After the truth has been told
If you don't die in glory by the age of Christ,
Then your story is just getting old.
~Glory
by David Wilcox
And now, the continuing interview...
Last week, Dogwood Blue chose to interview me because she thought I was such an amazing and important figure in Mommy Blogging. I'm honored that she chose so well.
Okay, she's interviewing me because I asked her to. Still...
Anyway, she asked me five questions. I answered the first two, and I've been pondering number three all day. It's been easy to ponder.
Her question:
"What are one or some of the most difficult trials you have overcomethus far? "
I've overcome--or should I say, I've experienced--a lot of trials. I'm not sure how they rate on the global difficulty scale, because I've never been involved in a natural disaster, been a victim of a violent crime or lived in complete poverty. But I have had my car repossessed, my telephone shut off due to non-payment and racked up quite a few overdraft charges in my day. I grew up in an adoptive home with two very dysfunctional parents, endured regular ridicule and rage, battled both sides during my parents' divorce and lost my mother several times, the final time when I discovered that she had passed away months prior without my being informed.
I've overcome heartbreak many times and I've seen the deaths--or at least the postponement--of many dreams. I've overcome teenaged pregnancy, the mortality of loved ones, horrible neighbors, backstabbing friends, a nagging father (strike that...I'm still trying to learn how to deal with that one), inhabiting a small cabin with no electric or indoor toilet, living on next to nothing, a child diagnosed with a chronic disease, and the fear of dying from a terminal illness.
These, to me, were all difficult trials. But now I'm experiencing what I think is one of the biggest trials I've ever experienced.
The Big Boring Middle.
I'll be 36 next month. We're relatively stable financially. We and all of our children are healthy--even Sweetheart, who was diagnosed at the age of three with Pauciarticular Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. We have a new home in the middle of the beautiful, rolling hills of Amish country. We have four dogs, a goat, three guinea pigs, a few fish, two parakeets, three finches, an indoor cat and half a dozen outdoor cats. We have good neighbors, a steady job, a strong marriage and food in the fridge. I really, really hesitate to say this...but it's almost boring.
For so many of my younger years, there was this force that drove me. It was called The Future. You might even call it Hope. I had very big hopes for the years to come, and those hopes motivated me, lit a fire under my tail. I wanted to be a successful, published writer. I wanted my husband to be the next Michael Card. I wanted to have children who were well-adjusted geniuses. I wanted a big house in the country, lots of kids, lots of animals, a steady job for my husband, a quiet neighborhood.
And now. Well, now I have those things. Okay. Not the successful published writer, Michael Card husband and well-adjusted geniuses (they're all geniuses--just not well-adjusted geniuses). Two cars in the garage and a jacuzzi in my bedroom. Life has never been so good.
But I feel very sad now.
While I'm still busy trying to make things "better," they really are about as good as they can get. There's very little left to work for. And I cry almost daily.
Isn't that crazy?
The biggest challenge of all of this is that I always pictured my dream home bustling with people, a kind of L'Abri filled with music, art and conversation. But now I find myself thrust into a community where everyone seems to be happily plugged into a place of worship or a homeschool group or a 4-H club.
I have listened to naysayers who have informed me that opening my home to others was self-centered and cheeky, perfectionistic and Martha-Stewart-like, and even a degradation to the quiet, old-fashioned neighborhood.
And besides, I live in the midst of the Amish who regularly participate in social activities create by and for their church members: volleyball games, tea parties, coffee klatches, weddings, funerals, cleaning dervishes, family gatherings, every-other-week in-home church meetings, and oodles and oodles of benefit dinners or auctions. They are social whirlwinds who have no need for additional gatherings. It's built into their culture.
While on this subject, I can quickly answer one of Dogwood Blue's other questions, that of a home church:
"How did God lead you to be a part of the particular church you attend?"
The answer?
I don't attend.
And now, for a muddy detour.
We were members of a church for many years, the same church my husband and his parents had been a part of for many years before we married, and it became toxic. The attitude towards children there did not fall in line with my philosophies and beliefs. There were very few families with young children in our church, and no homeschooling families--our homeschooling was quietly tolerated. My gifts of hospitality, creativity and teaching were belittled, Bo's gift of music was unappreciated and heavily criticized, and we soon found that we weren't the only ones who were feeling that their faith was being poisoned. The church experienced a large split and we went along with the crowd. Unfortunately, THAT group experienced a split, and we became disillusioned with fellowship altogether.
We tried houses of worship as often as we searched for a physical home, but there was never one where we felt that we could belong. My faith is very important to me, and so many of the churches we attended trivialized that faith, made it into a cause for social gathering, yet only social as far as it was convenient or comfortable for everyone involved. No depth.
The last church we visited was one that we attended for several months. We tried to be very actively involved, attending family functions, home groups, youth functions and Sunday services. But people there, too, seemed to stay inside their own protective shells. Nary a person ventured forth in talking to us, and even in my openness to get to know others, busy-ness seemed more the theme than depth. The final cut came when our home group broke for the summer. Come fall, we waited for a phone call from our home group leaders who were to let us know when and where the meetings would be held. No call. July led into August with still no call. Near the middle of July, we were at a town function where we sat behind a group of people that I recognized from our home group. I overheard them talking about the group, discussing the meeting of the week prior. The group had already begun to meet several weeks before and we were never notified. After months of attendance and outreach, we hadn't made a single real friend. We quit going to that church.
Several months later, I received a phone call from our home group leader.
"I was wondering if you have time to get together with my wife and I tomorrow night." He sounded upbeat and positive. Since my husband had known this man since college, I thought that maybe he had realized his error of omission and was calling to get us involved again.
"Let me check my schedule," I said. "Yeah, we have it open. What did you have in mind?"
"Well," he answered, "my wife and I have this great opportunity we'd like to share with you..."
Regardless of how many times I insisted that we were not interested in a multi-level marketing campaign, this man and his wife continued to call us about this every day. I finally had to ask them, politely but firmly, not to call again.
That same week, I received a letter in the mail from another of our home group members with whom I hadn't spoken in several months. It was a solicitation to buy makeup products from her. These letters have trickled in steadily. But not one of our former fellow church members has mentioned our disappearance from the church.
Since then, we've tried a couple of other churches, but they have all left a bad taste in my mouth. I crave a Christian home, but I just don't have the energy for that kind of rejection again. I long for that social interaction with other Christians, but I just can't handle the judgement, the control issues, the insincerity, and the controversy that comes with attending a church. It's an area of my life that I just wish would fall into place, but it never has.
Okay, we're back on the main road now. Whew. That was pretty bumpy, wasn't it?
And so I feel that I have no real social network, Christian or otherwise, with whom I can share my visions, goals and dreams. I am, I suppose, an outsider. Too Christian for some, too liberal for others, and not established anywhere.
That's why this upcoming art class means so much to me. It feels like the beginning of a goal being fulfilled. I've had several setbacks even in this venture and have felt a bit squelched by certain individuals who doubt that there's a need for such a class, but I will continue on. I will fight against this sadness and depression that threatens to defuse my dreams.
And I guess that brings me to Dogwood Blue's final question:
"What do you look forward to most in the future?"
Opening my home to those who really need it. Maybe even adopting. Filling my house with music and laughter. Seeing my children grow and change, fall in love, move away, and bring me more children that I can watch grow and change. Falling in love with my husband all over again. Discovering more about my gifts and talents. Learning more about how the Lord wants to use me, my life, my desires. Climbing out of this dark hole that's currently threatening to swallow all of my joy.
I've overcome a lot. I know there is hope for the future.
In the big boring middle of the long book of life,There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.
~Proverbs 23:18 (New International Version)That's where your future lies.
Then you won't be left with an armload of nothing.
Proverbs 23:18 (The Message)
After you've passed thirty-two
If you don't die in glory at the age of Christ,
Then your story is still coming true.
~Glory
by David Wilcox
