Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

burning down

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(A note: I wrote this in the fall of 2017. I’ve been rummaging through my drafts and half-written pieces trying to see if anything is worth finishing.)

What’s great about your life burning down around you is you see who can walk through fire and who lets the fire consume them.

Because both of those things are happening right now.

I don’t blame those who are going down in the flames. I am not shocked by the people lying down because it’s too hot, it’s too hard, it’s too intense.

I get it.

Sometimes I think about surrender too.

But then someone comes through. With a text message of a verse they’re praying over my family. With a song they’re singing as they bring our broken hearts to God. With a package delivered to my front porch to help encourage or care for me. With food to feed my kids and give me a moment to rest.

The ones who are battling the fire with me, those are the ones who will be invited to the rebuilding.

And the rest, the rest, I wish well.

I have gotten a lot of advice through this season I’m stuck in. It has all been with the best intentions. I am humbled and overwhelmed with the love and encouragement we’ve been given. All four of us.

I don’t take all the advice I’ve been given. I will say thank you. I will say I appreciate you. I will say I’m grateful. But to gain influence in my life, that’s a different story.

When you’re struggling to stand, it’s really obvious who is dragging your lifeless body to the foot of the Cross and screaming prayers for you. When you’re not sure which way is up, it’s really obvious who is storming the throne of the Lord with words you can’t say for yourself. When you can’t feel your legs, it’s really obvious who is getting down on the ground to cover you with His love and mercy.

You can’t fake that.

You also can’t expect it from everyone.

Here’s what is weird to have to say out loud, but it’s become apparent I need to:

You can love both Chris and I during this mess. There is no side to pick. We’re all on the same team. We all want the same outcome–health for our family, recovery from addiction. We’re not against each other. We’re against the sin and brokenness of this world and how tight Satan’s grip is.

If you’re fighting against one of us, if you’re fighting against the experts who are trying to help–why?

I know this says more about you than either of us, but dang.

Here’s what I’m learning about hard, necessary change:

Some people who love you will fight it.

It doesn’t make you wrong. If you’re seeking Godly counsel, spending time with wise therapists, reading books, and doing the scary, heartbreaking work of changing dangerous patterns and cycles in your life, some people will not like it because they need you unhealthy.

Unhealthy people don’t like healthy people. That’s too exposing for them. That requires them to do hard work too.

Let the people who are most vocal about your changing, the people who want to stand in the way the most, go down in the flames.

You don’t wish them harm. You don’t talk bad about them. You don’t do it publicly and loudly, but you let them go. The truth is we are not meant for everyone. The truth is some people are just with us for a season. The truth is sometimes it’s family members that cause the most damage and are the first ones who need to go away.

People have a way of showing you their true colors when things are on fire. Trust what you see. Trust what they’re telling you with their words and actions or lack of. People always show you who they are eventually. Believe them.

Then let the dangerous, unhealthy ones go.

My parents love Chris. They love our family and want Chris to be healthy and sober and present with us. But they have also made it clear they understand the reality of this situation, that it is much bigger than we imagined, and they will support me if I decide to end my marriage.

Their hearts will break, but truthfully, they’re already broken. I’m not sure anyone can make it out of this wildfire without a broken heart. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like there can be a positive or a bright side to anything.

I’m repeating this because it’s important:

You can love both Chris and I during this mess. There is no side to pick. We’re all on the same team. We all want the same outcome–health for our family, recovery from addiction. We’re not against each other. We’re against the sin and brokenness of this world and how tight Satan’s grip is.

And then I want to make it about you too, in case this post feels too close for comfort, in case this burning building resembles your life too:

There is no picking sides in the argument, disagreement, divorce, betrayal, lies you’re in. We’re all on the same team. We all want the same outcome–health, safety, happiness, love, acceptance, joy, freedom. We’re not against each other. We’re against the sin and brokenness of this world and how tight Satan’s grip is.

Remember whose team you are on. Remember who is on your team. Remember we might lose some people in this mess, but those people probably needed to go anyway.

 

 

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On Father’s Day

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I’ve struggled with how to write a Father’s Day post.

Chris is working hard at sobriety, making amends, and being present in our family. It’s going well, and it’s beautiful to see. But it also feels slippery, because sobriety is a day at a time and early sobriety is fragile.

Chris (and by extension, our family) is no longer in relationship with Chris’ dad. Through counseling and with the help of people who have walked this road before, it became obvious that staying in an already-strained relationship with an active alcoholic who did a lot of damage he will never take responsibility for or even acknowledge is not wise or safe for Chris.

Being around toxic or unhealthy family members, especially ones who aren’t self aware enough to want better for Chris is not an option for him anymore.

But it is Father’s Day and you still miss your dad.

So how do I write about Father’s Day?

This weekend we’re camping. We recently upgraded our camper (RIP Betsy Ross; just kidding, she’s still alive and well with a new, smaller family) and so we took off for a local state park to test it out. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I made reservations at the same place we had our very first camping trip as a family of four.

Back then we weren’t in an air conditioned camper like we are now. But it was just as hot and muggy. That first trip was in June of 2012 when Harper did not yet know how to walk, and she was covered in a horrible rash that might have been her parents’ fault (but that story will have to be for another time or, more than likely, never).

It was a miserable weekend. Harper couldn’t sleep in the uncomfortable heat that didn’t relent even when the sun went down, so she slept on my chest at night, the two of us stuck together with sweat and baby drool.

During the day, we’d hike or play between moments of weather-induced tears or whining. Sometimes from the kids. Other times from the mom. Looking back, I don’t know what made us power through that trip, pretending like we were having fun and we weren’t all miserable.

We didn’t travel much when the girls were little so we probably treated it like a vacation even though it would have been easier to just stay home.

One afternoon, we put Harper in the jogging stroller and two-year-old Ellie led the way as we slowly wandered down a rocky trail, trying to get to the creek where we could cool off for a moment. After about twenty minutes, we made it to the water where Ellie splashed around and threw rocks, while Harper stared miserably into space.

And then, because this is how parenting is, Ellie had to pee. She had been potty trained about four months with little accidents to follow. But out in the wilderness, in the dense tree-covered hills of Indiana, we were near exactly zero restrooms.

Have you ever tried to show a two-year-old girl how to squat and pee? Have you, as a female, ever tried to squat and pee?

It’s an art form some women never master so it’s pretty obvious it didn’t end well for my two year old and basically Ellie peed her pants. Soaked every last stitch of those pants.

And we had a twenty minute hike back up a rocky trail between her and some dry pants. At this point, we had two options: laugh at how horrible this trip was going or cry. Chris and I laughed. Ellie chose crying. And she also chose to quit walking. Those pee-pants were too much for her heart and she decided she wasn’t walking back up the trail. By the creek in southern Indiana is where she gave up.

So Chris put Ellie and her pee-soaked pants on his shoulders and carried her back to the campsite. I pushed the strolled up the mountain we had just come down, shocked we didn’t notice how horrible the hike back up was going to be with a stroller as Chris breathed in the urine smell that surrounded his sweaty head.

It’s really a wonder we came back to this park at all, actually. It scarred us for life.

I think that’s what I want to say about Father’s Day. I want to say when Chris is clean and sober, he’ll do anything for his kids. He’ll play in a pool for hours with Harper even though he’s tired. He’ll play endless games of cards with Ellie. He’ll paint their toenails even though he’s never used nail polish a day in his life. He’ll wrap sticky pee legs around his shoulders and carry a whining toddler up a trail so she doesn’t have to walk with her small, tired legs.

Clean and sober Chris is a sight to behold.

June 2012 was eleven months of being drug free and a few years before he would begin to drink. We had a few really good years where Chris was wide eyed and clear headed. Our kids were small, we were broke all the time, and we were happy.

I know now there were demons lurking underneath, things Chris still hadn’t addressed, things he still hadn’t given up. I can see now we were being given a few years of rest before the real chaos started.

As Father’s Day came to a close this year, I rolled over in bed, already half asleep to say goodnight to Chris.

“Happy Father’s Day,” I whispered.

He rolled toward me, putting his face so close to mine that my tired eyes crossed trying to look at him.

“This one was good,” he said. “So much better than last year.”

Last year, we went camping and I bought steaks to celebrate him. But my heart wasn’t in it. I hated him, I was only a month into knowing he had a drinking problem, and I could feel things getting worse not better. I was pretending last year and so was he.

“So much better this year,” I agreed as I closed my eyes and stopped fighting sleep.

That’s it, that’s what we’re shooting for: better than last year. And finally, it’s not just me with that goal, but Chris Graham too.

Better than last year.

Happy Father’s Day, Chris Graham. You’re getting better every day.

 

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7 things I’m loving from Amazon right now

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I don’t think I could have survived a year and a half in the country without Amazon Prime.

Is this an exaggeration?

Probably, yes. But how did people survive before the magical internet and two-day delivery? Answer: not very well.

So basically, it is a public service for me to tell you things I’ve ordered and loved from Amazon. Because what if you need to love them too?

Instant Pot
I know this was all the rage last year. Did you get one yet? My parents got me one for Christmas, and the way it cooks frozen meat in about 2.7 seconds is otherworldly. Also, we eat a lot of hard-boiled eggs in the Graham house, and knowing I spent YEARS struggling to peel eggs without ruining them is still hard for me to handle. I tried every hard-boiled egg trick on Pinterest. Some were okay. Some were not. But making hard-boiled eggs in the Instant Pot? Guys, sometimes when I open the pot to remove the eggs for a quick ice bath, the shells just FALL OFF.

If you don’t use the Instant Pot for anything else besides hard-boiled eggs, I still think it’s worth the investment. (I linked to the one I have; if you’re interested in getting one, waiting until Thanksgiving/Christmas time might be best for your wallet.)

Himalayan salt night lights
I bought four of these in December and scattered them around the house. I really love the glow they emit, and I like the esthetic of them more than regular night lights. There are also some health benefits to having salt lamps/night lights in our homes, but I’m too lazy to hold a science lesson right now so go ahead and Google that yourself.

Tufted headboard
Here’s another reason I love Amazon (or ordering anything on the internet): I don’t have to load it up and bring it home. When we moved to the new house, I decided we’d finally buy a headboard for our bed. We’d been married over ten years and had always just slept on a bed frame and mattress. I think the ten-year anniversary gift is a headboard so I found this one from Amazon and had it delivered to the house. I can’t tell you how grown up having a headboard made me feel. (When I bought this headboard, it was $50 cheaper. I’m sorry I waited so long to share it.)

Trader Joe’s Everything But the Bagel seasoning
I don’t often go to Trader Joe’s; I have to drive far to visit one, and it seems to be more expensive than Aldi’s so it’s not really in my budget. BUT I love their Everything But the Bagel seasoning so I’ll order it from Amazon to save the trip, time, and likelihood I’ll go in there and buy lots of crap I don’t actually need. Have you had this seasoning yet? Mmmmm. Buy it just to put on all those easy peel hard-boiled eggs you make in your Instant Pot and you’ll never eat a plain egg again. In the summer, I LOVE to cut up a garden-fresh cucumber, top the slices with a little cream cheese, and then sprinkle on this seasoning. It’s delicious. Try it. You can thank me later.

Tripod floor lamps
Floor lamps are tricky. You don’t want them to look cheap, but you also don’t want to spend hundreds of dollars on a floor lamp which seems to be the only way to get nice ones. Exception to the rule: these Brightech Emma LED floor lamps I got for Christmas last year. I put them on both sides of my fireplace and six months later, I still love them with no regrets. The legs are thicker and sturdy and they’re a good height. (Did I just describe my floor lamps or myself? I guess you’ll never really know…)

Star Wars math workbooks
If you got my summer checklist for my kids in your email on Monday, you’ll know we’re doing a little math practice this summer. (If you need the checklist, leave your email address in the comments below, and I’ll get you hooked up!) Nothing intense, just a page or two of review three times a week. When I was hunting for a fun workbook (a phrase only a teacher would write…), I came across this series of Star Wars themed-books. When I opened the package, both girls took off immediately with the workbooks to begin their work. (Note: I ordered second grade and fourth grade, the grades my kids are going into. Inexplicably, my children are really good at math and the extra challenge of the coming year’s math work seems to be good for them. Ordering the grade level your kid just finished is probably easier on everyone though. You don’t have to learn new math–WHY IS IT SO HARD?–and they just practice things they’ve already learned. Don’t make this too frustrating or they won’t want to do it.)

Thayer’s witch hazel
I know I’ve shared this before, but shockingly, I’m still using it. I say shockingly because I never really commit to a facial routine besides washing my face with make-up remover wipes and using lots of moisturizer. But this stuff is so fresh and clean and gets off so much dirt that I can’t quit it. (I did a full post on my skin routine here if you’re just dying to know all about it.)

What about you? Get anything great from Amazon recently? I’m planning to do an Amazon post each month, and I’m already looking forward to telling you the stuff I recently got for my garden. I just have to make sure I love it before I tell you to buy it. OOH, suspense.

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a million little things happening at just the right time

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“Fear is good. The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.” -Stephen Pressfield, The War of Art.

I am scared and nervous to say this out loud. I’ve been testing the waters, sharing with people, for a few weeks now, and it has not gotten less scary.

Things you should know about me:
-I have a plan for everything. Even my plans have plans.
-I am not a risk taker when it comes to finances. We have retirement plans I think about often, long-term financial goals, and safety nets set up at every turn.
-I have had a job and a steady paycheck since turning 16. I am currently 36, and, while math is not my strong suit, that means I’ve been working non-stop for 20 years.
-I like working; I’ve been the main breadwinner our entire marriage and have a sense of pride about that.
-I work hard; teaching, tutoring, full-time job while in college, part-time jobs if I felt like I had too much free time, writing and blogging nights and weekends in between teaching and parenting and coaching.
-I never stop; maybe it’s an Enneagram 8 thing, maybe it’s an oldest child thing, maybe it’s an anxiety thing. But I don’t stop doing things. Projects, writing, home remodeling, cleaning, creating, traveling, reading, I am always working on three things and getting ready for the next ten.
-I am making this list to make myself feel better and to justify (to myself, and possibly you, too…) what I’m about to tell you.

When I learned last fall that my school was closing, it didn’t feel real.

Then this spring when I had time to process what was happening, it became very real.

Today is my last day of school. I’ll spend the afternoon at field day at a local park then I’ll come home, work on finalizing my grades, and finish up a few loose ends. I’ll turn my laptop and teaching supplies in on Tuesday.

I’ll be officially without a school or a job.

And I won’t be applying for a new one.

We are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life. -Ephesians 2:10, NRSV

I am a writer.

I don’t say that to brag or boast. It’s just what I am. I can tell you with absolute certainty I was created to write and encourage and say hard things and point people to Jesus.

We’re all created for that last one, but I know the way I’m supposed to do it is through writing words.

And so I’m going to do it. Full time.

I’m taking this God-given skill and pushing into it really hard and with lots of focus to see what He wants to do with it. And what’s scary and exciting to say is the SECOND I let myself imagine not going back to teaching next year, things started happening. Things that non-believers would call coincidence, but Jesus followers know has absolutely nothing to do with chance.

Things like the renters who have lived in our rental property for eight years suddenly abandoning the house and breaking their lease at just the moment when we have the resources to get the house ready to sell. At just the moment the Indy market is hot and we could make a pretty substantial profit. At just the moment when the profit could cover our mortgage for a year while I go after a scary dream.

Things like all the interviews I had for teaching jobs being cancelled and not rescheduled. It felt too irresponsible to just decide to not find a new job without at least sending out resumes and accepting requests for interviews. But then after things were scheduled, interviews were cancelled. All of them.

Things like Chris getting a new job in the spring and for the first time in his life, he has health insurance and retirement and all the things we’d need if I was to give up my job and benefits.

And a million other little things happening at just the right time.

Yesterday in my counseling session, I told my therapist it almost felt defiant and dangerous to not take this jump. Like I would be saying no thanks to all the answers and things God’s giving me that I have been begging for forever. I’ve written about hesitating when God answers my prayers before, and it still feels silly to question but I’m doing it anyway (see list above for explanation).

“I do know from many of my interviews with people who have embraced a God-given dream that it’s not uncommon to feel some strong reservations to welcome that dream. A voice inside rises up in protest and questions, Who do you think you are? As David Benner suggests, we learn to distrust our desires; we assume that they are too much or too selfish to admit to ourselves, let alone anyone else. And yet what if our desires are the most direct access to the subtle work of the Spirit within us?” –Starting Something New: Spiritual Direction for Your God-Given Dream by Beth A. Booram.

My friend Brittany heard my tentative whispers to this career change and immediately sent me the above book. I was scared to read it, because what if this book leads me to the answer of no? What if working through this process shows me I’m just being lazy and selfish and dreamy?

But the opposite has happened. That book has set a fire inside of me. Or as the book says, I “immediately felt a distinct blend of deep fear and deep joy.”

That’s what this is. Deep fear and deep joy. Simultaneously.

Last month during my morning quiet time, I read the David and Goliath chapter in the book I referenced yesterday. When I say I had to sit with that story for weeks, I am not exaggerating. I’ve thought constantly of the character of God, I’ve thought constantly of the things I’ve learned through a lifetime of following him.

God is faithful.
God is my provider.
God is my peace.
God is more creative than I could ever be.
God is my guide.
God has never left me.
God answers my prayers.
God goes before me.

So I’m doing this. I’m giving myself one year to see if I can make a career out of writing and creating. I’m giving myself one year to see if I can support my family doing this. I’m giving myself one year to see where God leads, what comes from being scared-but-trusting.

I am trusting God to do what he has always done in the life of his faithful followers, me included.

I am trusting God that if I live by faith and make choices based on his never-changing character, he will be faithful as well.

I am so so scared.

I am so so excited.

And, as of next week, I am so so unemployed.

Here we go. *deep breath*

 

“This is the season she will make beautiful things. Not perfect things but honest things that speak to who she is and who she is called to be.” -Morgan Harper Nichols

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Photography by Huff Photography

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David & Goliath

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I’ve been going to church a long time. My parents carried me into the sanctuary a few weeks after I was born, to a church just a few miles from where we currently live.

I’ve been going ever since.

Added bonus: no one has to carry me anymore, I get to walk on my own two legs.

(I would like to mention most of middle school, I was dragged to church instead of going willingly. But that story is for another time.)

The point is, I’ve been hearing Bible stories for decades. I grew up in the era of felt storyboards and songs about the Ten Commandments. If I need to recall what commandment is which, I will definitely still sing the song in my head with absolutely no shame. (Number one, we’ve just begun, God should be first in your liiiiiiife. Number two, the idol rule, those graven images aren’t nice!)

So when I picked up The Most Misused Stories in the Bible: Surprising Ways Popular Bible Stories are Misunderstood by Eric J. Bargerhuff, I was intrigued. I’ve been missing something in those tried-and-true Bible stories? Lemme see what this is all about.

Bargerhuff started off with David and Goliath, a favorite of motivational speakers and Sunday school teachers alike. I’m sure at one point, I’ve even taught this story to some kids at church during my tenure as a very ill-prepared Bible teacher.

Big versus small, powerful versus powerless, faithless versus faithful–Jesus followers LOVE to hear how we can do all things with God behind us. No mountain is too big, no enemy too ferocious.

But what if that’s not the point?

I know. Blasphemy, probably. Of course that’s the point.

But wait. Let’s look at David’s life leading up to this moment. He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a fighter. He was a son who tended to his dad’s animals. He often helped King Saul on the battlefield, coming to carry his armor, but then returning to the fields of his home and caring for sheep.

He was Jesse’s son, a helper. He wasn’t a warrior.

But God had been present and active in his life for years.

One day, Jesse told David his son, “Take this sack of cracked wheat and these ten loaves of bread and run them down to your brothers in the camp….Check on your brothers to see whether they are getting along all right, and let me know how they’re doing.” (1 Samuel 17:17-18, incomplete; The Message)

When David showed up on the battlefield that day to bring food to his brothers who were serving in Saul’s army, he wasn’t coming for battle; he was running an errand and then he planned to head back home. (There’s even a little sibling bickering in the story; David’s older brothers tell David to mind his own business, quit asking questions about Goliath, and go back to his little sheep. )

But David hears Goliath’s roars from the battlefield, demanding someone come and fight him just like he had done every day before, and he gets involved. Goliath the Philistine was challenging Saul and God’s people to a one-on-one battle. He wanted someone to challenge him in a fight to the death, and the losing side would become the winning side’s slaves.

No one, for days and days (forty, to be exact), had said yes. Goliath was huge, over nine feel tall and intimidating. Everyone feared him.

Then David arrived.

And what’s weird is David doesn’t fear Goliath. Saul feared him. The soldiers feared him. David did not fear him. You don’t volunteer to fight a giant when you’re afraid. You volunteer to fight a giant when you know God who has shown you again and again how to handle your fear is with you. You volunteer to fight a giant when you know God is constant and unchanging in his promises to you.

So David steps up to the fight, confident in who he is because of God. This isn’t David’s first time trusting God. This isn’t David’s first time coming upon a large predator and having to fight for his life. This isn’t David’s first time knowing the character of God and making choices based on his constant God.

David says, “You come to me with a sword, a spear, and a javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord of host, the God of armies of Israel, who you have taunted. This day the Lord will deliver you up into my hands, and I will strike you down and remove your head from you. And I will give the dead bodies of the army of the Philistines this day to the birds of the sky and the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the Lord does not deliver by sword or spear, for the battle is the Lord’s and He will give you into our hands.” (1 Samuel 17:45-47 NASB)

I don’t know about you, but when I’m afraid, the last thing I do is make confident, bold speeches. This is a guy who isn’t afraid or fearful. He understands God doesn’t change, and he’s learned through past experiences that God will come through.

And with one stone in a sling, David knocks Goliath out so he is able to behead him using Goliath’s own sword.

Here’s what Bargerhuff says in conclusion of the story: But David, the one without fear, overcame the giant not because he wanted to conquer his fear, but because he was zealous to defend the character and glory of God…God will be glorified in the life of ones who trust in him. He will deliver his people and ultimately triumph, for he gives us the victory, either in this life or in the life to come.

I’ve had to sit with this chapter on David and Goliath for a few weeks, rolling it around in my head, testing the ideas it’s presenting, praying through the truth that God is always faithful, always constant, and always for those who trust in him.

What if David and Goliath isn’t about God doing impossible things and more about God doing what he has always done in the life of his faithful followers? What if David and Goliath isn’t meant to be a battle cry for conquering our enemies but more about daily-living based in faith and making choices off the constant, loving character of God?

I have learned a lot about the character of God in the past few years. I’ve learned through spending lots of time in his Word. I’ve learned through prayer and other people. I’ve learned through reflection and study. I know God is faithful. I know God is for me. I know God has never let me down.

I can see that in my marriage struggles. I can see it in my relationships. I can see it in the lives of the people I do life with who live with reckless abandon for God.

Last fall when I learned I was losing my job, I didn’t have time to even worry about it. It wasn’t an immediate concern for me. I had a job for the rest of the school year, I was taken care of in that moment. But in that moment, I also had a marriage in trouble and a husband who couldn’t stop drinking–those things took center stage and the job situation had to wait for a while.

But this spring, as my marriage started to rebuild and my husband put more days of sobriety under his belt, I started to wonder about the job situation.

And the weirdest, scariest, most exciting things started to happen.

 

How does this all fit together? TOMORROW. Tomorrow it all comes together. Stick with me. 

-If you’re interested in reading The Most Misused Stories in the Bible: Surprising Ways Popular Bible Stories are Misunderstood by Eric J. Bargerhuff, you can buy it here. I bought this book with two other books he wrote, The Most Misused Verses in the Bible and Out of Context: How to Avoid Misinterpreting the Bible and I’m working my way through all three of them this year (as well as these books).

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The worst day of my life

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I don’t have many bad days. It takes a lot to get to me.

But Wednesday, September 23, 2017 was the absolute worst day of my life.

My husband had been gone about a month. The girls and I were in a routine by now, packing lunches, gathering the trash on Monday nights, making sure clothes were clean and baths were done semi-regularly.

I was sad, but I didn’t feel alone.

I got the girls on the bus like I did every morning, and then had twenty minutes to get the house and myself in order before I sat down to work for the day. I have, for the past few years, worked at a virtual charter school, teaching freshman and sophomore English online after spending ten years in a brick-and-mortar classroom.

My school day begins at 8:00 and those precious few minutes before my office hours start help me get the house picked up from the morning chaos, make beds, get dressed, and start some laundry.

As I settled into my desk chair, I opened my virtual office for the morning and began checking emails.

And there, second email from the top, was the unexpected announcement that the school board had decided, at the end of the current school year, to close our school.

I would be unemployed in June.

I would be a teacher without a school.

I say “unexpected” but I don’t mean this was completely out of left field. When I hired on at the school, it was failing. They were working hard to improve and were doing lots of innovative things in a field that was not mainstream or well understood. I liked the challenge of a new way of teaching, plus the ability to be home more with my daughters.

So I took a $17,000 pay cut and jumped in.

But our school never stopped failing. The longer I was employed as a virtual teacher, the more I realized we were a place for disengaged students and families to hide from the system. We were serving a need for kids who had medical issues and couldn’t attend regular school; we were a refuge for bullied and special needs kids; we were a good fit for kids training to be professional athletes, actors, and singers. I’ve had students who traveled the semi-pro bowling tour, the rodeo circuit as a family of clowns, and kids working full-time in off-Broadway productions. We also served a lot of families who wanted to homeschool their kids, but don’t want to make all the curriculum decisions.

But that was only about half of my student roster each year. The other half were kids who had been expelled from their last school and came to us because Indiana law says you have to go to school. The other half were kids whose families moved around a lot, kids who were grade levels behind in reading, who thought virtual school was easier and didn’t want to actually do any work.

Virtual school is hard. It’s not for everyone.

But no one seemed to tell students and families about that part so we just kept enrolling missing-in-action kids and then wondering why we were a failing school.

Finally the board was tired of fighting the state to keep us open, it was too much work to jump through all the hoops they required, so they just gave up.

8:05 AM: I had eight and a half months left of my job.

The thing about teaching online is you sit on your butt all day. And sometimes it drives you crazy.

Early afternoon, I put my dog on his leash and we headed outside. It was sunny, the weather was finally cooling off, and I needed some fresh air.

As Blue and I strolled down the driveway to get the mail, I heard a deafening crunch to my right and turned my head just in time to see two cars going airborne through the intersection southeast of our property.

I turned around and ran back inside, shoved the dog in the house, and grabbed my phone. As I ran down the hill toward the wreck, all I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears and the horrible screams of a woman trapped in one of the cars.

I dialed 911 as cars pulled over to help. No one was moving in either vehicle and smoke was barreling out of the diesel truck parked about 75 feet from the road, right where my grandpa once grew corn and squash.

The screaming didn’t stop. At one point before help arrived, I assumed there was a child inside the truck because someone kept yelling, “I want my mom!” But once emergency responders arrived, I saw it was a grown woman who just really wanted her mom as she sat stuck in her smashed truck in the middle of someone’s yard.

Paramedics and police arrived. They removed an elderly lady who had run the stop sign on our road and then helped a man and woman out of their truck. He was able to walk to the ambulance, she was not.

I stayed until police were done with their paperwork, answering questions and telling them what little I saw.

1:55 PM: Witness a horrific accident and hope everyone lives.

By the time everything settled down, the girls got home, we did homework, and then rushed to have a quick dinner before Harper’s soccer practice.

At around 5:00, I realized I hadn’t heard from Chris that day. In the chaos of so many unexpected events, I lost track of time, lost track of my responsibilities, lost track of my alcoholic, estranged husband.

And when I finally texted him and read his response, I knew immediately he’d been drinking.

I don’t want to write that story again. It doesn’t need more space or attention. It’s here if you’d like to read it.

But by 10:00 that night, I was checking my drunk husband into a rehabilitation center as a last hope to sober him up, as a last hope to save him from himself and his demons.

My friend Adam drove me back to Indy that night. I wasn’t too upset to drive. I wasn’t distraught. I was just tired. Maybe in shock.

Shock because I don’t really have bad days. Shock because it takes a lot to get me down.

But in the span of less than 24 hours, I’d lost my job, witnessed a horrific car accident, and admitted my husband to rehab.

It was, as far as I could tell, the worst day of my life.

 

(This isn’t the end, I promise. Come back tomorrow. As always, I’ve got more to tell you.)

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It’s the first day of summer, darling girls

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It’s the first day of summer break for my girls.

They are excited and also sad. Ellie, especially. She cries on the last day of school every year and this year was no different. She loved her teacher this year and can’t imagine not seeing her everyday.

I also cried on the last day of school, but it was for different reasons. Mainly: what am I going to do with them all summer?

But I’m over it already. And I’m excited too. No school for me. No school for them. Hot, sunny days and Chris starts a new work schedule that will allow him to spend the majority of the day with us as well.

It is going to be a good, good summer.

And now, my dear children, a letter about our summer on this, the first day of summer break:

My girls,

I love you. I love this age, love this season. Harper, I love your sassy attitude and sense of humor that is waaay past your seven years of age. Ellie, I love your creative spirit and the way you can lead a room. We are going to have such a great summer together.

I promise to let you watch very little TV. You are creative and bright and full of energy–I don’t want the television to dull that. You will, instead, play outside. Get as dirty as you can. Get mud under your fingernails, in between your toes, and in your hair, if you please. I will scrub you clean each night, glad to wash the summer day off your little bodies.

Let’s jump on the trampoline for hours, make a slip-n-slide down the hill, and ride for miles on the country roads that surround our house. If it is sunny, we’ll go swimming. If it’s raining, we’ll head to the library for mountains of books and cozy couches.

No, you can’t play on the iPad. I don’t care if it’s labeled “educational,” it’s still not as good as reading that book, using your science kit to create experiments, or playing with friends. You can learn about other worlds, mix up gross concoctions and dare each other to drink them, and learn how to share, resolve conflict, and laugh with humans.

I’m going to try and be better about messes this summer. In the nine years of being a mom, no one has actually died because of a messy room or a living room filled with Legos. We’ll leave them for a few days to make sure we’re done with them this summer. We will, of course, clean up eventually though. I am still your mother, Mary Graham, hater of all mess and clutter. But I’m going to try to ignore a little more of it.

This summer (and this one is exciting for me…), you’re going to make your own breakfasts! Every day! I can’t wait. You can put the frozen waffles in the toaster or warm up the French toast sticks in the microwave just as well as I can so it’s you’re thing now. I’ll be here to make sure you eat protein and fruit, but I’ll do it from afar.

I promise, this year, we’re going to grow things in the dirt and we’re going to eat them with our loud, happy mouths. Yes, Aunt Penny next door has a better garden than we’ll ever have and she keeps us stocked with fresh produce all summer, but we’re joining in too. I think there is something so beautiful and frustrating and triumphant about growing your own food. It feels magical, and this summer, after the chaos and brokenness of last summer, I want magic so bad.

I’m already dreaming of lazy afternoons spent piled on the couch, a jumble of arms and legs, as we read books and eat snacks. Summer snacks like watermelon and popsicles and berries. We’ll sit until our legs fall asleep, and then we’ll stumble outside to sun ourselves on the back patio, books in tow.

Let’s get a hammock this summer. Let’s take naps there. Let’s turn it into a ride like my sister and I did when we were little, pushing it so high you almost flip over, but then just at the last moment, you rush back down to earth and safety, the wind in your hair and a smile in your eyes, on your mouth, and in your laugh.

When August rolls around, we’ll have our summer tans, our lighter hair, and a new spread of freckles on our cheeks and shoulders. We’ll be ready for school and routines and bedtimes again when it’s time to register for second and fourth grade. Second and fourth grade? How is that possible, little ones? I remember preschool and backpacks bigger than you. It’s too soon for this.

Summers are my favorite, they feel decadent and wild, but the start of a school year feels good too. Summers wouldn’t be as golden if it was always summer.

Last summer, I made a summer to-do list. But then everything crumbled and surviving took over. There wasn’t room for pool trips or park adventures or laughing, to be honest. I promise that this summer there won’t be a list of things we want to do, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but for us, right now, we need open days and open hearts and not a lot of expectations.

My girls, I can’t wait to spend my summer with you,
Mommy

On the last day of school

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This school year was rough.

Last summer was bad and we rolled right into the school year continuing the tension and anger that resided in our home. A few weeks after the girls went back to school, Chris moved out. Because he was making dangerous choices and had more than once been careless or hurtful with the girls, I made the decision to not allow him to see the girls.

My lawyer said I couldn’t technically keep them away from him, but he wasn’t with it enough to know to contest or protest my declaration. And when he did get to visit them, he would have prove he was sober with a negative breathalyzer test then he was allowed to spend a few hours with them. He wasn’t allowed to drive them anywhere or go somewhere without me.

It sounds as stressful and messy and sad as it was.

The one consistency in my girls’ lives last fall was our school routine. Getting up for breakfast, waiting for the bus, spending the day with adults who cared for them, and then arriving back home in the afternoon was all they had for rhythm and certainty.

School became a refuge whether they realized it or not.

I am so thankful for our school and our teachers.

An odd perk of writing on the internet is being aware that people often times know what’s going on in your life without having to actually say anything. No one ever said anything to me and I never said anything to anyone, but I know the adults in that building were giving my girls a little more attention than normal. I can’t find adequate words to express my overwhelming gratitude for them so I’m doing it with a puny little post on the internet.

My children were saved this year by a million different people and some of them work at our local elementary school.

No one ever complained when we came to school late, eyes still puffy from a late night where everyone had trouble sleeping. When we needed a mental health day because everything just felt too heavy, no one batted an eye. When I spent months picking the girls up early every other Thursday for counseling, no one asked for a doctor’s excuse or made a big deal about it.

I know none of those things sound like big deals on their own, but when so much feels impossible and hopeless, those tiny graces were extravagant gifts to our family.

During their kindergarten years, I bought Ellie and Harper copies of Oh, the Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss. And as the school years wound down, I would send them to their teachers asking them to write a note or message to them. Each teacher through the years has written beautiful notes to my children.

There are themes to each book.

Ellie’s messages remind her how smart she is and what a great leader she is. Then they all kindly push her to be softer with herself and her classmates. She is whip-smart, but sometimes she uses her powers for evil instead of good.

For Harper, her teachers praise her for her vocabulary and verbal skills and how dynamic her personality is while gently reminding her that she does not have to talk every single moment of her life.

Those are all true, accurate observations of my children. To make those statements, you have to pay attention.

And that’s what my girls needed this year. What all our kids need from their teachers: to be given their attention. Our kids don’t always chose the best way to do that, but it’s what they all want, some attention.

This school year–especially last fall–I had a hard time paying attention to my beautiful daughters. My eyes were filled with tears and worry and anger and survival. They were always cared for but not always paid attention to. I just didn’t have the ability.

So thank you, teachers.

Thank you for paying attention. Thank you for seeing my daughters when they needed to be seen. Thank you for loving them when they weren’t lovable. Thank you for being a constant in a time that felt turbulent. Thank you for doing your job, and thank you, thank you, thank you for doing much more than your job requires.

Photography: Huff Photography

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tell the people about fresh air

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“Go, stand in the temple courts,” he said, “and tell the people the full message of this new life.” Acts 5:20

Friday afternoon Ellie and Harper caught a small frog in the backyard.

He had made his way onto the trampoline which I found completely hilarious–our little baby frog who needed help jumping that day. He was born to jump, but on Friday he needed a little extra push.

That evening we went out to dinner then spent an hour at a local park. The girls chased each other, getting sweaty and dirty in the unseasonably warm May heat. We followed a mama duck and her eight little ducklings around the creek. Chris and I people watched.

It was a good, quiet evening.

When we got home, I told Ellie she couldn’t keep the frog in the container overnight. He needed to be set free.

This destroyed her. My tender-hearted, animal-loving, nine-year-old daughter wants every animal she meets as a pet. She begs for birds, turtles, fish, kitties, and snakes in her room. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up. She would sleep in a bed of animals if it were possible.

But we had to let the frog go. The small food container with a few jagged holes poked in the top was not the best living environment for him, and I explained there was a good chance he’d die if we kept him overnight.

Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.

Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.

Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.

She finally let the frog go. She used my phone to take pictures of him as he hopped away. She made a shaky, unfocused video with quiet sobbing and sniffles in the background.

We said goodbye to the frog.

She cried herself to sleep Friday night.

I can’t stop thinking about that frog. I can’t stop thinking about the home she wanted to force him to live in. I can’t stop thinking about the life that would have killed him.

And I can’t stop thinking about all of us who are doing the exact same thing: living in small containers with a few hastily-cut holes for breathing. How so many people I love choose to live in ways they weren’t intended, not even realizing it is killing them. Not even realizing they will soon die from the space they’ve chosen to reside in.

I can recall with vivid clarity the times I have been living a small-food-container life slowly dying from lack of fresh air and room to move while completely unaware of how much control I really had to get myself out.

I can recall with crystal clear memory the moments I felt like I was suffocating when, in hindsight, all I had to do was take the lid off the tiny life I was choosing to find freedom and deep, deep breaths.

You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust.
You were born with ideals and dreams.
You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly.
-Rumi

Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.

How many of us are not going to live long because we were not made to live like this? With stress and worry and anxiety. With conflict and anger and resentment. With uncertainty and chaos and hostility.

Take the lid off, friends. There is fresh air and new life for you and me. For all of us.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5:17

I don’t pretend to know about the fresh air because I read it in a book. I don’t pretend to know about the freedom to move because someone told me. I don’t pretend to know about the wideness of life from a family tradition passed down that I blindly follow.

I know about fresh air and freedom and breathing, because I was once stuck in the food container and someone took the lid off. I know about the wide open spaces and room to move, because I lived for a very long time stuck in a plastic bowl and then one day, it went away and I stretched my body out in a way I had never, ever done before.

I know about Jesus and redemption and life-giving breath not because it makes perfect sense and I don’t have questions. I know because I experienced every single promise and comfort and peace and love He said was available to me–and you–even when I wasn’t sure how it would happen.

“Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.” Isaiah 58: 8-9

Ellie, he’s not going to live very long because he was not made to live like that, I said gently.

I was dying. Chris was dying. Our family was dying.

Taking that lid off–it was the most painful experience of my life. I fought the lid. I fought being removed from the small life container. I fought everyone and everything.

Tears. Sobs. Hysterics.

“They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him…For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.” Lamentations 3: 23-26, 31-33

We are living in small containers with a few hastily-cut holes for breathing. We are choosing to live in ways we weren’t intended, not even realizing it is killing us. Not even realizing we will soon die from the space we’ve chosen to reside in.

On Friday afternoon a small frog climbed onto our trampoline for a little help jumping. What a silly little frog–unaware of how much beauty his tiny legs would have let him enjoy if he would have just paid attention.

Jump, friends. Jump all in.

“Go, stand in the temple courts,” he said, “and tell the people the full message of this new life.” Acts 5:20

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You are going to be okay.

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I sat next to Chris at church last weekend as we listened to the sermon.

He drank his Coke, and I took notes.

The Coke can was a trigger for me. I knew what the Coke can meant a year ago. Exactly one year ago, actually. He was playing bass in the worship band, and I was at home with the girls. I wouldn’t know until a few days later that he had a drinking problem, but Sunday, one year ago Sunday, was when it all started falling apart.

Although, that’s not very accurate, because it had been falling apart for a while. It was just that Sunday, a year ago, with that red Coke can that it all stumbled out into the cold, hard light of day.

I’ve known this day was coming. In a way, I’ve been bracing myself for it. In a random turn of events, Chris was asked to fill in with the worship band on the one year anniversary of his downfall.

I see you, God. Very, very funny. We’re all amused.

I’ve been trying to figure out what I would have wanted to know a year ago. A year ago, I didn’t know what was coming. Chris had been caught drunk, people had confronted him, but I didn’t yet know.

That admission would come in a few days.

I remember Chris coming home the day before he told me about his drinking. He sat through dinner quiet. I could tell something was wrong and asked a few times if he was okay.

He said he was.

After dinner, the girls ran outside to play, and we sat at the table together. I took out my phone and showed him a funny website my friend Brittany had shared with me on Twitter. Some of the memes on there had made me cry-laugh earlier that day.

I thought they would cheer him up.

Instead he just watched me laughing, barely looking at the screen. At the end, I commented on how I couldn’t believe he didn’t think those were funny, and he just smiled wistfully at me.

He knew what was coming.

I did not.

But through the magic of the internet, I can tell myself now, a year later, what I would have whispered to myself to prepare for the collapse of my marriage, my trust, my finances, and my family.

Sometimes I think about those moments before. How safe and innocent I felt even though I knew something was wrong. I think about those moments we all have, right before we learn of the car accident or the heart attack. The moment before we get the phone call or the police visit.

I often think about the moment right before we collapse.

And here is what I want us–all of us–to remember in the right-before and the during:

You are going to be okay.

You are going to feel like dying. You are not dying.

Your heart will break. And just when you think it’s done breaking, it will break again in new, more painful ways. Do not give up.

You will want to give up every day. When the thought of giving up comes (and it will), acknowledge it and then let it go. A thought does not have to become reality.

People say hurtful things. When hurt people say hurtful things, it doesn’t change your reality or truth. You are not dumb. You are not weak. You are not a waste of time or space. You are worthy of love, worthy of respect, worthy of honesty.

You will get through this.

You are going to be okay.

You might lose some people during this crisis. Don’t hold too tightly to anything right now; you’ll lose some things, but gain things too.

Sometimes there is no reason. I would like to say it will all come full circle, but this side of heaven, I just don’t think we all get that luxury. Keep going anyway.

You will do the best you can in the moment and not be too hard on yourself. As we grow and learn, we do better. Just keep learning and growing, even when it hurts.

You are going to be okay.

Laugh. Laugh at weird, horrible things. Make inappropriate jokes. Laugh so you don’t cry. Laugh-cry. Then just cry. All of this is acceptable.

Don’t rush your life. Don’t rush your choices. Don’t rush your healing. When you’re in survival mode, it’s okay to let some things fall away. When it’s time, you can pick them back up again. But let some things go for now.

Time is a great healer, but spend the time well. Demand health and boundaries for yourself. When so much of your life feels out of your control, you can control how well you are caring for yourself.

Let others help you.

It will never work out the way you plan. Remember what you can control and all the things you can not.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You are okay.

I’ve written about May 3rd before. Check that out here. It’s the start of a series, so if you want to start from the beginning, start here.

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