What Humans Want

I came to a realization today, and it wasn't very pleasant.  It happened at the end of a day of training.  We were supposed to reflect with a partner. In my case, the partner was my principal.  We generally have a similar philosophy in life, so our conversation centered on school-related issues (shocker). Through the course of our conversation, I revealed my angst over leaving the coaching position for the classroom.  I was baring my soul, which is what people like me do. By that, I'm referring to people who say exactly what they mean all the time.  In considering what happened next, I feel like such an ass for doing that.

Anyway, at the end of our conversation, I knew that I was going back to the classroom next year.  Period.  There has been only one applicant for the posted opening.  Granted, it closes on the 15th, but still.  And according to my principal, the applicant is a poor one (apparently, he must know the person).  Likewise, he received a text at the tail end of the reflective exercise.  Apparently, it was from the husband (a Social Studies teacher) of the new Assistant Principal.  He had applied for the FACS position. Paul made the comment that he can be a coach until someone retires or leaves in the Social department, and the guy can do a horizontal slide when that happens.

Although you couldn't see it by looking at me, I was experiencing an internal landslide.  I don't even know why. I think it was a convergence of a number of factors:

1. Throughout the training, I realized that I could have done so much better as a coach, which made me want to go back and do it right this time. I couldn't bring my A game because I didn't even know what the game was.
2. Learning of the "maybe" plan reminded me of the old boys club that I often feel as though I have been fighting against throughout my teaching career.  The supposed action of making a place for this guy just lit me up - one more example of it.
3. I feel like a failure (see number 1).  I also feel as though I am being demoted, which is technically not true.
4. I feel powerless.  My principal is perfectly within his bounds to re-assign me.  I am not being treated unfairly or disrespectfully, and yet, I feel as though I am being dismissed.

Of course, I left, sat in my car in the city parking lot, and had myself a good, hard cry.  I bawl to let off steam, which is what I did.  After a few minutes, I was pulled together again.

Now, I am resigned.  I know what will happen, and I am readjusting my thinking, preparing for what needs to happen next.

Even so, as I sit here in my chair and reflect on the day, I am digging in, trying to figure out why I am so bothered by all this.  I did not fail, but I didn't accomplish what I wanted to either.  I have a good heart, I have the expertise, and I have the emotional intelligence to do this job well.  My persona is a problem, though.  I think that people are scared of me.  I am blunt.  I have a scary face.  Yeah, I'm just not quite cut out to be a coach.  I KNOW ALL THIS, so what's my problem?

I think that all people have basic unifying desires.  One of these desires is significance.  We all have a set number of years on this earth, and after they're done, what will remain of us?  That's a pretty hefty question.  It's even more poignant for someone like me, whose kids are grown, who is pushing 50, and who is closer to the end vs. the beginning of her career.  That whole child-rearing thing didn't work out for me so well.  So that leaves my career.  What sort of a permanent mark will I leave on history?

We all crave significance.  Even the most abhorrent of misanthropes want to be noticed.  We want to be seen, appreciated, and remembered.  We need a sense of place, belonging and purpose.  Why am I here, and will you remember me?

I think this is a part of my struggle right now.  Coaching was a chance for significance, and I blew it, or at least, it's gone.  Now, I'm going back to the classroom to finish out my teaching career.  I have proven to everyone, including myself, that I am not significant, nor am I especially talented.  I am utterly forgettable, and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Another thing that I think all humans crave is physical touch, and I'm not talking about sex - although, that's one form of physical touch.  I'm talking about the innocent way in which we connect with each other through touch.  The reassurance of a palm as it passes lightly over a shoulder, the electricity between two people as fingers, hands, or feet connect, the confident steadiness of one as the other falters, a strong hug when it's needed. . .when physical touch is pure and innocent, it is one of the most powerful aspects of humanity.  It is a connection that gives strength to the weak, hope to the hopeless, and life to the dying, whether body or soul.

Society has turned physical touch into something base and dirty, but the fact is it's one of the best things about being a human.  Touch provides deep, inexplicable layers of compassion and love that no words could ever convey.  We all crave it, and thrive in its presence, but sadly, we are sorely deprived of it.

Beauty is also something that all humans crave.  It is where we find peace and joy.  Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. . .the rolling waves crashing into shore, the delicate fingernails of a newborn, the gleaming finish of a freshly-waxed car, a gangling foal running alongside its mother.  If it's beautiful to you, it's beautiful. Humans are surrounded by the ugly facts of life every day.  Natural disasters, deliberate meanness of one human to another, illness and death . . these suck our energy, leaving us devoid of hope and optimism.  Beauty is the antidote, and we search it our everyday, several times a day in order to re-focus on what's important.

Lastly, humans crave challenge.  The human mind spends its entire lifetime in trying to make order out of chaos.  This explains the existence of school, the inspiration for innovations and inventions, the struggle in all our relationships.  Problems need solutions, causes have effects, actions have motivations.  We thrive on trying to untangle the myriad complexities of life.  We may complain about these challenges, mostly when we are in the midst of them.  It is exasperating and yet exhilarating to work the process. We never feel more alive than when all of our senses, knowledge and skills are working in perfect symbiosis. Balancing a checkbook to the penny, examining the finish on a complex woodworking or sewing project, or simply helping someone resolve a complicated personal issue is inexplicably satisfying.

So what do we do with all this?  I don't really know.  I think there is power in simply knowing and recognizing it.

I'm tired, Lord.

This hasn't been a great week thus far, and it's only Tuesday.  That's because last week has already spilled over into this one.  Things are super-stressful at work and straight-up depressing at home. 

Let's start with work.  For the last two years, I have been trying to be an instructional coach.  It's been fairly miserable.  There have been bright spots - times when I help a teacher or student, and it feels as though all is right with the world.  Most of the time, it's not fun at all.  Lots of PD planning, lots of trying to drum up business among the teachers, lots of meetings.  Let's face it.  It's just not been my thing.  I've tried.  If I'm honest, I tried last year more than this.  I was a lot more optimistic last year.  This year, if I'm honest, I have been just getting through.

On the plus side, I have had more freedom. I have had my evening open and free to do what I want.  I have been consulted - like really consulted - on many things.  I have known and kept many secrets.  I have really worked on my leadership skills.  Even so, it's all pretty much been for naught.  I certainly haven't gotten anywhere with my department.

Although it's been the works for a while, a colleague in my department told me last week that she is resigning to go work for another district.  It's May.  While happy for her, I secretly experienced mild panic.  Where are we going to find a qualified candidate so late in the game?  Naturally, I contacted my principal so we could talk it out. 

Through the course of the conversation, he came to the conclusion that I will be going back to the classroom, and they will just hire another coach - that person will be easy to train.  Oy. Did you feel the wind from the knife being sunk into my chest? If you did, imagine the pain I felt as it was going in.  I'll tell you why in a minute. 

Equally concerned as I that there may not be quality candidates to interview/hire, it makes the most sense for me to go back to the classroom.  Likewise, my principal is not a fan of another (non-tenured) teacher in our department, so he is planning to ax her as well.  Now we would need to fill two positions.  We could hired sub-standard teachers to fill the positions for a year, but I would spend my time in their classrooms, trying to get them up to par.  So back to the original point, it makes the most sense for me to just go back to the classroom.  Half the problem is solved.

Now, back to the knife.  In his haste to move me back into the classroom, he is considering the possibility of hiring a 6th grade MATH teacher (who is also the head football coach) to come to our building to become the LITERACY coach.  Do you see the problem here?  For my principal to basically say, Uh, no problem.  We will just train him to be a literacy coach, it feels like the ultimate slap in the face.  Like anyone, particularly someone with NO literacy experience, can just step in to tackle the reading and writing issues among students.

While I'm just fine with the concept of going back into the classroom and closing the door to do my thing, I can't help but grieve the fact that the last two years of my life have been a waste - that all my work is just going to dissolve into thin air.  Of course that's being completely negative, but still. 

I'm struggling.  While I thought that what I was doing and the person whom I was had been an asset, the truth is I haven't been exceptional at all.  Joke's on me.  Likewise, the position is already posted, so now, the tongues are wagging in the building.  Who's leaving and why? Ugh. Garbage.  It just makes me sad, sick, and stressed at the same time.

All right, that's work.  Now to address the issues that stare me in the face as soon as I get out of my car and into the house. 

My daughter has this new boyfriend, whom she likes A LOT.  Things have been going well for something like three months.  He's not a believer, but I justified that as ok because a) I'll just keep praying for him, and b) he treats my daughter with respect. 

Yeah, well.

About a week ago, my daughter decided to visit him (he recently bought a house and lives about an hour away).  She and he as well as his friends were going to go to a movie.  Then, casually, she slipped in the fact that the movie didn't start until 9 p.m. It's a three-hour movie, so she would be staying overnight. 

Right next to the knife hole from my principal is a new one, courtesy of my daughter.  Equally, if not more painful, than the first.  I didn't cry or fall apart. I told that I recognized the fact that she is an adult and makes her own decisions.  However, I also told her that I would be remiss as a parent if I didn't address the lapse in morality with regard to her decision.  I thought maybe she would come to her senses and realize the error of her ways.

She didn't.  She stayed overnight.  My heart cracked. 

Then, she did it again.  This past weekend, she stayed over at his house (with other friends, supposedly) to help him with his house.  My heart broke in two.

We had a discussion about it last night at the table.  It was calm for a while.  Basically, she sees no problem with what she is doing.  No matter what I say, she is not changing her mind.  I told her (without malice) that she needs to move out because her values and our values are no longer aligning, and we cannot condone her behavior. 

And so we are now living in a sort of uneasy detente. 

Every morning, I look forward to my quiet time with God.  I look forward to it, but I'm not always disciplined about it.  Even so, when I sit down and get into the zone with Him, I pray earnestly for all sorts of people, mostly students, but especially my family.  I pray for my daughter to be transformed, to become a strong woman of God, and I pray for her husband, wherever he is, to grow in faith to be a strong and courageous man of God - that the two of them will love God first and each other next.  That has been my prayer for a very long time.  I also pray for my son, with whom I basically have had no relationship since he married.  You see why life is such a bummer?

This morning, as I sat in the chair, I just bawled.  You know, the chest-choking, snorty, I-can't-breathe bawling.  All of my sorrow, disappointment, dashed hopes and expectations, and general sadness gushed out of my eyes and the gaping holes in my chest.  I didn't have a single word to offer to God.  Prayer feel so hollow in light of all that has happened.  I know that God is a God of His own timeline, and that He answers prayers - just not in a way that we might expect.  I KNOW all that, but still. 

How did we get here?  How, how, how has this all turned out so badly?? How, in the world, am I such a sucky failure of a parent??

Comparison is a devil.  When I see friends who have such successful, Godly, loving children, I am jealous and sad at the same time.  I honestly feel as though I put forth a solid effort.  SOLID.  I was ever-available to my kids.  For Pete's sake, that's why I chose to become a teacher in the first place - so I would be able to work and be a mom.  We put them in a private, Christian elementary school.  We made sure they were in church on Sunday, youth group on Wednesday, camps in the summer, mission trips, etc.  We took them places. We made sure that all of their basic needs were covered. We gave them experiences we were unable to have. 

AND THIS IS MY REWARD FOR ALL THAT?!

It's not fair.  In fact, it's a friggin' rip-off.  It's more than unfair. It's too much.  And it stares me in the face every waking moment of every day.  This is not a dream from which I get to wake up. This is my reality.  Every minute of every day, I have to DEAL with it.  Of all the things to fail at in life, why did I have to fail the only thing that really mattered?

Well, that's it.  I'm spent.  We're finally to my favorite part of the day, which is going to bed.  For a few blessed hours, I will be allowed to escape.  Yeah, I will wake up in the middle of the night and fret.  That's just to be expected now.  But just for a bit, I can get away and forget about it.  All of it. 

Like I said, life is stressful and depressing at the moment.  Yeah, I'm continuing to pray and read my Bible.  I haven't given up, but it's rough going. 

Midnight Misery

I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.

I have tried exercising and fresh air.  I have tried no screens.  I have tried baths.  I have tried mild sleeping supplements. I read almost every night.  I follow just about every textbook remedy to enhance sleep, to no avail.

The problem is not falling asleep.  It’s staying asleep.

Every night, somewhere between midnight and four, I am awake.  Usually, it’s 3 a.m.  Sometimes, it’s every hour on the hour.

As annoying as this habit is, the worst part about it is that the insomnia is usually accompanied by mild to moderate anxiety and/or irrational thought.

With regard to the latter, my middle-of-the-night irrationality will usually involve my kids in some way - some preposterous, detrimental scenario that I have created in my head, which when examined in the daylight will prove to be ridiculous.

Most of the time, however, my middle-of-the-night machinations are a turntable of the day’s events. Just as a vinyl record will spin continuously, so do the conversations of the previous day spin in my head.

While annoying, that, in itself, does not seem that bad.  The hell of the situation is that every seemingly stupid thing I said or did is on the highlight reel.  It’s my own personal Groundhog’s Day every night of my life.  Every over-the-top action or gesture is replayed.  This could include all the times I laughed just a little too loud.  All the quips that seemed so important to say at the time, but later proved to be extraneous and awkward.  Swear words that materialized out of nowhere and carelessly tossed into conversation. You get the idea.  Any and every time that I made myself look or sound stupid winds its way through the ticker-tape in my brain.

Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds.  I do.  But on the flip side, I do not know how to shut it off.  I wish I did.

The middle-of-the-night seems to be the time when I come face-to-face with every fear, insecurity, failure that I have successfully tucked away during the daylight hours.  It’s a Pandora’s Box of misery that I unleash on myself.

When I’m with it enough to recognize what’s happening, I pray.  I know that Satan has found my weak spot, my vulnerability, and is wreaking havoc. My go-to prayers have been Bible verses in those moments.  Psalm 23 was on repeat for a while, and Philippians 4:4-8 has also become a middle-of-the-night mantra to chase the demons away.

But I admit that I’m worn.  I don’t know why I’m such a basket case. Is it some unresolved sin? Is that why I’m plagued by myself? Is there something I haven’t confessed? Is there some soul business that I haven’t resolved? I don’t know.  I definitely don’t think it’s “Samuel Syndrome,” a case of me being awakened by God in the middle of the night, to which I am to respond, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

I do think that I have unresolved business.  I just can’t put a finger on what it is, exactly.  I suppose the most logical thing to do is ask.  God and I have plenty of opportunity to talk it over in the middle of the night.  That is as good a time as any to ask God to reveal whatever it is that I need to see/know.

He is truly the only One to whom I wish to give my midnight thoughts.  Even though there are a lot of people who show up in the middle of the night, crowding my thoughts, participating in my macabre tableau, I need to clear the room. At my core, I always try to do the right thing. I mean well. I try to put others first, and most importantly, I try to live my life in a way that makes Him proud to call me child.  The midnight pistol-whipping that I endure each night is not what He has in mind for me.  The question is why do I seem to think it’s what I deserve? There is work to be done.

Exposed

Writing is such a personal act.  When a person blogs, it’s a little like undressing in front of window with the shades open.  A blog has the guise of privacy, a 50/50 change of anonymity.  It doesn’t become public until someone looks, much like undressing in front of the window.  One doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing, unless s/he turns his/her head at just the right moment.  But when s/he does, the act of being exposed is embarrassing, blush-worthy.  We have allowed someone to see that which we have so fiercely protected up to that moment.  So why take the risk?

Why, indeed?  I can speak only for myself, and I blog because there is so much swirling inside - thoughts, emotions, memories, but mostly thoughts.  What I think can only be expressed like this.  I don’t feel comfortable sharing my thoughts, face-to-face with others.  Their non-verbals present the ultimate risk.  I don’t even care if they agree or disagree with me.  What I can’t tolerate is being mocked, feeling marginalized.  And so, I just put it all out here.

But what is “it”? Mostly, these are the big ideas on life that I have to work out.  Eleanor Roosevelt apparently said, “Great people discuss ideas, mediocre people discuss events, and small people discuss people.”  I try to spend most of my time on the first.  Commentary on the second usually leads to conflict, and third, well, that’s just a recipe for disaster.  It’s not really relevant anyway because people are works in progress.  They never stay the same.  What could be said one day about a particular person could be completely obsolete and irrelevant the next.  Why bother?

Once physiological and safety needs are satisfied, Maslow says that we all crave love/belonging, self-esteem, and self-actualization in that order.  I feel as though I am a member of the C team, since I have spent most of my life trying to get past number three on the list.  But haven’t we all?  Let’s be real.  Even before the digital age widened the gap in the search for love and belonging, I was clawing for it.

I have spent most of my life on the outside looking in.  At least, that’s the way it’s felt.  I suppose to the average observer, it seems as though I am comfortably inside the fence, and maybe I am, but certainly not comfortably.

I just want to belong, like really belong.  To me, that means I want someone to be looking for ME.  Waiting for me to arrive.  I want someone to find me intriguing, mysterious, captivating in a way that causes another to hang on my every word, breathless and surprised by what I will say next.  I want to be first, to be chosen first.  I want to be invited, and not because it’s obligatory to do so.  I want to come to someone’s mind first - like it can’t happen unless I am there, and I want to see joy and relief when I arrive.

Likewise, I want to be loved.  Oh, I know I am loved.  It’s a love that’s like a worn-in shoe, comfortable, predictable, consistent.  I’m not complaining about it; I want something deeper, more intense.  I want to be cherished, like I’m something special, unique, valuable.  There is something to be said for physical touch as well.  I’m not talking about touch that is a prelude to sex.  I’m not talking about the obligatory hug, expected between family members and friends.  I’m talking about organic physical touch, the touch that is frequent and follows the overflow of the heart - a touch that is at once protective in its fragility.

What would it be like to be treasured, much like the discovery of a surprising, fragile piece of sea glass from an ocean shore?

These are thoughts. They aren’t worth much, but I certainly would never share them with anyone in conversation.  I have removed a couple of layers, exposing what lies within.  As I pull the shade, I raise my eyes for one last glimpse, and I see you staring back at me.

No One Who Hopes in You Will Ever Be Put to Shame

Last night didn't end well. 

She was happy she had a date because she really liked this guy and thought he was cute.  Apparently, he reciprocated the feelings, and thus far, had been a gentleman. For example, he had arranged a date twice, and had picked her up from the house both times.  That was new for her.  Likewise, he had made the choice not to text her, other than to make arrangements for the date.  This was also new for her.  The not-texting thing made her a little crazy at first because it was something that she was not used to.  However, she seemed to understand that it was good because when he wanted to visit with her, he preferred to do it face-to-face instead of via text.  (Plus, he has something like three jobs, so he probably doesn't have time to text.)

Anyway,  all went well (supposedly) until it was time to say good night. 

I woke up. I heard the truck outside my bedroom window.  It was right around midnight.  Normally, it's a short goodbye and she is in the house.  Tonight that wasn't case.  It was dragging out.  I understand if you're sitting in the truck, wrapping things up, but I had heard them exit the vehicle, heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow, so I knew they were out there. 

I made a terrible mistake.  I got up. 

Then, I made another terrible mistake.  I looked out the bathroom window, only to see the two of them practically hoover-ing each other's faces off.  The sight still inspires indigestion.  It's my own fault.

I have to say I was appalled.  I know that I'm old school.  But seriously? Second date, and they're already making out like that?  And she had just broken up with her other boyfriend less than two weeks ago. 

There goes my stomach again. 

Anyway, I waited, even went back to bed to wait it all out.  I was disappointed, but what do you do?

And then, it got worse.  I heard them get into the truck and drive away.

What would you think?

I immediately lost my shit.  Like lost it.  Fortunately, my husband was clueless.  He had had an extra dosage of fresh air for the day, and was blissfully unaware. 

I went into the living room.  I wrapped myself in the blanket from the couch and started rocking back and forth, bawling.  I'm not proud to admit it, but I started banging my head against the floor. 

Again, I'm not proud of it, but I got on my phone, and I started calling.  In all, I ended up calling her 21 times, and each time it went to voicemail.  Why call so many times, you might ask?  What's the matter with me?

I foolishly thought I could intervene.  If I could just get through, I could shake her from current delusion under which she was operating.  So, I hit re-dial.  Again and again.  I left two voicemails - nothing that I am ashamed of.  Just desperate messages.  Full of sadness.

Then, I switched to texting.  Today's generation doesn't respond well to calls as much as texts, so I thought I might be able to get through to her that way.  Even so.  Deep down, I knew it was a hopeless cause.  Her mind, her heart, and her body were all elsewhere.  Unreachable.

I didn't text anything that I am ashamed of either.  In the past, I would have exploded all over, saying things I would later regret.  This time around, it was desperate:

(     ), where are you going?
I got up to make sure the door is unlocked.
I am waiting here. You told me. You TOLD me this wasn't going to happen.  I am about to throw up right here on the floor. 
You won't pick up.
I have called
And called.
Where are you?
I don't care if you think I'm crazy.  This is your second date.
Two weeks after you broke up with your last boyfriend.
(     )
(     )
(     )
Pick up.
Pick up.
Come home now.
Right now
Don't do this.
Don't do this.
Don't do this.
I don't know what else to do.  I have called. And texted. I have been praying.  I can only hope that God intervenes right now.

And then, I got up off the floor and sleepwalked to the chair. My chair.
I started praying, but the prayer were so scrambled.  Nothing made sense.
Then, I pulled out my Bible and begged. Begged for some direction as to what to read. 

I don't know why, but I pulled all my hair over my face and hid my head under a blanket. I could barely see the words on the page. I had been crying so hard that my eyes were almost swollen shut, my nose was completely blocked, and tears were staining and smudging the pages. 

Somehow, as if in a dream, I turned to Psalm 13, where I read:

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

Then,  I skipped to Psalm 23 and 25. 

In you, Lord my God,    I put my trust.

2 I trust in you;
    do not let me be put to shame,
    nor let my enemies triumph over me.
3 No one who hopes in you    will ever be put to shame,
but shame will come on those
    who are treacherous without cause.

4 Show me your ways, Lord,
    teach me your paths.
5 Guide me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are God my Savior,
    and my hope is in you all day long.
6 Remember, Lord, your great mercy and love,
    for they are from of old.
7 Do not remember the sins of my youth
    and my rebellious ways;
according to your love remember me,
    for you, Lord, are good.

8 Good and upright is the Lord;
    therefore he instructs sinners in his ways.
9 He guides the humble in what is right
    and teaches them his way.
10 All the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful
    toward those who keep the demands of his covenant.
11 For the sake of your name, Lord,
    forgive my iniquity, though it is great.

12 Who, then, are those who fear the Lord?
    He will instruct them in the ways they should choose.[b]
13 They will spend their days in prosperity,
    and their descendants will inherit the land.
14 The Lord confides in those who fear him;
    he makes his covenant known to them.
15 My eyes are ever on the Lord,
    for only he will release my feet from the snare.

16 Turn to me and be gracious to me,
    for I am lonely and afflicted.
17 Relieve the troubles of my heart
    and free me from my anguish.
18 Look on my affliction and my distress
    and take away all my sins.
19 See how numerous are my enemies    and how fiercely they hate me!

20 Guard my life and rescue me;
    do not let me be put to shame,
    for I take refuge in you.
21 May integrity and uprightness protect me,    because my hope, Lord,[c] is in you.

22 Deliver Israel, O God,
    from all their troubles!

Over and over, I read Psalm 23:

The Lord is my Shepherd,

I shall lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my soul.

He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil.

For your rod and staff comfort me.

You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil.

My cup overflows.

Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Each time I read it, I said it as a prayer and envisioned myself as a sheep being led, especially while walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  I envisioned Christ in front of me with his rod and staff, gently touching my side when I got to close to the edge.  

That's what it was like.

For two hours.  

I prayed and prayed for a Divine intervention.  I asked God to consider all the work that had been done thus far, to continue the work.  

My breathing slowed as I considered my powerlessness in this situation.  “Child,' said the Lion, 'I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.”  Her journey was not my journey. I was on my own, and it was a faith journey.  

During that entire two hours, it was as if I was someone else, somewhere else.  My sense of reality was suspended.  I don't know how to describe it.  I just did not feel as though I was in reality.  And then, I remembered Psalm 91: "He will cover you with His feathers; and under His wings you will find refuge."  As I recalled this verse, I realized that my head was still under the covers. I was finding refuge in the storm.  

Suddenly, I heard a voice say: "Sing to me."  

I was startled from my stupor, wondering if I heard what I heard. Then, I heard it again, 

"Sing to me."

Ordinarily, I would have probably rolled my eyes and laughed it off, but I was so despondent that I didn't think twice.  I started singing.  First, I tried to muddle my way through "10,000 Reasons" and switched to "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord." 

As I was singing, she came in the door, startled by the wreck she encountered by the window.  

She immediately started talking. . .Nothing happened.  We just talked.  I told him that I was saving myself for marriage.  Nothing happened.  

What do you do?  Do you believe?  She has lied so much in the past.  What does it matter, if she is telling the truth or not?  There is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

I waved her off. My nerves were shot.  Still are.  I have been through so much, unfairly so. Just when I think I can't take it anymore, or I mistakenly think the worst of it has passed, there is a new challenge to push me to the brink all over again.

Worst of all, there is no one you can talk to about this stuff.  You have to just suck it up and suck it in deep. Although this is my story and my journey, I also share it with someone.  I can't share my part of the story without exposing someone else's part. And so, here I sit, stuffing, hiding, pushing through.  

The average observer sees nothing different. I tell myself to smile when I encounter someone.  I always know when I have been frowning for extended periods of time because the pressure of the tightening of the muscles as they lift the corners of my mouth will surprise. It's an unexpected sensation.  I laugh heartily on cue, when expected.  I ask the right questions. I get everything done in the time and quality expected. I am the same person s/he encounters on a daily basis, only a little quieter than I used to be.  

That's because I have lost my voice.  I used to be so vocal about everything, so confident in who I was, as if I thought I was a wise, enlightening person - the one with the answers and logic.  Parenting, teaching, faith. . .you name it, and I felt as though I had it all figured out. Now I know the truth. 

Actually, I haven't lost my voice; I have just  put it away.  I have encased it in stone, because it's not worth hearing.  I prefer to hide in plain sight.

So why am I writing this then?  For two reasons.  First, I need to get rid of this poison inside me.  If I don't release it, it just destroys me.  This is how I process - I get it all out and somehow, I find a direction - a new place to go.  Second, I want it to be crystal clear that I cannot and am not doing this on my own.  Without God, there is no way I could take another step or make it another day.  

So where do we go from here?  I don't know.  I just know that I have to stay close to the Shepherd.  That's the only way I am going to make it through this valley called life.  I envision myself hanging on to His belt, my eyes trained on the details of that belt.  When I look to the right or to the left, or when I let go of the belt, I immediately find myself alone, wandering, and crying in the dark.  Following His lead and sticking close to His side are the only options at this point.