Morning Light

Morning light. I miss having coffee here every morning with my best friend. Today marks one year since he came home from a Christian men’s retreat where he asked a question and got the answer he’d been waiting to hear. Some brand new friends told him him it would be worth it, so he came home and told me our marriage was over. 

Of course it’s not as simple as that, and the journey was long to that point, but after all we’d worked through, it still came out of nowhere. We had hopes and dreams together that we had worked toward for 20 years. I thought we had enough love and friendship and commitment that we would be “together forever.” Today marks the day we began unraveling our cord of three strands. 

One year is long and it is short. I don’t wish to go back and I’m glad I never have to relive a summer of keeping secrets in my own house, weeping in the shower, in the bed still next to him or fearing the impending exit of my life partner.  

Technically all wasn’t final for 7 months but he was gone in 3. 

I’ve learned a lot this year. 

Divorce is stupid. 

But I learned I’m strong enough to endure and thrive through my biggest fears. My faith stands because my God is faithful. 

I cannot take credit for the joy that endures.  It comes natural to my personality type. I am a relentless optimist and stubborn in hope. The Word has not only been planted in me to save me (James 1), but has taken root so that my views of the world and my God and myself are not swayed by pain or discomfort or the unfairness of life. 

It’s been a year. And though we don’t share coffee daily, and there were weeks and months of tense communication, we’ve settled into a new normal of acceptance. We talked last night for an hour about my house projects and our kids. I’m getting my house painted and his work history includes painting and managing a paint store so I ran the bids by him and got his advice. He was helpful and I was happy to have his help. 

We may be divorced and our lives disconnected in a growing number of ways, but I suppose it is true in some sense that we will always be linked “together forever”. Divorce does not erase history or memories and our kids are the tie that keep us connected. 

The next step in my house painting project includes choosing a paint color. I lay the color fan out on the coffee table in the light and think about what a fresh coat of color will do to my home. The home I am making my own day by day and repair project by project. I take care of myself while I take care of my home. 

The light changes as the sun rises, my mocha mug is empty, and a new day has begun. 

After a quiet winter

The spring sun warms as birds chirp and the hum of a vacuum faintly disturbs the sounds of nature around me. An early lawnmower from a nearby neighbor adds to the soundtrack of spring. 

I’m content in my favorite season. 

I hired a carpet cleaner today, ordered a few things on Amazon and should have packages arriving a few days this week. Some would call this retail therapy, in a season when other forms of shopping and social joy have been removed, but for me, this shopping is different.

In the past I lived with a scarcity mentality. I differentiate between a love of thrifting and hunting for treasures and the feeling of hesitation at ordering things I need or want to live comfortably. These are two different things. 

With a comfortable savings growing, I am beginning to allow myself the freedom to buy what I want, to live guilt free, as I find financial freedom. This is both the freedom to save and the freedom to spend. There is a supreme contentedness in the feeling of being able to provide for my own needs and the needs of my kids, to thrive at supporting a rather large home and multiple businesses. 

I have never been independent in this way, and find it intriguing that I have less fear, more confidence, more trust in a God who delights in taking good care of me. 

I do not embrace a prosperity gospel, but I do believe God places and removes blessing and I can’t help but feel this season of stability in the midst of a world crisis is a purposeful gift to me. 

I feel like He’s saying,

“Girl, I see you. I have counted your tears this year, I have seen your trauma and you get to sit this one out.” 

I work hard to be sure. Projects are a joy and when there’s a need for masks I make them and earn a bit more. I spend a little more on Fair trade and take-out to support those who need. I give a little extra because I can. 

I don’t pretend to know why some struggle and some are shielded from it. No doubt we all take turns in the valley and mountain top. 

Both have their gifts for us. The view is fantastic from the top. But the running water and the wildlife are found in the valley. 

I can still hear the birds causing a ruckus from my perch on my deck. The vacuum has stilled and my carpets are clean. I order one more thing before paying the carpet cleaner. A comfy new outdoor couch for my whole family to enjoy. 

Spring is here and I want to be ready to live in the sun. 

Community

I scrounge the fridge for leftovers and manage to compile a tidy treasure of goodies: stuffed dates from the show choir party the night before, a handful of my signature scones from the Divorce Care party a couple  nights before that. A bag of salad that I top with nuts and fruit and cheese. I pull out the bag of frozen wild rice and start the roux for the Byerlys’ wild rice soup recipe. That will be a win for me with my kids and my guests. 

I tidy the house a little but I don’t stress anymore. I leave a couple piles of stuff on the stairs so no one mistakes me for a perfect housekeeper. The kitchen floor remains daycare dirty because honestly? That’s a fight I can never win. My theory is, if my house is cute, maybe no one will notice it’s a tad dirty. So far, it’s a deception working well for me. 

Four women will arrive soon, most of them relatively new friends. We bond over similar life struggles and experiences and we value openness and vulnerability. These women have become treasured friends. We share triggers and traumas but we are each overcoming our own messy crap. We cuss and cry, celebrate and sympathize. We all remind each other we are doing the best we can. 

We are enough and we are OK. 

Community. 

I’ve got it in spades. Book club, Bible study, my church ministry team gals, Divorce Care groupies. The small band of women who will sit around my dining room table. I think FB fans count too! Daily I am encouraged by you, by her, by them. Whether through a screen or face to face, past or present friend, each relationship is impactful and insightful, and we speak truth to each other. 

My community didn’t just happen accidentally. I built it on purpose. Volunteering, sharing my heart, showing up, reaching out. This is how community is built. 

My friends arrive with chocolate and wine, shrimp and meatballs. We lay out a feast and dig in, to both the food and the events of the week. 

Our bellies are filled and our healing hearts are too. 

First Holiday

The afternoon was quiet, the fire in the freestanding brick fireplace crackled, eagles soared out the bank of windows from a living room situated almost precariously on a hill overlooking the lake. 

The holiday meal at my parents house had been simple. Only a half dozen of us this year but we held to tradition and ate turkey breast and mashed potatoes, boxed stuffing, because that’s what we like, and jello. We say the jello is for the kids but it’s really a nod to tradition and my grandma who always made it, molded, with fruit and whipped topping. 

This was a different year, absent one, but we felt close and the chatter rose and fell, the youngest generation spilling over their plans and dreams and ideas. It was a pleasant day and we all enjoyed one another. 

Change has come in waves and ripples. This day the ripples were smooth and slow and almost imperceptible. There were only thoughts of what we had and the present fellowship of the day and what was missing and changed disappeared like a shadow when the sun comes out. 

The rest of the weekend held plenty of fun. Two hair appointments in an empty salon made for a fun mother daughter date. Bowling for a birthday in which we all took turns scoring poorly. Except Megan. She surprised us by being fairly good. We laughed and we should have taken pictures of each reaction for a fun montage. Ah well. Some of my best ideas come too late. 

Another day we decorated for Christmas together, fluffing tree branches, wrapping string upon string of lights. It’s a tedious ancient tree and it requires a specific procedure to assemble and light, but I can’t seem to part with it. Two years ago I cut the bottom pole shorter to fit my house better and finally this year I fixed it so it wasn’t wobbly. By some miracle all the strings of lights worked and the two unopened light boxes remain for next year’s potential Christmas decor emergency. We sang with Michael Bublé and reminisced at each time honored ornament. 

It so happened by a second unexpected miracle that all six of the kids I claim as my own were available for dinner one evening so I threw together a table of cloth napkins, goblets and centerpiece, a simple Amish chicken meal and we visited around a fancy table in our loungewear. There was laughter and fun and compliments to the cook and they stayed at the table far past the clean plates. 

This is family. Changing and growing. Adjusting and thriving. 

It was the first year my expectations for these moments were met. The weekend left me feeling supremely content. 

My home is now festive with twinkles and trees and the sounds of the returned basement occupant’s bass booming or the occasional victorious gaming shout fill the house with life. 

Our first holiday separated is a memory and soon everyone will be home for Christmas. 

This is me

I’m sitting in a Caribou, eating a mushroom soufflé with a fork and knife, savoring each bite. I’ve already had a peppermint mocha this morning before my divorce hearing so I just have a brewed coffee in hand. The sun streams in from the winter wonderland outside. 

I don’t know what I expected for this day, but the day came and I woke to thoughts of a Christmas decor project at church and not anything sad or grievous. 

I feel settled and at rest. This is acceptance.  

A friend asked me this week if I was more terrified of the future or more excited. 

Honestly it’s not even a hard question to answer. I have not experienced fear. There has been peace that passes understanding. I eagerly await the future while remaining present in each new day. The only explanation I have for this calm is that I simply believe God’s promises. I believe his promises about my past. My present. My future.

What is faith without hope? Without actual belief that God is good no matter what? 

I cannot deny that this transition has been smoother than I ever would have expected and that God has given me not only what I need, but also what I want. He’s given me specific things that are meaningful to me personally, and make me feel loved specifically. 

Today is just another day. A chapter has closed but I’m nowhere near the end of the book. 

A couple friends interrupt my solitary reflection and merriment arrives. A mug is presented bringing a sassy proclamation and I laugh loudly.

The day promises delightful companionship, delicious food and      diverting destinations. 

There is much joy to be had. 

“I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have. I had help every step of the way...Find yourself faith. It helps...No. It’s everything.”

- Princess Alice, The Crown

My name is Kristina Joy. 

Follower of Christ.

Joyful one. 

No longer we. 

This is me. 

Good, pleasing and perfect

A new profile pops up on my FB feed with his picture and a new name. I’m a hopeless FB sleuth so I follow it and find things that make me wonder and ponder. Maybe it’s not wise but I’m a curious mind about many things and many people and it’s not unusual for me to try to figure out what makes a person tick even if it’s a stranger. 

He’s becoming a stranger. 

It bewilders and baffles me. But it no longer hurts me. I don’t take it personal. My life is now my own. 

I see the scales of his life before on one side and the life after this decision with all the new realities on the other. I see the weight of the internal battle before, that once removed, favors the side of the scale where the after and all the new challenges lie. 

It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. 

I want to do this whole thing well, but I’m saying this right here, admitting I’m not perfect. I will probably ask my therapist to yell at me for digging into a life that is no longer my responsibility, and I’ll fess up to obsessing for a bit. But that’s not until Wednesday so I text a friend or two or three so I can remember my boundaries and do my own work. That’s all there is left to do. I have no business in his work anymore. 

He’s moving on but I know I have much work to do before I’m ready for that. Maybe I’ll make a list of what I want and who I am to get started. 

My Divorce Care leader quoted Romans 12:2 last week and I saw it in a new light. I have always known God’s will is good, pleasing and perfect, but I had never thought to use that verse as a gauge to discern his will. I had put heavy emphasis on the first part of the verse about not conforming to the world and having a transformed mind, but glazed over that last bit. It was right there in the verse the whole time. 

That is what I want for my future, whenever it’s time to move on. 

I want good.

I want pleasing.

I want God's perfect will. 

I’m going to do the work so I’m ready for it. 

Smoke lingers

Driving through the country past fields and farms it was the kind of still and early fall night where the sun shines dim and weak and the smoke from so many fall cleanup fires hangs heavy near the ground and lingers in the woods.

The leaves have all fallen now, and I didn’t have to rake a one. I’m grateful to have a lawn service to do that for me, though it was always a chore I enjoyed. The crisp fall air invigorates and prepares my lungs for winter. The work outside provided the 

contrasting freezing hot when fingers freeze but the body sweats from labor. 

Life is full of contrasts. I’m grateful and grieving. This week was hard. Communication was down because of travel - Robb moved to Ohio. I have worked to actively let go, but this week proved I have a desire to be kept updated on at least big events in his life. To be honest I don’t know what is the appropriate boundary. I had expectations that weren’t met that felt punishing. I don’t know the right and wrong of it, I just know the hurt that the change brings. 

I busy myself with preparations and projects and the two of us at home work to create new routines and new traditions. We have fits and starts and it’s hard and good. Sometimes the tears come and my daughter reminds me of truths I already know because she learned well from me. 

Things are backwards and upside down and the smoke lingers. The sun shines dim but I busy myself preparing for winter. 

I take the seasons as they come, for what they are, thankful for the change and that no season lasts forever. 

Renovation

I sprawl on the sofa, now facing the TV and take in the new order of the room. It’s a visually satisfying arrangement, symmetrical and simplified. Matching chairs, throws and pillows on each side of the fireplace I stenciled the very weekend Robb decided he was done here. 

The order in front of me belies the piles I’ve stashed out of sight in the front room behind me. Piles to be sorted and things that now need new homes. 

Such is my life. It’s simpler to make decisions alone, the need to consult with a partner gone. I choose my own shows, make plans with friends and find freedom in my saving and spending and giving. 

Some of these things I like very much. I try to sit and savor these new feelings, but the cost remains: discarded hopes and dreams need emotional sorting and all the spackled nail holes need a new coat of paint. 

I’m in the messy stage of this life renovation, and though there are rooms that show potential, I’ve got a dumpster, a screwdriver and a paintbrush and a whole lot of work that needs to be done.

Still, some days, I just lie here and watch my choice of show. 

The Lamp

 Another storm is blowing in so I turn off all the lights in my bedroom and open the drapes. The fan hums on low, a sleep habit I learned from Robb, but I can still hear an occasional rumble. The sky is dimly lit behind the row of pine trees on the neighbor’s property line. Sky lightening flashes and I think of all the times we used to watch the storms roll in together. That’s one of the things I loved about this house when we bought it. It backs up to a park, so there’s enough open space toward the west we see a fare bit of sky. I mull over thoughts of the week in the flashing dark. 

I haven’t heard his voice in nine days. I didn’t even realize it’s been that long, I’ve been productive and busy and happy. Madison had friends over, we picked apples, made apple crisp. Megan came home for the weekend, the fall weather was beautiful and we did fun things. We wandered to local art studios, took in the beauty of the arboretum, played Dutch Blitz. 

I’m slowing becoming accustomed to being alone in decisions and duties and life and yet it seems strange that we haven’t spoken in over a week. It wasn’t on purpose and I don’t know what that means. 

I text him and we decide to catch up. We talk for an hour and a half. 

There’s no right or wrong in how we should or shouldn’t communicate, no guidebook for how this is done. 

I honor my pain but I don’t let it boss me. 

We walk an unknown path and peer into the dark. When the storm lights flash dimly, His Word, the Lamp, lights the way, steady and unfailing.

“Live in harmony...do not repay.”

“Bless and do not curse.”

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”*

Step.

Step.

Step. 

*Romans 12. The whole dang chapter.❤️

Counting losses

Summer lingers on, an Indian summer they used to call it, with a hot and humid, sometimes stormy September. The sump pump still runs regularly and the backyard is squishy. But my two little backyard maples burn full orange and betray the season. A part of me wishes the weather told the truth and would bring our summer family back together. When there were five and not two.

I scroll Facebook and browse photos of fall vacations, and family events and happy families. I know it's just a highlight reel and I don't envy anyone else's hidden story.

I know everyone has a story.

But I make a list
and my feed reminds me photo after photo what I have lost.

Hot tub dates
Riding in the car instead of driving
Night walks
Looking forward to him coming home every night
Morning coffee together
Hosting together
Dinners out
Companionship and presence

My Divorce Care class was on anger this week. I don't tend to get angry. My experience with anger is that it is not profitable and often just a cover for pain we are afraid to feel. I'd rather just cry.

I read my list and let the tears come. I count and grieve my losses to heal. One cannot heal without naming each one.

The math says five minus three is two, but God has different rules and multiplies loaves and fish and families. I welcome others in who are counting losses and my family of friends multiplies. My home and heart are full. I make a list.

Wine and hot tub with my girlfriends
Apple picking with Madison and friends
Riding again, now with Madison driving
Basement workouts to Psych
Hosting teens
Planned healthy menus and dinners in
Friends and friendship


This first month seems to have gone neither fast nor slow, but a steady pace toward a new normal. We settle in to new routines as the weather cools, the sump pump stills and time meanders on toward healing.