and how I’ve never felt more connected to Whatever God There Is there.

Believing Jesus

On the other hand, I’ve never been more grounded in my understanding of what it means to be a follower of Jesus, so in that respect I am solidly and wholeheartedly Christ-ian. Again, the irony is great, but it is the shedding of all doctrines requiring specific beliefs about Jesus as being necessary for a get-out-of-hell-free card that would have most Christians I know refuse to consider me one of them. That used to bother me…a lot. I got over it.

It’s much easier now that I’m living in a place where no one knows my story and no one filters my identity through the labels of “pastor” “church” or “christian.” I get to approach each new relationship on my own terms, revealing what I choose to reveal about myself organically, no longer imposed upon and controlled by a system that tells me who and how I must be.

I’m free to believe Jesus without restriction and in full integrity as fearfully-wonderfully-made divine human me; free to live in and act out of the Great Truth of who I AM while upholding the sacred worth of every human who crosses my path without judgment or defensiveness.

What’s in a Name?

At one point I seriously debated whether or not to rename this blog, dropping any trace of “christian.” I also considered whether or not I wanted to (or should) continue to be the administrator of a FB group I started, Beautiful Rowdy Christian Bloggers

When I died, my appetite to convince anyone with god talk died as well, and much of what was being posted didn’t jive with me anymore. I don’t fit in the Progressive Christian God Box either, though that one is roomier, constantly being redecorated, and usually worth visiting from time to time, but I won’t be taking up residence there. It was the posts from fellow beautiful, rowdy prisoners struggling to be free of all boxes and find their footing on the outside that convinced me to stay.

Ultimately, I decided to retain the label of Christian, however loosely, whether anyone else thinks I have the right to it or not. It is no longer the unbearable, ill-fitting burden it once was. It was necessary and good for me to drop it completely for a little while, and Jesus never once balked or told me to get back in the box.

No. This is who was waiting for me just on the other side of death (gunna leave ya with yet another metaphor based on Matt 11:30) –

“Hey Girl, been waiting for you out here. Give me that ill-fitting burden you’ve been carrying for so long. It was never meant for you. Rest now and recover. When you’re ready, I’ve got a custom-made pack that fits you just right and is light enough to run with.” 

Be sure to check out David Dietz’s blog about God in a Box here. It was a major “Oh, there I am!” epiphany for me when I knew I was ready to start running again.

Peace out, Peeps of All Persuasions. You’re inherently beautiful and worthy. Do whatever you have to do to stay rowdy and running free. You are not alone.


*Inconsistency in capitalization of “christian” and “god” throughout this writing is deliberate and not a whole lot of typos. If I feel it, I capitalize. If I don’t, I don’t, no matter what formality dictates I should. I’m letting whatever IS BE regarding all things personal god talk.

Tips for Enjoying the Wizarding World of Harry Potter Universal Studios Hollywood

Greetings Peeps of All Persuasions. I’m taking a bit of a detour from my usual subject matter to post a theme park review. Actually, it’s not really a departure from my usual in that I love to write about and connect with people about things that matter. Harry Potter matters immensely to some, so HP fans, this one’s for you to give you a heads up on how to get the most out of your visit to the newly opened Wizarding World of Harry Potter, Universal Studios Hollywood.

Skip the Summer Months

This is theme park 101 stuff here, but for those anxious to get to see TWWoHP, my best advice is to wait. 

Just like Disneyland, the best time to go is during the non-peak months on a weekday. If you’re going to drop that kind of cash on fun, wait until summer is over, pull the kids out of school on a Wednesday and savor the experience.

Hit It Early

My college kids and I bought our tickets online the last week before the summer schedule begins, which got us in the park an hour earlier than general opening, and what a magical hour that was! We walked on everything with NO wait. The morning was a bit chilly and overcast – perfect weather to complement the snow-capped roofs of Hogsmeade.  When we came back later in the day it was hot and packed with people and not nearly as magical.

Leave the Muggles at Home (or in non-wizarding sections of the park)

The Wizarding World will really only be appreciated by those who truly love the books and movies. If you know which house you belong to (Ravenclaw) and your Patronus (moose), have ever uttered the phrase “accio toilet paper” when in need of a fresh roll, and tasting butterbeer is in the top 5 on your bucket list, you need to bliss out in the company of fellow HP dorks.

I asked my husband to stay home with our 2 youngest because I knew they wouldn’t appreciate it at the same level I and my oldest ones would. As such, we were free to squeal, happy dance, speak in really lame British accents, and even tear up a little (which I’ll freely admit I did upon first entering the gates and hearing the HP theme music) and not have to explain ourselves or anything to anyone.

The Must Do List

Ollivanders Wand Shop

I recommend doing the Ollivanders experience first, especially if you want to purchase a wand. We waited until the afternoon to come back and the shop was uncomfortably packed with people. In retrospect, I wish we’d taken advantage of our “magical hour” to do that.

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If you do splurge for a wand, make sure it is interactive (not all of them are). These will have a gold label on the box and contain a map of all the places you’ll be able to try out spells. Once your wand has chosen you, you’re ready to head to Hogwarts!

Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey

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This is the main attraction 3D ride within Hogwarts castle and the one ride worth doing. (Flight of the Hippogriff is a super short generic roller coaster that I wouldn’t bother with unless there is no line).

For The Forbidden Journey, take advantage of the FREE lockers to the right when you first enter. You’ll want to stow your phones and backpacks, and the biometric fingerprint locking system is super convenient and way cool!

The line itself is very entertaining. Since we did this first and there was no wait, we found ourselves pausing along the way to take in as many details and character interactions as we could. If you have to wait, this is the place to do it…again, why I recommend Ollivanders first.

The Bathrooms

I won’t spoil it for you, just be sure to pop in to a Wizarding World loo.

The Shops

13238914_10209821052028878_7597566550885398682_nTons of HP house swag to browse through. I couldn’t resist getting a chocolate frog at Honeydukes complete with collectible holographic wizard card (Godric Gryffindor). The chocolate itself was a bit meh and the frog, unfortunately, did not jump even a little…but no regrets.

Have your wand and map handy to recognize the symbols outside each storefront where you can cast a spell on the display windows.

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Food and Drink

One word – BUTTERBEER

We were a wee bit excited with the pictoral evidence to prove it.

There are several carts throughout Hogsmeade selling this classic wizarding world beverage either cold or frozen (slushy). I highly recommend the regular cold version as it comes with a rich creamy layer of foam. The drink itself tastes like the best cream soda you’ve ever had in your life, but it’s the velvety, buttery foam that is the real kicker. For anyone who ever drooled simply at J.K. Rowling’s description of butterbeer, you will not be disappointed.

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Three Broomsticks is classic English pub fare, and it’s delicious. Considering we were there at the height of the lunch rush, the line moved at a decent pace and we were seated quickly. Shepherd’s pie, roasted chicken, bangers and mash, roast beef, lamb stew (my vegan daughter had soup and salad), all soooooo gooooood.

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Having the time to peruse and take in all the details without having to battle too much of a crowd will make all the difference in a Wizarding World experience. From what I hear, there’s more to do at the Orlando park with a Hogwarts Express train that takes you to Diagon Alley and an Escape from Gringotts ride. Hopefully, Universal Hollywood will add those eventually. (Waterworld stunt show is right next door and has had a good run. Nobody would miss it, would they?)

Muggle Fun

13256544_10209811246463745_2204831231378013313_nThe Wizarding World of Harry Potter will only take up a couple hours at most and the rest of the park is a whole lot of fun and has changed quite a bit since we were last there over 10 years ago. The Minions have taken over the little kid arcade portion. We forced my son (who despises them) to pose for a picture and go on the Minion 4D ride which was super cute and well done.

The classic studio tram tour has been updated with a lot more 3D intensity (King Kong has come a long way from his banana breath days). Our guide Garrett and driver Yohan were very entertaining (all Yohan did was silently drive the tram and have the best freakin’ name EVER). Jurassic Park still holds up. Revenge of the Mummy is my pick for best intense ride. I regret not buying the picture from that one. I had a legit hilariously terrified scream face. Definitely use the free lockers to stow your things before that one.

I’ve hit the big 3 So.Cal theme parks (Disneyland, Legoland, and now US Hollywood) in the last few months before I leave for Tennessee. I’d have to say getting my Harry Potter fix with my young adult kids was my favorite. Hope this information is useful for any of my fellow Potterheads who will be visiting soon. It was a pleasure to serve. Mischief managed.

What Do You Do When You Know You’re Too Much?

I’m a severely introverted and reserved person. These days, in person, I’m unlikely to impress you. I don’t emote much. Whatever I’m feeling (and I feel the full spectrum of emotion with deep intensity) this is probably all you’re going to get.

 

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This is my excited face

My randomly selected combination of genes allows me the luxury of attaining the label of “attractive” female from others if I put just a bit of effort into my outward appearance. Truth is, I’m much more comfortable downplaying any outward attractiveness to the point I’ll even deliberately sabotage it when I feel the real me – my passion – my soul – who I really am, think and feel is being dismissed because it’s just too much for someone else to handle – which is most of my life, most of the time, and all my relationships at some point or another.

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Exhibit A: Flaunting the Frump

Free Willy

Spiritually and emotionally, I’ve been Shamu my entire adult life in Church World – a creature designed to travel and hunt in vast open expanses of ocean in community with my own kind, artificially isolated and enclosed in a kiddie pool as a commodity, my only value being the ability to perform for the entertainment of others. What choice did I have as long as my keepers were the ones holding and doling out all the dead fish?

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I’ve been in a horrible and weird state of limbo for 4 years now. We stopped performing and started acting out of our true nature with full integrity as Four Creeks Church. The first chance they got, the powers that be, the very ones who had given us their full blessing in front of the crowd, shut us into the tiniest holding pool in the back, out of sight, and withheld all fish…and then got very testy when I didn’t just quietly submit to that fate. Me being seen and heard was very bad for business.

I could have gone Tilikum on them. Lord knows I was screwed up and traumatized enough to convince myself I was justified in inflicting harm back.

And I so totally could have…on multiple occasions. I could have used my words to bring the whole joint crashing down on itself. Easily.

Instead, I used my words to bare my soul and let anyone who would listen see just how deep I go. The underlying message in all my writing has always been, “Help me, please. I’m dying here in these shallows” while exercising restraint to withhold the details as to what specifically was going on and who was doing it in the hopeless hope that some kind of reconciliation might be possible – that someone, anyone involved would turn and see and acknowledge this wrong and make it right.

That hope has died. Way too much artificial sea water under the bridge. Too much, too much, too much. I am too much for just about everyone and everything in this place…even myself.

I’m going to be swimming out to sea very soon and that hope has been the only thing keeping me alive. But my present reality is this – I’m still here, right now in the tank out back, severely malnourished, atrophied and covered in sores and I’ve got a couple more months to go here. I still, right now, am desperate for connection and relief; a kind word, hell…just basic recognition and “I see you” is really all I need.

Or is that still too much to ask of the “men of God” holding all the dead fish?

Jimmy & Jennifer, a Beautiful Rowdy Love Story 2.0 – The Camping Trip

It might sound a little bragish, but I think our marriage is exceptionally great. There isn’t a single couple I’ve ever envied and thought, “Gosh, I wish our relationship was like theirs.” Not that I haven’t been miserable and desperate for change in my own at times, but I have always considered the one I have worth fighting and even dying for.

We’re also more than a little ridiculous together and we’ve accumulated a whole lot of NOT EASY in our 25 years of being hitched, but this is precisely what makes us so great together.  We’ve managed to navigate some insanely treacherous territory as the perfectly dysfunctional hot mess we are. As I write this, we are bracing ourselves for yet another trip through the wringer, this one likely to stretch us beyond recognition into something quite different.

Painful as that sounds (and is), it’s more or less been our normal every few years. Several years ago I documented the first traumatic rodeo we experienced as newlyweds (Jimmy and Jennifer – A Beautiful Rowdy Love Story) and I was blown away at the response it received. Turns out when you dare to expose yourself with that degree of raw vulnerability, a lot of people feel relieved and free to say “Me too! I thought I was the only freak who couldn’t get their shit together!”  I also understand it can be rather unsettling for those not ready to release their tightly-clenched turds or admit they even have any.

But for those who are up for another installment of the shit show that is Jimmy + Jennifer, come gather ’round the fire and snuggle up to your significant other as I recount more of our ancient history and what has become the great metaphor of our marriage…

THE CAMPING TRIP

It was spring break 1993, just a few months before I would graduate from college and all hell would break loose in our fledgling marriage. All I knew at that point as a grossly naive 22-year-old with 18 months of matrimony under my belt was that I hardly ever saw my husband, had no social life, and was very unhappy. So when Jimmy suggested we get away together for a couple days of camping in the Mojave desert where he grew up (and where we’d fallen in love 3 spring breaks before), I was thrilled.

Day 1: Trusting Jimmy that he knew what he was doing being on his home turf, we drove to the top of a mountain that overlooked a desolate valley and the Colorado River in the distance. The plan was to hike down the mountain and camp by the river, so we stuffed our backpacks with as much bottled water as we could carry, leaving more behind in the car. I asked Jimmy if he thought we had enough. He assured me that even if we ran out we could refill at the river. I wasn’t OK with the thought of drinking river water, even boiled, but Jimmy assured me we’d be fine.

As we peered down the mountain, one side had a relatively smooth, direct trail leading from a transmission tower at the top down to the base. The other was covered in large boulders. We headed down the side without the trail because – OF COURSE WE DID.

By the time we reached the bottom after an hour of slowly lowering ourselves rock by rock, fully loaded with gear on our backs, our thighs were absolutely destroyed, but as young seemingly indestructible 20-somethings we laughed it off and started hobbling in the direction of the river…at least as far as we could tell since we couldn’t see it once we were on the valley floor.

I asked  Jimmy how we would know we were staying on track. He told me we’d find one of the many washes once we got closer and follow it down to the river. I thought a compass would have been a safer bet, but hey, I’d trust the guy who grew up running around in this dirt.

We spent the rest of the afternoon happily walking and talking and exploring, Jimmy reminiscing about growing up a desert rat. As it started to get late with no river in sight, we decided to set up camp for the night and hopefully reach it the next morning and spend that day and next night by the water. Though it wasn’t blistering hot (yet), April was still plenty toasty weather, and a refreshing dip in the river and resting my super sore legs for the day sounded mighty fine to me.

That night under a blanket of stars, and nothing else, just as Jimmy and I were getting down to romantical business, a large fleet of Apache helicopters descended low and began thundering across the valley directly over our heads before we could do much of anything to cover up. I’m sure if there were any young Marines who noticed us they enjoyed the show.

Day 2:  We set out early eager to find the river and have a day of play and rest from hiking. Jimmy suggested we descend into and follow the nearest wash which would surely lead us there quickly. An hour passed…two…three…four. Our water was running low. I increasingly kept suggesting we give up on the river entirely, but Jimmy was insistent. We had to be almost there. We finally stumbled onto a road and another hiker who was able to tell us the river was still a good 5 miles away and our path had been running parallel to it.

Jimmy’s reaction: Great! We’ll follow this road and be there in a few more hours.

Me: @*&#%?????

Jimmy: Fine. You stay here, I’ll RUN to the river and bring back water.

After unleashing another steady stream of expletives and screeching he’d do no such thing, I sat down in the dirt and refused to move. I was taking over this operation. We were going to stop, set up camp for the night, ration our water and head straight back for the mountain first thing.

Night 2, instead of romantical shenanigans, there was only seething silence and restless tossing and turning, trying hard not to think about the 10-mile hike back that awaited us the next morning or the 2 remaining 16 ounce water bottles that were going to have to be enough to get us through.

Day 3:  We started out as early as we could to get as much walking in the cool of the day as possible, waiting as long as we could in between tiny sips of water. The only positive was being able to clearly see the mountain we were headed to and knowing an oasis awaited us at the top. By the time we finally reached the base of the mountain, we’d long since run out of water and were dangerously thirsty. We slowly began the tortuous ascent up the long, steep trail on the opposite side from which we’d initially come down.

Even though my legs and throat were screaming, I got a sudden boost of energy and moved briskly.  The end was in sight, dammit, but Jimmy was failing. At about the half way point, he lay down unable to go any farther, dangerously dehydrated and risking heat stroke. It was up to me to make it to the top and get the water.

What followed was probably the longest 15 minutes of my life. I’d never experienced such desperate thirst, and I hope to never do so again. About 2/3 of the way someone’s old Big Gulp cup tossed on the side of the trail cruelly mocked me.

As I approached the summit with relief just a few more yards away, a horrible thought struck me. What if for some reason the car wasn’t there? What if someone had stolen or confiscated it? Suddenly the hope that had been giving me almost superhuman endurance was sucked right out of me and replaced by terror.

As I rounded the last bit of the hill full of dread and the summit came into view, I was startled to see the entire mountaintop crawling with Marines. The Boys had used our mountain to set up operations for their desert training drills.  And there was our car, right where we’d left it, except now surrounded by military vehicles buzzing about. As I stumbled through the surreal scene toward the car, a cute guy in desert camouflage gave me a cheerful, “hello ma’am” and continued on his way. I tore open the trunk and inhaled at least 3 bottles of water, letting the relief wash into and over me. It felt like heaven to finally sit down and take my time with bottle number 4.

But crap! Jimmy was still half way down the hill. I suppose I could have asked a Marine to help me go get him. I’m not sure why I didn’t ask the cute one. I did actually contemplate rolling some bottles down the hill rather than have to go back down there.  After a very deeeeeeep sigh, I put my backpack in the trunk, tucked a few bottles of water under my arm and reluctantly headed back down the hill, my thighs loudly protesting being forced to do the downhill thing again.

Once Jimmy got a bit of hydration, he perked up enough to walk to the top, but I had to carry his pack. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking on that second climb, but I imagine it was something along the lines of,”‘Let’s go camping’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun’ he said…grumble, grumble…City Slicker wife had to save Mr. Desert Expert Sissy la-la Pants.”

I then drove us down the mountain to the nearest town where we stopped and eagerly consumed a bunch of Carl’s Jr. cheeseburgers in stunned silence, until Jimmy piped up, “That was a great trip.”

Sigh…was it too late to go back for that Marine?

We Are Who We Are

We learned some things about ourselves and each other on that camping trip and have watched them play out time and again in our relationship over the years.

Jimmy values the big picture, not so much the details. We went camping, we came back. It was an adventure. That’s a win in his book and the experience itself is the reward and totally worth it.

The details are where I live so that we CAN live. They matter to me, and it’s good that they do. But I can lose sight of the big picture quite easily and without his adventurous yin to my play-it-safe yang, I’d miss out on much of the richness of the human experience if left to my own devices.

I never would have initiated going camping. Never would have seen the breathtaking view from the top of the mountain. Never would have made love under the stars. Never would have learned what a complete badass I can be when pushed to the brink.

Being extremely intuitive, Jimmy is a brilliant dreamer and a fantastic implementer but rarely has any kind of exit strategy.

I’m horrible at planning or initiating, and I’ll commit loyally (to a fault) to his plans and often marvel at his genius, but it usually falls on me to recognize when we’ve hit the end of the road and I simply can’t and won’t go any farther. Then, and only then, do I  assert myself and pull the plug.

We do our fair share of butting heads along the way, me fixated on the details, him with an eye on the big picture. To carry the camping trip metaphor into what we are facing right now, we’ve been in the thick of it for the last year.

I went into our latest big adventure of planting and pastoring Four Creeks Church with Jimmy with my whole heart and soul, fully trusting in his plan, and its conception and implementation were truly brilliant. But no amount of good intentions or brilliant planning could save us after we were abandoned by the church that sent us out, left in the desert to fend for ourselves with very little water. We eeked out an existence for as long as we could, but our resources eventually dwindled down to nothing. We kept walking thinking surely the river was right around the bend…but no. Relief just wasn’t going to materialize no matter what we did.

Jimmy and I are ridiculously stressed and have been for an extended period of time. We’re butting heads dealing with it the only way we can…as ourselves. True to form I pulled the plug on Four Creeks. I pushed through so much for so long until I simply could not take another step. I also realized I could not continue to live in this town, this desert, where we’ve been utterly despised and rejected. I need my family, my children, my parents – my oasis – and I have to get to them to live.

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It’s me this time who’s stalled out half way there and it’s Jimmy who’s going to do more than just climb the mountain for me – he’s gunna sacrifice himself and move the damn thing.  He’s masterminding and financing my exit strategy and rebirth.

I’m relocating to Nashville in a few short months with our 2 youngest to be near our 2 oldest college kids. I’m going to be living right around the corner from my parents when I’ve never before lived within driving distance of them my entire adult life.

Jimmy is going to stay behind in California to work and recover financially from the last few years – in the desert alone without the comfort and affection of his family. We don’t know for how long…at least a year, probably 2.

And once I get out there, I’m going to have to get in touch with my inner badass once again. I’m going to have to figure out how to do things on my own I never felt capable of or allowed myself to do before without my yin and Jimmy without his yang, but for the first time ever I’m going to have abundant resources and support to figure it out.

I suppose most couples go on a cruise or something for their 25th anniversary. We’ll be spending ours 2000 miles apart, ’cause that’s just how the shit show that is our life seems to roll.

Even so…I don’t regret a minute with this man. Not a one. The big picture, the views from the mountain I’ve experienced together with him are breathtaking, as is making love to him under the stars. Every aching muscle, every scarcity, sacrifice and near-death experience is more than worth it for this adventure.