I stopped blogging between May 2007 and July 2008. Following is a list of posts explaining my absence:
So in my other post, I promised more details regarding my prolonged blogging absence. Why I make promises like that, I’m not sure, because really, more than a year has gone by and do you know how many details are in a year? Well, there are LOTS of details in a year. And here I sit staring blankly at this darn screen with nary a hint of where to begin.
So I guess I’ll get right to the point. My very worst point. Because isn’t that what you’d really like to know about anyway? I mean, when I’m reading someone’s blog, I’m generally thinking, “OK, that’s nice. But what’s the bottom line here. WHAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE.”
So my bottom (as in rock bottom) was about this time last year. It was probably the day my dad (a seasoned Marriage and Family Therapist who’s seen his share of people with issues) asked me very seriously if I was suicidal. The question alone was enough to take my breath away, but what really frightened me was my answer. I’ve had my share of anxiety and I’m definitely melancholy, but suicide? That was never even on my radar screen until last summer.
I’ve known people who were suicidal and you know what, being on the other side of it was totally different. I figured anyone who was suicidal just wanted to die, to be gone, had no reason to live. I suppose that may be the case for some, but not for me. Actually, I didn’t want to die. To the contrary, I WANTED my children to have a mother and my husband a wife. And I WANTED to be my children’s mother and my husband’s wife. I WANTED to see my children grow up, to grow old with my husband, to enjoy life and to fulfill my life’s purpose. My thoughts of suicide were not out of want to be gone, but simply out of want for <i>relief</i>.
It’s hard to describe, but emotionally, I felt like I was walking along the top of a sharp mountain ridge with steep cliffs on either side. I was desperately trying to keep moving forward but as time went on, I felt like I was losing control. I was terrified that something was going to push me over the edge…make me snap, cause me to have a nervous breakdown, hurt myself or my kids, I didn’t know what. I asked myself on several occasions, “Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?” The energy it took to simply put one foot in front of the other and keep going was totally exhausting. I completely lacked motivation and my daily goals were literally reduced to two things: making sure my kids had three meals a day and making sure they were safe in their beds each night. Anything on top of that, like having fun, connecting with my husband, seeing friends or going to the store was gravy.
Now, I realize there are a lot of people in the world dealing with far worse circumstances than I was. And I think we humans are designed to withstand periods of intense emotional stress. But for me, the thing that made my situation feel so crippling was that it seemed endless, indefinite. I saw no “light at the end of the tunnel.” I couldn’t imagine how things might change. Stuck. Everything seemed immovably stuck. I now have a new understanding of hopelessness. And as tragic as it sounds even now, it’s the hopelessness that made death seem like a relief.
Keep in mind that the whole time this was happening, I really had no box to put it in. The symptoms of depression showed up about the same time I found out I was pregnant and I had never had depression before. But I have had challenging 1st trimesters in every pregnancy so in my effort to make sense of it, I figured I was just having a particularly difficult 1st trimester. And even though the story sounds relatively coherent now, going through it was a different story. It was nothing but blackness.
And then there was the guilt. I cannot tell you how overwhelming the guilt was. I mean, here I was with SO MUCH compared to most. I had a great husband, 3 healthy children & one on the way, all my needs were met, etc. I’d try to will myself out of it–”I just need an attitude adjustment,” or “I need to be grateful for what I have. So many people would love to have what I have,” or “I’ve been pregnant 3 other times, I can handle this,” or “Just pull yourself together and suck it up. Stop being a wimp,” or “I’m sure God called us to this place so stick it out.” I had one close friend tell me our church was not growing because of me. I was plagued with guilt.
And then there was the confusion about what God was doing. To me it seemed like God was showing signs that our time at our church was over. Meanwhile, Brian was sensing the exact opposite. And I’m thinking, “What gives God? We both want desperately to do what You want us to do and we’re asking, so how is it that we seem to be getting totally different answers?” And then we’d get opposite messages from people around us. Some would say they thought we should leave; others said they saw us there long term. I was desperately confused.
I had my moments of anger towards God, but mostly I felt abandoned by Him. I definitely felt abandoned. Surely He saw me in pain; did He overlook me? But as I said, this is how I felt; it wasn’t what I knew the Bible promised. I knew the Bible said He will never, ever forsake me. But was this an exception? Was He really a good God? At this point, I was even questioning whether I still believed the Bible. In the end though, I chose to believe, not because I felt it (CERTAINLY not because I felt it), but because He had proved Himself over and over again before. And believe me, I had to dig deeper than I’ve ever dug in order to hold on to the promise that He never lets go and that He IS good, even when things seem so bad. His goodness is transcendent, even if I can’t see it. So I hung on…and I made it clear to Him that I didn’t know how long I could keep holding on.
Meanwhile, Brian and I were completely missing each other in every way. We argued constantly. We were both dealing with so much stuff (me with my junk and him with the huge responsibility of leading a church that was clearly at a major crossroads). Saying we were on different pages is the understatement of the century. But then, in the course of 2 days, God broke through as if to say, “ENOUGH! The confusion is over.” It was at that point Brian realized how badly I was doing. He immediately resigned from his position…and watched his vision die right before his eyes. I know it was enormously painful for him. As far as I’m concerned, his sacrifice on my behalf is probably the single most healing part of my recovery to date, and a real-life example of Ephesians 5:25 (”Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…”).
So, we sold our home and many of our possessions, we moved across the country to my parents’ house, Brian found a teaching job, we found a new church home that ministers to our souls, we bought a new home and we’re starting a new chapter. I have no doubt we’ll be in full-time ministry again but I’m grateful for this season of rest and reflection. There is a lot to process after an experience like ours and I expect we’ll be doing so for years. But one thing I already know: I hit bottom…and there was my Rock.
Mike recently left the following comment in response to my post, You May Feel Alone, but You’re Not. Given that he asks such an EXCELLENT question (and a question which is so rarely asked—do I hear an “Amen!” PW’s?), I thought his comment deserved a place of higher honor (i.e. a post all to itself as opposed to a comment which runs the risk of getting lost in the bowels of this wacky site).
So PW’s, speak up! Before you lies a golden opportunity to share your thoughts, comments and ideas about this crazy world of pastor’s wifedom.
Here’s Mike’s comment:
So, I found your site today while looking for some perspective on being a pw. I have a calling on my life to pastor and really want to make it easier for my wife. My question is; what could your husbands do to help? I’m thinking of some simple things like always referring to [my wife] by name rather than ‘my lovely wife.’ But what else?
Let ‘er rip, ladies.
Our church has an ever-increasing population of young, single adults and the topic of dating and marriage seems to be a popular one. Here’s an excellent article written by Elisabeth Elliot (married three times, widowed twice—once due to murder) and I found myself “amen-ing” all the way through. Her experience and timeless advice is just as relevant today as it was back when she wrote it.
Her suggestions aren’t exactly what you’d read in the pages of Cosmopolitan (or Cosmopornitan as my husband calls it). No, they’re more what you’d read in the pages of, well, the Bible—stuffy as it sounds. Call me crazy, but I tend to think the Creator of the Universe has a bit more knowledge on the subject than the current “Sex & Relationship Guru” who themselves are often divorced and devastated in love.
And if you don’t want to read the article, here’s the bottom line: exercise a little wisdom and restraint now and reap amazing fulfillment and relational wholeness for a lifetime. Now there’s a concept.
I’m turning over a new leaf. OK, scratch that. I really shouldn’t lie. The truth is, I’m going to try something a little different—I’m actually going to answer a question I got from one of you, my dear readers. I said I’d do that before and did I? No. Geez. Why do I have to be so flaky?
Anyway, Laur posted a comment in response to my last post about the fact that our first 5 years of marriage were, well, hellish. In her comment, she asked the following:
not that i’m sitting on the brink of an engagement or anything, but i’m curious - while you’re on the subject, what rocked your boat those first 5 years? i assume it has a great deal to do with the crap you and your husband had lying around. i’m not asking you to get super-specific (not that i would complain!), but, for the sake of those of us looking in the windows at married life, can you alleviate the inevitable shock a little?
Well, Laur, you have a good question and I’d be glad to answer. And I’ll try to be super-specific.
#1. We were WAY too physically involved before we got married. Does that mean we had sex? Well, define sex. Did we have intercourse? No. But I maintain that sex begins long before intercourse. Let’s just say we were not heeding 1 Thessalonians 4:3-6 (or about 3948 other verses for that matter). So, as a result of our SIN, we developed some pretty warped relational dynamics. Before we were married, our relationship focused almost entirely on squandering the gift of sexual intimacy that should only be shared between husband and wife. And if you’re going to open all your Christmas presents in October, prepare yourself for a pretty crappy Christmas.
#2. If you’d like to get a good hard look at your crap, get married. Because why? Because “becoming one” with someone (Genesis 2:24) is like living with a mirror smack in your face 24/7. (I know this is vague and I can’t quite explain it, but this is the best way I can think of.) When I was single, I was good at tucking away the ugliest parts of my self into dark, out-of-the-way closets of my soul. I knew where they were and I especially knew how to steer clear of them. Well, enter marriage. Now Brian and I were “one flesh.” As he was exploring who I was as his wife, he would stumble upon these dark closets of mine. (You’d think I would have been smart enough to post “Do Not Disturb” signs.) We all have the option, of course, to live in denial which drastically cuts down on your spouse poking his/her nose into places you don’t want him/her to be. It may sound like a good idea, but don’t fool yourself. It’s only a matter of time before your secrets are revealed OR you’ll spend your entire life trying to hide them…but they will inevitably leak out. You’re better off to just deal with it at the get-go and get it over with.
#3. Our expectations were out of sync and influenced heavily by our individual life experiences. I vividly remember the time I first realized this. Growing up, my dad frequently asked me for fashion advice. God bless him, but coordinating a clothing ensemble is not his forte. I had fond memories of picking his clothes out and telling him what looked good with what. It was a little bonding thing that we both enjoyed. So naturally, I once offered a little fashion advice to Brian expecting it to result in the same sort of warm fuzzy bonding feelings. Wrong. Let’s just say my “fashion advice” went over as well as a toot in church. (Uh, that would be, like, flatulence, in case “toot” is new to you).
So, to sum up all this nonsense, here’s my advice:
#1. Live on separate continents prior to marriage. And if that’s not possible, don’t venture down the road leading to sex. IT AIN’T WORTH IT!
#2. Deal with your crap before you get married. (I’m beginning to sound like a broken record…or a scratched CD…depending on your generation.)
#3. Get used to the fact that your husband will be an alien. OK, hopefully not, but just realize that what you thought you knew about him will be thrown right out the window. (Same thing goes for what you thought about yourself and for what he thought about you.) It’s nothin’ to fear. It happens to all of us. Just roll with the punches, girlfriend. And pray a lot because God actually made that alien and knows exactly what makes him tick.
And oh what an exciting roller coaster ride it will be! And then you won’t be able to get enough of it!
Some of you have asked if the Young Adults came to our house yet and indeed they did…and kept us up until 1 am, I might add. I am 30 years old and I’m generally in my jammies by 7:00 pm. Even Especially on Friday and Saturday nights. I just don’t think 1 am was particularly good for me. But I was suckered into it because the night they were here happened to be the night we changed our clocks back one hour and it was amazing how easily they convinced us we were coming out ahead. But then I thought, OK, so now we are going to bed at midnight instead of 1 am. Am I the only one who’s noticed that we are still missing two hours of sleep since we would have normally gone to bed at 10 pm? Anyway. This little rabbit trail serves no purpose whatsoever other than to say that apparently we are old married farts trying way too hard to be cool young adults.
As I was saying, they came. With the exception of me talking way too much, I think a good time was had by all. By the way, that’s one thing I don’t like about myself. I talk too much. And I lack clarity. And I so often don’t finish my sentences. I know I do all these things and yet I still do them. This is what I call the Paul Syndrome. You know, “I don’t understand myself at all, for I really want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15)
Anyway, hi second rabbit trail.
OK, so basically we told them how NOT to date and stuff. We talked about how horrible marriage can be, or at least how horrible it was for us, and I think we accomplished our goal of scaring the bejeebies out of them as best we could. I’m only half joking. You see, I’ve got a pet peeve and it usually comes in the form of “…and they lived happily ever after.” Gag me with a spoon (why the Spirit of Valley Girl just came over me I have no idea). But I think living “happily ever after” is a bunch of crap. Maybe I should have included that in my list of marriage pointers too: (1) deal with your crap, (2) don’t marry a loser and (3) “happily ever after” is a big, fat, stinking lie. Why? Because marriage takes WORK and a whole lotta work in our case. Hollywood would have us think otherwise, of course, because who wants to end their movie with the guy and the girl finally getting together after all kinds of hoopla only to get divorced a year later? It wouldn’t sell because it’s too much like real life.
I’m not saying marriage isn’t happy. I am definitely happy being married. (But I certainly wasn’t the first five years, that’s for sure.) I’m just saying people so often jump into it quickly, with the expectation that things are going to move right along nicely with nary a bump in the road. Oh yeah, and if there’s a bump, well, there’s always divorce. I say no. You’ve gotta go into it REALLY MEANING (imagine that) what you say when you say “until death do us part” or you are doomed from the start my friend. By the way, this would be another appropriate time to emphasize point #2 which is DON’T MARRY A LOSER. A lifetime’s a long time to live with a loser.
Looking back, one thing I think we failed to do in all our expounding and carrying on was to talk about God’s grace, forgiveness and redemption. The fact of the matter is, God’s got this uncanny way of turning what we have totally screwed up into something completely amazing. This whole concept BLOWS MY MIND. How He works this out, I have no idea, but I ain’t asking questions. Not that it’s a good idea to screw up in the first place because the process of redemption is generally painful. And who wants pain? So again, I feel compelled to say, DON’T MARRY A LOSER. And don’t be a loser either, for that matter. In other words, DEAL WITH YOUR CRAP. Yep, I think that pretty much sums it up.
So, apparently the Young Singles group at our church is coming over to our house in a few weeks to talk about dating, courtship and marriage. It’s amazing. The titles “Pastor & Pastor’s Wife” have made us experts in so many things. I love it. We know completely nothing and then all of the sudden someone says, “Meet the pastor and his wife” and BAM! people think we know a whole lotta stuff. Trippy.
Anyway, so the group is coming to our house and we’re gonna tell ‘em what’s up when you’re a young twentysomething lookin’ to tie the knot. I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit and so I thought I’d share with you my thoughts—for two reasons. First, if I’m totally high, I know you all will tell me so. Second, if you’ve got anything to add, I’d be totally stoked because it’ll make me look that much smarter.
So, here’s what I got so far:
Number 1. Deal with your crap.
Number 2. Don’t marry a loser.
(That’s right. I’m the pastor’s wife and I just said crap. And I will say it many more times in this post. Hey, Paul said it—in the Bible, no less. Phil. 3:something. It’s usually translated “dung” but knowing Paul, I bet he actually used a word more equivalent to our “S” word. I have my limits though, you know. After all, I am the pastor’s wife.)
Anyway, let me recap:
Number 1. Deal with your crap.
Number 2. Don’t marry a loser.
I’ve tried and tried to come up with something more eloquent, but alas, something more profound totally escapes me. (It ain’t the first time.) I really feel those two things pretty much sum it up.
Here’s how I plan to elaborate:
Deal with your crap. It may come as a shocker to you, but you ain’t all that. Contrary to what you think, you are not Mr. or Miss Right. No, you’ve got crap and the quicker you recognize and admit it, the better the world will be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of nor are you the only one who’s got issues. We’ve all got crap. It just is my friends.
(By the way, when I was a young twentysomething lookin’ to tie the knot, this was particularly difficult for me come to terms with. I really, honestly, in my heart of hearts thought, felt and believed I was all that and a bag of chips.)
Crap comes in all shapes and sizes. In general, I define crap as the pain which comes from yours or someone else’s sin. That pain, in turn, makes you do, say and think things that are, well…either sinful or just plain stupid. I don’t know how else to say it. So, figure out what your crap is and get rid of it.
Next, realize that you will acquire new crap as time goes on and until you die so commit now to adopting an attitude of “Crap is not good and whenever I find myself with more, I will rid myself of it as soon as possible.”
Don’t marry a loser. This one seems like a no-brainer, but I am constantly amazed at how many people marry losers. And perhaps the term “loser” is a bit strong but I use it because it’s punchy. When I say loser I’m not referring to the terrorists, serial killers and pathological liars of the world. When I say “Don’t marry a loser, ” I mean, DON’T MARRY SOMEONE YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO MARRY. Again, a no-brainer, right? You’d think so, but it’s amazing how quickly common sense goes out the window when someone (1) thinks their biological clock is ticking loudly, (2) just found the “perfect” wedding dress despite not having a groom, (3) is getting constantly interrogated by well-meaning (whatever) friends and relatives with questions like “When are you going to settle down?”, (4) can’t stand the fact that their ex has clearly moved on, as evidenced by his/her recent $10,000,000 wedding, (5) has been a bridesmaid not 3 times but so many times she’s lost count, (6) suddenly has pangs for parenthood, (7) has already become a parent and is riddled with guilt that the kid is growing up without a mother/father, (8) wants to buy a house but needs someone else’s good credit rating, (9) is convinced there is just no other good men/women left in the world so “I’d better just take the next available one that comes along.” I could go on, but you get my point. Oh yeah, one more thing. If you’re a Christian in search of a mate, remember this formula: Not Saved = Not An Option. Period.
Anyway, I’m running out of steam and I’m getting a little tired standing up here on my soap box. Besides, I now have to go live vicariously through the people racing around the world on The Amazing Race. I want so badly to be a participant on that show but I can’t because I’m too afraid of what sort of ugly, unbecoming behavior would most inevitably leak out in the heat of the battle for that 1 million bucks. It’s just my crap. I’m working on it.