#myproject41 7/365: Greg (Part 4)

Greg and I had been dating for one day shy of 2 months when his niece and nephew were murdered.

We were shoved abruptly out of our honeymoon phase straight into a terrible Lifetime movie. 

And suddenly, I didn't know my role.

If you've ever met Greg's parents, then you already know you're family in their book. I've not met more loving, generous, accepting humans. Need a ride to the airport? A hot meal? Something fixed? A visit in the hospital? A place to stay? To be prayed for? Some Biblical wisdom? To feel loved? You call Pat and Carol. I seriously scored in the in-law department with the Murphy's, and actually refer to them as my "in-love's". So they'd already welcomed myself, 11-year-old Jasper and 4-year-old Teiley into their family.

But their only grandchildren had just been taken from them. And while I've not actually had this conversation with them so I'm totally theorizing, I imagine the best way they knew to protect themselves from further anguish was to put a wall up with me and my kids, who were not yet a "sure thing" as far as staying in their lives. To be honest, I'm not even sure they knew that was happening. 

The difference was noticeable. I was suddenly allowed only at arm's length, and it was painful. But it was understandable. I've never once felt anger over that, but I didn't know how to fit into this family now, this family who was grieving so heavily over children I hadn't had the privilege of knowing. 

Within the week, Greg and his sister Kristie joined their parents and Eric for the memorial service. I felt completely disconnected from Greg and that was really difficult for me. I'm a quality time kind of gal, and to be separated from Greg during something so painful for him was awful. I knew it wasn't about me, but I was struggling for sure. This was definitely a growing opportunity to be less selfish and put the needs of Greg over my own.

Nighttime was the worst. Greg was busy with family hundreds of miles away, and I was alone once the kids were in bed. This was around the time the book "Heaven is for Real" came out, and I lost myself in the story of young Colton Burpee's journey to heaven and back. It wasn't an easy read for me, though. Envisioning his parents in the hospital as he was in surgery, them fearing their little boy was dying was just too much. I cried out to God. I needed to feel Him with me.

I turned the page and BAM.

Do you remember this story? This painting of Jesus was done by an 8 year old girl who lived across the world from Colton. Months later, after his life was saved through prayer and skilled surgeon's hands, he told his dad that this was a picture of the Man who was with him during his surgery.

*goosebumps*

And as soon as I saw this picture, my heart breathed a deep sigh of relief. A peace I couldn't explain washed over me. I knew the Lord saw me. I knew He was there. He heard me, He answered my prayer, and I drifted off to sleep.

I didn't know my role in the Murphy family as a whole, but I could be there for Greg. 

I've never shied away from others' pain. My own sometimes, sure. But sitting with someone else who is hurting is a comfortable space for me. It's a blessing and a curse. I'm not afraid to cry with someone who's hurting. I'm not afraid to just be quiet with someone who's hurting. So I knew how to be someone he could lean on during this time. It wasn't about me or my needs, it was about how I could make a horrifying situation a little less horrifying for a man I already loved.

So when he asked me to go to Colorado with him to meet his brother just weeks after the kids' deaths, I nervously said yes. I was honored to be asked to join him.

I remember feeling excited to go on a trip with Greg, but so sad over the situation. Eric met us at the airport and grabbed Greg in a big bear hug while I stood awkwardly by. I wiped the tears from my eyes watching the brothers reunite, and waited to see how Eric would approach me before I made a move. He turned to me and pulled me into a bear hug too. I melted into him and we both cried.

We all got to the car and Eric drove us to a cool little restaurant. I made an inappropriate joke on the way - I wish I could still remember it - and Eric laughed heartily. He turned to Greg and declared, "I like her." 

I was so incredibly humbled that Eric would be brave enough during such an agonizing time to welcome someone new into his world. Greg and I spent a few days with him, my first time in Colorado. We hung out with his best friends, spending several nights around a bonfire playing Words With Friends. He took us to where Liam and Madigan were buried, and showed us the new headstone that had been installed. Being there was overwhelming. The cemetery itself was beautiful, perched high on a hill, overlooking all of Castle Rock. We cried together. I stepped back and gave both Greg and Eric time with the kids. We were quiet. 

On our way back to where we were staying, we drove by the prison where his ex-wife was being held until trial. Eric was understandably battling intense anger towards her, and seeing the prison itself caused a visceral reaction. Emotions were high throughout our trip, but when our trip came to a close, I left feeling like I'd just gained the big brother I'd always wanted.

So I was incredibly excited when Eric made the decision to move to Seattle not long after.

#myproject41 6/365: Greg: An Answered Prayer (Part 3)

Greg is a recovering alcoholic (12 years clean and sober!) and had dabbled in some heavy drug use during difficult times in his life before we met. So I knew my dad's concerns were valid. At this point Greg and I had been dating maybe 6 weeks, so my best answer was that I had no way to know how Greg would be in a tragedy until I saw him through one.

I had no idea that in just two weeks, I would be given that chance.

On Monday, May 23rd, 2011, I had just landed at SeaTac and was waiting to deboard the plane. It had been a long, early morning flight with my bestie and her two young daughters as their family moved from Texas back to Washington. (She's since re-abandoned me and moved back to Texas.) 

 

I was doing that thing where you stand at your seat, cramped, totally unable to move or leave the plane yet. I turned my phone on and it immediately buzzed a few times, informing me I had some texts. Greg had stayed at my house with my kiddos during the long weekend I was away, and I knew he'd taken the kids to school by now, so I assumed he was checking in.

I opened my phone to a panicked-sounding text from Greg. I let him know I would call him as soon as I was off the plane, and my mind began to race. What could it be? I was nervous.

I still remember the exact spot in the airport I was standing, just outside a bathroom, waiting while Tress took her girls inside. I called Greg, palms sweaty, totally unprepared for what I was about to hear.

"Liam and Madigan are dead." 

Greg's words were barely understandable through his sobs.

My throat closed. My eyes welled up. "What?!" I barely managed to squeak out. I suddenly forgot I was in public, tears streaming down my cheeks as Greg tried to explain.

Liam and Madigan were his niece and nephew. Liam was Jasper's age, Madigan was about a year older than my Teiley and Greg and I had been excited for them all to meet, because Greg was sure they'd be instant best buddies.

Greg's older brother Eric - whom I hadn't met yet - had been going through an ugly divorce. That Monday he was scheduled to be in court for the judge's final custody decision, but after the expected kiddo exchange didn't happen that weekend, police were called and they discovered the bodies of his kids, asleep forever in their beds. His ex-wife had decided she wasn't going to share custody with Eric.

Greg was beside himself. He'd gotten the news from his dad just after dropping Jasper off at school. Unsure of where to go next, he found himself in the parking lot of my work, having a panic attack in his car. 

On Mondays at Bellevue Christian School, the District Office staff - which I was a part of - met together to pray. I instructed Greg to go in and join them. The Murphy family had a long, beloved history with the school and they would take care of him until I could get there.

Tress and I raced to get her luggage and car seats and all the toddler-paraphernalia. I was distracted and just wanted to get to Greg. We met her dad at Arrivals and I was quiet, totally in my head on the ride to Bellevue.

As soon as we parked at the school I grabbed my stuff, hugged Tress and her dad and raced towards my office. I found Greg in the Superintendent's office with my coworkers, the air tense and somber. He looked up and leaped into my arms. We sobbed together and the room cleared out around us.

After a while we calmed down and talked about what to do next. Greg called his sister and we agreed to meet at the Redmond Pancake House. I'd never been there before, and I haven't been since.

#myproject41 5/365: Greg: An Answered Prayer (Part 2)

I left the shop that day feeling more certain than ever that I was on the right path. 

My heart was full with visions of all the women I could help take back their own power in this not-so-small way. For the next couple of Saturdays, I showed up in more shop-appropriate attire with a can-do attitude and a desire to soak up as much knowledge as my new teacher had to give me. A couple more ladies started showing up as well.

One Saturday I arrived early, I guess, and saw the shop all locked up. I waited in my car for a while and a second vehicle arrived. In it was an older woman I didn't recognize. I'd been there like 20 minutes and still no sign of Greg or the shop being open. I checked my texts: nothing. My hot pink flip phone didn't have email capability.

Eventually I walked over to the other lady in the car and asked if she was there for the group. She said yes. We'd both been waiting over 30 minutes by now and decided group had been cancelled and we missed the memo. We decided to walk down to a coffee shop and get to know each other. We ended up having a fantastic conversation about tithe and other Biblical topics, and it felt like a very God-appointed time. 

I wish I could say I still remember her name and that we remained close, but that isn't the case. But I don't believe in coincidences. We each fulfilled a need for the other at that time, and I'm grateful for that.

Meanwhile, I texted Greg to check on him. It wasn't like him (from the short amount of time I'd known him) to just not show up and I wanted to make sure he was ok. Later at home I found an email he'd sent that explained he had to leave town suddenly and was sorry to cancel group that day. 

The next week, Greg apologized to our group, and sadly explained that the week prior he had been engaged to be married, and now he wasn't. 

Up until this point, I hadn't looked at Greg with any intention beyond knowing he was a human who had things to teach me. I mean, I was content with my life and focused on this new path I was on, and I knew from the get-go he was engaged. Plus I'd had my heart bruised not too long before I met him. So romantic involvement wasn't even on my radar.

But when I saw him sitting there, clearly emotional, his sad, forlorn eyes facing the broken concrete at his feet, his cool chain tattoo on his forearm...well, I suddenly had an urge to care for this man.

I jumped up to get him some water. I don't know why. I just needed to *do* something.

Later that night, he was on my mind. Still not in a romantic way. I'm serious! But my heart hurt for him, so I reached out.

"How can I pray for you?" my text read.

"Pray I don't feel so angry towards her," came his reply. "Pray for patience for me."

"Well, I believe praying for patience is praying for trials, so how about I pray that whatever it is you're supposed to learn through this, you learn it quickly so you can move on?" 

He liked that.

We kept texting for a while. For a few days. About everything. And nothing. It was fun. 

One night, after group, he called me. "How can I pray for YOU?" he asked me. 

I shared with him again my desire to run a mechanic's shop so that I could help other women in my position. I told him how I thought it would be fun to have it be a mechanic's shop and spa or something, so the ladies could be cared for while their cars were.

He excitedly shared with me that for a decade, he'd wanted to run a non-profit mechanic's shop, because it made him so angry the way a lot of mechanics took advantage of people who didn't know better. He especially had a heart for single parents in this position.

"I've been told I was crazy for wanting to do this," he explained to me. " But I always wanted it to be a mechanic's shop and *something* - like a daycare? I really want to help single parents. But I don't really know any!"

My heart was pounding. I was glad he wasn't there in person, to be honest. 

"Well, I love crazy. And I have the list of the 343 Single Parents at our church," I confessed to him. "I'm your girl."

We made plans to connect at church the next night, and hung up.

Sunday night, I saw him walking towards me in his greasy navy mechanic's jacket, and was shocked when my stomach did a flip. What?! No. NO NO NO. I didn't want to like him! I didn't want to like anyone! I was good! I was content! I just wanted to learn to fix cars, for crying out loud.

We continued texting, getting to know each other. One night I was watching Edward Scissorhands with the kids in a fort we built in our living room. Greg asked what we were doing and when I told him, he found the same movie to watch at home. 

Tei was too scared of the movie and we had to shut it off after about 15 minutes. 

Greg and I continued to text. And one time, after something I said, he replied...

"I think this conversation would be better continued in person. Maybe over lunch? Or dinner?"

My stomach flipped again. 

*pause*

"Um," I texted back, "Did you just ask me out?"

"I think I did."

*swallow*

"Ok. 3 things," I informed him. 

"1. I'm not dating right now." 

"2. I am NOT interested in being your rebound."

"3. I AM NOT DATING."

He chuckled.

We agreed to have lunch soon at a place near his work, on a weekend I didn't have the kids. Mexican food at this cool little hole-in-the-wall that sadly doesn't exist anymore. It was a little awkward but mostly fun and we just talked and talked. He paid for my meal. It was March 24, 2011.

I figured neither of us were kids, and I wasn't interested in playing games with anyone. So I gave him my rules about how often we could see each other, when he'd see my kids (or  not), and how we wouldn't spend time alone together for quite some. 

"I like you, but I need to take this slow," I said. He agreed.

Life has a funny way of making a fool out of us sometimes, doesn't it?

The very next Friday, when my kids were gone at their dad's, I invited Greg over to watch a movie. 

And we saw each other every day after that.

Now, any time I hear the song "Dog Days" by Florence and the Machine, I'm instantly transported back to the summer of 2011.  

"Happiness hit her, like a train on a track

Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back"

Those lyrics were kind of the soundtrack to that season.

Hot breezes flowing through the shop in downtown Bellevue, where Greg and I spent any free time we had. It was just down the street from my work, so he came by for lunch often, or would pick me up to take me to lunch. Together, sometimes with the kids, we got to help my sister, my best friends, their friends. I kept a log book of all the women we helped and at the time, we even paid for all the parts that were needed. Greg never charged a dime for his labor.

My heart was full. 

We knew within a couple of months that we wanted to get married, but we didn't want to freak our families out, so we just kept waiting and praying.

After a couple more months, I texted Greg's sister to ask if it would be ok if I maybe went out with her brother? 

"I think that would be fantastic," she replied. "He says some weird stuff sometimes, but he's a really good guy. I wouldn't let you date him if he wasn't."

She told him later that even when he was engaged to another woman, and even before he and I had met, she had me picked out for him. But she never said anything to either of us.

I remember a conversation with my dad in May of 2011. I was in Hawaii, on a trip I'd planned for myself before I'd met Greg. My step-mom had mentioned to my dad that I'd shared with her about wanting to marry Greg. 

"How can you be sure so soon?" my dad asked. "How do you know how he'll handle a tragedy? What if something bad happens and he doesn't stick around?"

*******************

How does an hour go so fast?

Xoxo.

#myproject41 4/365: Greg: An Answered Prayer (Part 1)

They often say you'll find love when you're not looking for it. Whoever "They" is. 

But I've found that to be true. Both times I found a big love in my life, I wasn't on the hunt. Both times I was following the path I'd felt the Lord laid out ahead of me and just followed in faith step-by-step.

Both situations have turned out very differently. And while I don't believe at all that divorce was in the Lord's perfect plan for my life - that was the natural result of two young, sinful humans choosing themselves over and over instead of choosing God and each other - I do see how He allowed the painful lessons I learned during my first marriage to create a healthier relationship the second time around. 

So I am grateful for every painful lesson.

When I met Greg, I wasn't looking for him. At all. 

I'd been single for a couple years by that point, and I honestly felt pretty adequate as a Single Mama - more so than I ever have a wife. (That goes for now, too, but that's probably a topic for another day.) I think the mere fact that I was shouldering the weight of raising two kids on my own made everything I did feel Super Hero-esque. I knew I wasn't perfect. I knew I wasn't totally nailing it every day and still making mistakes, but somehow, I felt a lot less pressure to do everything perfectly as a Single Mama. I kind of felt like I had it handled. Not alone, exactly - I'd built a strong community of Single Mamas and other people who had my back, and I leaned hard on Jesus. But I felt like I was doing my best, and it was enough.

I'd done a lot of hard emotional and mental work to get to a place of feeling content with life with just my kids. I had surrendered some things to the Lord: unhealthy ways I'd coped with pain; my dreams, my goals. I felt strongly that I'd be married again one day, but I knew it wasn't time yet and I was finally good with that. 

On my super tight budget though, my mode of transportation was a constant thorn in my side. I was blessed and grateful to be the recipient of a free-to-me car, but the thing about free cars is, people don't usually gift new, reliable ones! I joked that I was where cars came to die, because I ended up going through more than one of them in just a matter of a couple years.

Sometimes, just when things were going pretty smoothly and I felt like I was doing a good job, my car would die. Inexplicably, and without warning. It was quite humbling and overwhelming when this would happen, and every time it did, I experienced a massive emotional meltdown. It was as if the car breaking down represented my entire existence, and the feelings of helplessness and abandonment that inevitably came with that were often too much for me.

It was during one such meltdown that I was texting a friend who lived out of state. My Blazer sat useless in my parking stall, and with no foreseeable way to pay for a mechanic, I'd been several days at the mercy of needing others to give my kids and I rides or loaning me a vehicle. 

Honestly, I was feeling bitter about it all, and I remember texting, quite angrily, "Ya know what? I'm just gonna learn to fix my own damn car, and then I won't have to deal with this anymore."

I don't recall if my friend replied or not, but suddenly, I had a legit light bulb moment.

I texted again, this time feeling triumphant and determined instead, "Ya know what?! I'm gonna learn to fix my own damn car! And I know I'm not the only woman in this position, so I'm going to learn to fix cars and I will help all the women!"

I had my new path. I was excited. I was nervous, but I was determined.

I jumped on Facebook - obviously - and wrote out a huge "Note" (ohmyheck I just found it here!) about my new plan. By the end of the day, friends' comments had me running my very own ladies-only auto shop and spa, where you could get your hair done while waiting for your oil change. 

I loved it. I had this amazing vision in my head of waltzing into mechanics' training my first day in a skirt and heels, just to be ironic and in-your-face about being a female in a male-dominated industry. I would use only pink tools, hire only women, and make a difference. I shared my ideas with my work community, asking for prayer and support.

(Note: There is actually a woman in Philadelphia who does this now and I would love to meet her someday. Check out her shop here!)

I started researching mechanic's schools in my area. I found several but time after time after time the kind of training I knew I'd need (which was all of it!) was only offered in Monday - Friday, 9am-5pm kind of programs. My vision deflated, as I knew I couldn't quit my job as my kids' only provider to go learn to fix cars.

A couple of months passed and I still couldn't shake this idea.

At the time, the church I attended had "Growth Groups", small groups that met regularly and were led by anyone who had a passion to share knowledge and build community. I thought it could be cool to host a monthly mechanic's gathering where my Single Mama friends could come get help with their cars. I would arrange the whole situation, and I could learn alongside those who were doing the work. I reached out to my church to ask the staff if they knew of any mechanics who attended. Shared my plan with them. They loved it but didn't know of anyone.

Hmmmm.

Still, the idea was in my heart and I just kept praying the Lord would guide me.

In February of 2011, the newest round of Growth Groups was offered and my jaw dropped when I read the title of one: "Does Your Life and Car Need a Tune-Up?"

Some dude I didn't know wanted to teach people how to fix their cars. They'd meet on Saturday afternoons at a shop in Bellevue, he'd share some devotions and tie it in with what he'd teach on the car.

I signed up immediately, excited. I jumped on Facebook - obviously - to see who this guy was. Greg Murphy. Engaged. Into cars and motorcycles. Hmmm. He didn't look familiar but we had two mutual friends. One of them was another guy that went to our church so that made sense. But the other was a woman I worked with! Small world. 

Kristie was actually the drama teacher at the school I worked at, and every day after school, 5th grade Jasper would hang out with her and the drama team until I was done for the day. I made a mental note to ask her how she knew this Greg guy the next time I saw her, logged off Facebook and continued working.

Not even an hour later, Kristie walked into my office, for the first time in the 2+ years I'd worked there. It was strange because our paths never actually crossed unless one of us went intentionally to see the other, and it was usually me heading to the stage to collect Jasper at the end of the day. But there she was, in my office, letting me know she had a great rental idea for my kiddos and I, and would we be interested? (We had actually just moved into some guy's basement and signed a 6 month lease, so we couldn't move yet, but eventually, the kids and I did move into the top part of a missionary lady's house and Kristi lived downstairs.)

I asked Kristie how she knew Greg, and as I heard the words come out of my mouth, I realized they had the same last name. 

"He's your brother!" I blurted out, laughing.

I told her I had just signed up for his Growth Group and I was excited. She shared that she'd meant to tell me about it after reading my emails about mechanic school, but she just hadn't gotten around to mentioning either of us to the other.

Huh. Interesting. The world got smaller again.

I eagerly awaited the day when group would start, and I showed up in my bright green coat and heels, just like I'd planned. I was actually the only person who showed up other than Greg and his friend Matthew, who was co-leading the group with him. I nervously shared my story and my plan with them, embarrassed when I got super emotional and cried in front of these two strange men.

Greg shared a devotion from Oswald Chambers, and then we got to work.

Right away we got the Blazer up on the hoist. My car had a horrible, ear-piercing screech that Greg diagnosed as a belt needing to be replaced. He gave me an air gun and safety glasses, and I removed the splash shield from the bottom of the car. Then we lowered the car back down, and he showed me how to remove the belt.

I felt...empowered. Yes. This was it. I had found what I was meant to do! My hands were greasy and I was sweaty but I was on my way to learning how to help other ladies and I couldn't be more excited. 

*************************

Time's up for now!

Xoxo.

#myproject41 3/365: He Redeems (Part 2)

November 17, 2008. I'll never forget that night. It's replayed in my mind thousands of times.

Jasper and I came home from my work to find all of my then-husband's belongings in bags on the porch. My heart dropped into my stomach and I knew instantly what was happening. Our marriage had been on the rocks for a few years now, but this wasn't what I wanted. 

I told Jasper to go in the house and I ran to the apartment park to cry and text a friend and panic before I went inside.

When I finally did, palms sweating, stomach in knots, we walked into our bathroom and closed the door. He was silent, as usual. I wasn't, as usual. 

"We haven't tried everything," I pleaded. "Counseling? Something? Anything? Please don't just throw 11 years away!"

"I don't want to be standing here in another 11 years with you asking me not to throw 22 years away," he replied, void of tone. 

Eventually I woke up to the fact that he had long since given up. 

It took me another painful month of begging him to reconsider, apologizing, writing letters, sending texts, praying, before I finally realized that he didn't mean it when he said we'd work on "us" after we got ourselves right with God again. 

I drove the kids to see him in Portland for Christmas. He had already taken his ring off. 

It would take me almost an entire year to do that.

I get real attached to dates. So once I realized that we were really over, but he wasn't going to be the one to make it official, I ended up filing for divorce on our 9 year wedding anniversary. Not to be cold, but to minimize the painful dates for me to remember.

It wasn't final until our 10th anniversary, when I showed up at court alone and had to call him on his cell to get verbal approval since he'd forgotten to sign part of the paperwork.

July 28th, 2010. It should've been our 10 year anniversary. I'd dreamed of a big party for a long time. Instead I walked, zombie-like, through downtown Seattle, my new friend Tammy by my side. I was shocked to find people still running errands, cars still on the go. How could people just keep going about their business? Didn't they know my world had just ended? Couldn't they feel my agony?

It's funny what you can get accustomed to when you need to. I suppose I'm grateful we were created to be resilient in that way. 

I knew now I needed Jesus more than ever. And I wanted to "be single" well. I created a little motto for myself, "Live in a way that I can respect myself in the morning."

I'll confess now I didn't always live that way. Sometimes the loneliness and the temptation to find comfort in places other than Jesus was too strong for me.

But I tried.

And I knew He was with me. He proved that over and over.

I can't tell you how many times He showed up for me in amazing ways, tangible ways. It's because of my years alone with Him that one of my favorite prayers for my Single Mama and other hurting lady friends is that they'd experience Him in a tangible way, too.

I asked Him to romance me. Does that seem strange? I just knew it's what I needed at the time, it's what I ached for. To be reminded that my life wasn't over. That there was truly life after divorce. That I hadn't ruined my one chance. That I wasn't ruined myself. That I wouldn't be alone forever, because I didn't know if I could stand that. And being alone forever felt entirely possible.

One morning, after asking that of Him, I showed up to work and there was a bouquet of flowers on my desk that wasn't there before. No name attached. Just, "You are loved."

Another day, $500 showed up in my work mailbox, with a note, "From Jesus."

For a few months I existed on Diet Coke and coffee because my body just rejected food. After breaking a glass French press more than once, a surprise gift of a stainless steel one showed up at work, a gift from friends I hadn't seen in a decade.

On a particularly lonely and vulnerable feeling night, I confessed to Jesus that I just needed to be held. The next evening at church, an acquaintance guy-friend walked right up to me where I was serving coffee, and grabbed me in a giant bear hug without a word. When he finally let me go, he explained, "That was from Jesus," and walked off. (I still refer to him as my "Jesus Hug Guy".)

The night I finally broke down and took off my wedding ring, I sobbed. It felt so strange to have that finger naked now, yet another reminder of the brokenness and pain. I pulled out an old jewelry box to tuck my ring inside, and there, laying on the bottom of it staring up at me, was a beautiful square ring with tiny diamonds all around it. Engraved inside were the words, "I love you." To this day, no one else recognizes it or knows where it came from.

I was grateful for my part-time job. That place became my safe place, where I could hide from the pain and lose myself in the work, especially on weekends my kids were with their dad. Those were brutal. But while I was grateful for the job, it didn't pay a lot. I brought home about $1,800/mo and my rent - in the apartment my ex-husband and I had gotten together, planning to pay for it while we both worked - was $1,100/mo. The utilities for this place were somehow connected to my rent, even though I paid for them separately. So after a couple of months when I was behind on them - again - and received an eviction notice, I didn't know what to do. I'd already asked my church for help. I'd already asked my mom for help. The $600-some amount I was behind felt like a million. 

At the same time, I was in need of a bed for my son, who was sleeping on a super cheap, used twin sized mattress that wasn't even comfy for his thin frame. At the time, I had a surgery scheduled and my grandmother was going to come stay a week to care for my kids and I. She couldn't seep on that mattress. So I emailed my work community to see if anyone had a bigger mattress they could sell me for real cheap.

Two days later, I arrived to work to find a garbage bag full of sheets near my office door, and an envelope taped to my door. I went into the office and sat down, dragging the sheets with me. I ripped open the envelope and inside was a check for $1,000, with a note instructing me to go buy Jasper a brand new mattress, and please just return whatever I didn't use.

I was so grateful. Tearfully I emailed my gifter and thanked her. I asked her if she wouldn't mind if I paid my utility bills instead of getting the mattress? That felt more pressing at this point. She replied something along the lines of, "Please keep it all. Please buy Jasper a mattress and take care of your bills. I'm grateful to be able to give it!"

I found a new mattress and box spring for Jasper that weekend. And I had exactly enough left over to pay all my bills.

When it came time to spend my first Christmas without my kids, I was beside myself with grief. I didn't know how to do that, but I knew I couldn't spend it normally, as if they were there.  I decided the only thing that made sense to me was to go to Mexico, to The Mission, an orphanage for disabled children where I had spent a year as a teenager, where I had met my ex-husband. I had never spent a Christmas with the kiddos there but had always wanted to. And it felt right and poetic to go back to the place where I'd met him and redeem it.

I prayed and prayed about what to do. And while I was asking the Lord if this was the right thing, He led me to this verse: 

"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? 
I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:19)

There was a van that went from the church that ran the orphanage at the time, delivering gifts to the kids. I made some calls and found out there was one seat left on that van, leaving from Medford, Oregon just before Christmas. I would need to get down there, and I would need $200 for hotel and gas.

I didn't have $200.

At church one morning, I was really convicted about the fact that I hadn't been tithing. Not because I thought I "had" to, but because I knew my heart followed my money, and I was having trouble trusting God. So I sat in my seat, looking at my checkbook (because I still used one at that point). My register showed me I had $30 until payday, which was still a couple weeks away (I got paid monthly, which is really hard). I also knew this church deposited checks immediately, so there would be no "floating" this check.

"Lord, I'm scared," I confessed to Him in my head. "I want to trust You. I know my situation isn't a surprise or a problem for You. So while this seems stupid on paper, I'm going to tithe $200 right now, and I need You to take care of me." I wrote the check, stuck it quickly in the offering basket, and took a deep breath.

Next morning at work, my boss' assistant came into my office and closed my door. Strange. She asked me how I was doing, did I need anything? Was there anything work could do to help? This hadn't happened before. So, I shared with her my plan to go spend Christmas in Mexico. I told her I needed $200 for the trip and didn't have it. She said she'd talk to our boss and let me know.

An hour later, she came back into my office with $200 worth of gas cards. "Will this work?" she asked. I assured her it would.

I went to Mexico that Christmas. I got to love on the kiddos I'd met as a 19 year old lost girl, now a 31 year old broken woman. I got to pour into others in a new way. I got to burn old love letters and pictures in a "refining" bonfire on the property, and my solo time with the Lord turned into a 2-hour group worship session. 

And somehow, for the first time ever, my check wasn't cashed before I was gifted more Christmas money to cover the funds I'd tithed.

So, I get attached to dates. November 17th had been a painful one for me, until a few years ago when my mom shared some fun news with me: my childhood best friend's mom was marrying my favorite high school teacher! And just last year, July 28, 2018, the Lord redeemed that date for me through a painful yet freeing conversation with my ex-husband. 

Time after time after time, the Lord redeems my pain. 

What you can't see right now - but maybe you assume - is that I am in tears. If I were to share these things with you in person, we'd probably both be crying. Sharing these stories reminds me every time of the Lord's love for me and how He's made that known in ways that undeniably tell me He sees me and He's in all this with me.

He was always there. He still is. He steps in. He shows up. He makes beauty where there once were ashes. I know these things are true because I have lived them.

During this snowstorm, I have been struck by how different my life is now.

I am married to a wonderful, caring, patient, generous man, who loves me and my kids as if they were his very own. We also have a darling little 5 year old together and this past week or so, my house has been full of cuddling and puzzles and family movie nights and fighting and eating food together and walks in the snow and sledding. 

Jesus is still here, of course. He is constant, loving, never-changing. But He's redeemed my life in the most beautiful ways. Ways I'd barely dare dream He would.

And He will do the same for you.

Xoxo.