Crack the Walls

During the second week of Bostyn’s hospitalization for her eye infection, she was moved to a different floor. I began to notice that no matter what time of day or night—every time I would walk through the hall to go see her, I would hear a baby screaming in a nearby room. After a few days, I decided to go and ask the nurses if there was anything I could do for the crying baby.

At first, the nurse was very resistant to even talk about the crying child on the other side of the door, but after a few minutes of my persistence, she opened up. “You know, that poor little baby is dying. I can’t give you any details about her condition . . . but it has been the saddest thing I have ever had to watch as a nurse. Her parents are mad at God. They don’t understand why they are being punished, and since they know they are losing her, they hardly come to see her anymore. There is only so much time we can spend with her, and so she cries for her parents all day and all night.”

As I walked to Bostyn’s room, I wondered how a parent could get to that point. How could you remove yourself so far from your suffering child’s pain as to let your own emotions become more important than hers? I decided they had to be surrounded by walls or some sort of barrier that somehow prevented them from seeing their child’s needs. Somewhere along their journey, they had built an imaginary protection to shield themselves from the pain of losing her. Walls of fear or hate. Even at a time when their little baby needed them the most, they had allowed their emotions or their pride to keep them from her. It seemed that somewhere inside of themselves, they truly believed they were punishing God for their trial—but the only one suffering was their already terminally ill baby girl.

Each person who has ever lived has had a completely different experience in life. Some have found ways to trust their world, and others have been given every reason to never let anyone in. In my experiences of suffering intense pain—I have learned to build walls: walls of protection to keep myself safe, walls of hate to keep my heart from getting broken again, and walls of fear to keep all the scary parts of the world out.

People begin building walls around themselves anytime a negative experience teaches them to fear or hate the world. Our physical bodies, mental cognition, and emotional capabilities all play into the building of our “walls.” When we find ourselves in a state of crisis, our physical bodies automatically go into “fight or flight” mode. Our mental state is heightened and everything we feel or see is intensified. Every emotion is more powerful, and every pain is more excruciating. In that split second when all of the powers that make up our existence are on overload, our brains work together with our emotions to build walls of protection around us to ensure that the experience is never duplicated. Our physical bodies react to prevent us from ever again taking the same steps that led us to that pivotal moment of extreme stress.

It is during those times—when our emotional, mental, and physical selves come together to build walls to shield us from future pain—that we learn to block things out. We learn to shut things down, or run from the present to ensure the past is not duplicating itself. Our bodies prepare themselves to fight or to take flight.

And that is where our triggers come into play. If we have had an experience that has caused us to build a wall, and something happens that threatens to duplicate that past experience—triggers fire and our subconscious takes us back to the fight or flight mechanism that occurred during the original situation. Sometimes it is obvious when these walls were built, and other times, we have no clue why or when we constructed them in the first place.

As I faced the task of trying to build a new family at the same time as waiting for a murder trial, it seemed as if I was surrounded by an imaginary structure of walls. It was obvious how some of those walls were built, but I don’t know that I will ever know for sure why others were erected.

However, one thing is for sure—for every reason I found to dig my deep hole of despair and build my massive walls, my family gave me a reason to climb out of the hole and break down the walls. It seemed that on all those days our blended-family misunderstandings occurred, they caused us to build new walls. But after every dark day, we began experiencing simple moments of love and hope, and the purity of those emotions helped us break down our newly-constructed walls.

Then just when I thought I had it all figured out, it seemed as if I’d get thrown a curve ball, or learn a new fact about the criminal case that would drill a new hole inside of me and create a new pain. From where I stood . . . my life seemed complete, and yet—I did not feel whole. But despite my walls of protection, Shawn continued to pull me up on the really dark days.

One afternoon, after I had received a difficult phone call from the detectives telling me about a disturbing piece of information they’d found on Emmett’s computer, I was really struggling.  Walls of fear were shooting up all around me, and as the afternoon progressed, I could feel the darkness of the facts I’d been told surround me. Receiving new information about Emmett’s past didn’t change anything—but it still threatened my ability to move forward with faith toward the future.

Shawn came home early from work that day and told us all to load up into the car. The thought crossed my mind to just go get in bed and send everyone else with him, but I got in and buckled my seatbelt. Nobody knew where we were going. The kids laughed and joked as we drove. I was silent in the front seat, still surrounded by my gloom. I could hear the kids begging Shawn to tell them where we were headed, but he held firm and kept our destination a surprise. I remained quiet, rehearsing the past in my mind, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong in an effort to prevent any future tragedies.  

Soon the car came to a halt as we pulled up to the most beat up bowling alley I’d ever seen. Shawn looked over at me and said, “Here we are! This is what we ALL need today.”

It didn’t look very promising, but we all piled out of the car. Shawn grabbed Ty’s car seat and I plopped Kaleeya onto my hip. Hand in hand, the big kids marched inside, and with delight, they bowled their little hearts out and laughed their heads off. The kids were so excited to be together playing as a family that it was as if that little run down bowling alley were Disneyland.

At one point, I sat on the bench and just watched. The smiles on their faces and the spirit in their giggles began to break down the wall of fear that had been building up around me all day. The earlier phone conversation began to fade from my mind as I watched my family members smile in joy. At that moment, tears rolled down my face, but they were tears of gratitude. I smiled as I saw my crew come together and laugh. I was grateful for a husband who knew how to play, even when everything around me told me to fight . . . or flee. Shawn knew how to smile and help us step away from the heavy parts of our life. He helped me see that even though I was surrounded by walls, we could break them down together.

For every hole that had been drilled into my heart, I had to find a new way to keep it beating—and sometimes the best medicine was love and laughter.

Despite my irrational internal belief that our life together couldn’t really begin until after the trial, Shawn was determined to start new traditions. I remember our first New Year’s Eve together as if it were yesterday. He had all these grand ideas of what the night would be like. He carried each child’s mattress down the stairs and pulled ours off of our bed, then positioned them around the living room floor for a “camp out.” At first, it just seemed like a ridiculous amount of work and a great big mess, but as the night went on—I began to see the wisdom in his plan. We laughed together until midnight as the New Year began.

I remember holding Shawn’s hand under our blanket and actually experiencing a glimpse of being whole. I remember kissing each child on his or her cheek that night, praying with all my heart that the New Year would bring us peace. My only New Year’s Resolution was to not have any more change. I wished for normalcy to come my way, where the only cares I had were what to make for lunch and what movie to see on date night. I hoped for a year of pure, sweet, tender moments that could remind me over and over again of what I was fighting so hard for.

And boy did I fight! I fought every day to find myself. I prayed every hour not to hate. I cried every night for the answers I still yearned to hear. But more and more, I also prayed for the ability to laugh. I yearned for the power to smile. I fought for the desire that once came naturally—to love. I begged God for the sparkle I used to have in my eye to one day shine brighter than it ever had before.  I begged every night to one day feel whole again, and to have the walls that had come to block my view crumble.

Although my fight to obtain these blessings seemed to never cease, I began to see more of the little glimmers of sunshine as they came into view. I tried hard to let the fun parts of life into my heart. I searched for reasons to smile, even when my heart was breaking.

Walls. Each of us has built them—but building them is not the hard part. The challenge comes when we must break them down. A country is built one city at a time; a city is built street by street; a street is built one house at a time; a house is built wall by wall. Just like a house is built with walls to protect what is inside, we too build walls around us: walls of protection, but also walls of fear, and walls of hate. Some of these walls are necessary for us to progress in life, and yet . . . most of them hold us back from where we really want to be.

All the days of our lives, we will either be building or breaking down these imaginary—and yet very real—barriers. It will be a constant cycle of progression. Some days, pieces of the bricks will fall, and on other days, new bricks will form.

Walls are a protective mechanism to help your soul feel safe, but they can also stop you from truly giving and receiving love. Whatever emotion has created the foundation of your walls, love can crack each brick: loving those around you, loving those who have hurt you, and most importantly loving yourself. As those walls get broken down, piece by piece, you will begin to feel the love of those who believe in you. You will begin to see your worth in this world, and you will be able to feel the love that God has for you. Every day of your life, you can have the gift to see your worth.

I have always wondered what it will be like to grow old and look back on my life. What bricks will I have willingly built around myself, and what walls will I have fought my way through? What will I wish I had done differently, and what will I be glad I didn’t forget?

If you were on your deathbed at this very moment, what would you regret? I don’t think that before dying, many people would wish they had spent more time at work. Most would probably not wish they had taken another trip or made more money to buy another car. I doubt our last words would be about not having built a bigger house or about the boat we never had.

I think most of our regrets will be about our relationships. We will remember the times we failed our loved ones, failed to teach them truth, failed to be there when they needed us, failed to show them they played a part in helping us through some of our hard times, and failed to forgive them for any pains they may have caused us. But I think even more, we will regret the times we failed—or refused—to say we were sorry. We will regret the moments others needed us, but we did not let them in, and the times when the walls we’d built around ourselves prevented us from being who we wanted to be. It’s the relationships in our lives that we will look back upon and wish we could do over—not the “stuff” we did or did not have. We will wish we would have let our loved ones in, and not pushed people away.

We build walls to keep ourselves safe. Abuse or neglect create foundations on which many people construct walls so as to never let anyone get close to them ever again. Physical pain and emotional abuse generate barriers that remain with victims as they try to find a way to survive with the shields they have erected to block out the world. With such walls surrounding us—we are not able to live life to the fullest.

Fear doesn’t have to shut you down. When you have those moments when the walls you’ve built seem to shut everyone else out—pray to your God that He can help you break them down. Ask for His hand to guide you to the freedom you seek from your past.

Forgiveness is the answer to broken hearts. Love is the power that can break down your walls of darkness. Maybe love doesn't change your son’s negative behaviors, but at least, he still knows you care. Maybe finding happiness does not mean your husband comes back to life, or leaves his mistress to come home. Maybe your mother never turns from her selfish ways that made her abandon you during a time of need. Maybe forgiveness doesn't save your marriage, but it can save your soul. Maybe hope doesn't save your baby dying in a hospital bed, but at least her last breaths were spent in your arms.

Sometimes our relationships are part of our test. The loss of a loved one, and their pain bring us times of doubt in ourselves and in God. I believe it is all part of our test—to see where our hearts belong. Is our love for God only apparent when our lives are perfect, or is our faith in Him unconditional, and not based upon what we’ve been given or where we are in life?

We don’t have to shut each other out. We don’t have to flee or fight our way out of our pain. There is a gift given to all of us that can break down those walls. Love, hope, and faith are the foundations upon which our lives can be built. Through the grace of God, all wrongs can be made right. All of our relationships can grow, and all of our walls of fear and hate can erode.

Not all days will be bright, but there is light in each one. Before you build a wall to keep the darkness out, make sure it doesn’t block you from the light. Break the bricks that are forming around you, crumble the towers that are keeping everyone out, and crack the walls of fear that stop you from smiling. Yesterday might have taught you to shut out the world, but today is the day to break through those barriers so the light can be seen.

Holes

I never knew a gun could leave so many holes. Emmett was left with the wounds that Rob’s bullets made in his forehead and heart, but my holes were not as clearly visible. I had holes in my heart that didn’t cause me to lose blood or die, but their penetration had caused me to lose my very sense of life. That gun left holes in my family and an empty space at my table, but it also left holes in my mind that blurred my vision of who I was, and who I wanted to become. Those holes impacted all aspects of my life . . . especially my parenting. 

When I was in seventh grade, I had a rough year. My parents’ divorce had become an excuse, in some ways, for me to lash out. I found myself using it as an excuse for doing some of the things I did, or for getting out of doing things I didn’t want to do. At church, I had a teacher who seemed to hate me. Every chance she got, she called my mom and complained about something I was, or was not doing. The sad part is . . . she was usually right. My behavior warranted complaints and I deserved being disciplined for the way I was acting.

My mom was good at handling these constant complaints. She always managed to find a punishment that fit the crime. She took away privileges that were important to me, and it worked. It helped me admit my shortcomings, instead of making excuses that the teacher was just picking on me. My mother was always very loving in her approach, but she never allowed any of the circumstances in my life to be used as excuses for bad behavior.

One day, I was out in the hall at school working on a project. My group had gone back into the classroom, and I was still out in the hall alone, cleaning up our mess. My church teacher, who was also a substitute teacher at my school, walked by. She didn’t say hello, so I didn’t bother to speak to her either.

That evening, my mom asked me to come into her room. She told me that my teacher had seen me “in trouble” again in the hall. The story she told was elaborated, and for the first time, it was not at all true. I became emotional because I feared losing a privilege for something I hadn’t done. I  looked into my mother’s eyes and said, “Mom, you know . . . I’ve been making some bad choices at school, and at church . . . and almost every story you have ever been told, is true. I accept responsibility for the things I’ve done, and I can see why this teacher is frustrated with the fact that she has to deal with me . . . but Mom, I promise you, this time . . . this time I did nothing wrong, and I would really like you to believe me. I was in the hall doing a group project, and I was not in trouble for anything. This time, she is just picking on me because she hates me . . . and I deserve that . . .  but please believe me, this time I didn’t do anything wrong.”

I know my mom must have prayed hard at that moment, because she didn’t doubt me for a second. She gave me a hug, and I left her room. She didn’t question my story—she just believed me. I’m sure it got so old hearing about all the mistakes I was making. I’m sure that at times, I was a burden for my poor mom, a single mother raising five children. As if she didn’t already have enough on her plate, there I was giving her added challenges.

There are times when we go through trials for our kids, and other times, our children themselves become our trials to bear. Even if we don’t see our children as a burden, it doesn’t take away the fact that their challenges become our own. 

In the months following Emmett’s death, almost everything that could have gone wrong with my children did! One week in particular, I remember Teage walked into his room, and for no particular reason, he broke a bunch of toys and destroyed some books. Bostyn and Bailey pushed a boy down the slide at the park, and his parents yelled at all of us. There was so much anger in Kaleeya that she was biting holes in all of her binkies. I wasn’t ready yet to wean her off of something that gave her comfort, so I had to run to the store multiple times a week to buy more. Tytus was still having allergic reactions to all of the formulas we tried. It felt like the list of problems with each of my children seemed to be getting longer and longer.

I was overwhelmed by the task of raising grieving children, and I was unaware of how to help them. One afternoon, I left Tiffanie with the kids and I got in my car and went on a drive alone. I stewed about all the heavy burdens I felt were destroying me as a parent. The ease and joy I once saw in parenting seemed to be fading, and it scared the crap out of me. How can I parent these children, when those around me are treating me as if my children are freaks? Why do I feel so embarrassed when my children make mistakes, like somehow I am at fault? 

Anytime someone complained about my kids or gave me dirty looks, it almost destroyed my day. I internalized all the perceptions I figured they had about my children and my parenting—or lack thereof. I became so enmeshed in my children’s negative behaviors that I almost didn’t want to take them out in public for fear they would embarrass me, or cause yet another stranger to look down on me as a mother.

As I continued to fret about the week’s negative events, I drove and drove, with no purpose or final destination in mind. I continued to brood over memories and talk out loud about how obnoxious the kids had been all week, and how pissed off I was that I no longer had any control over them. I was humiliated because I felt like I was failing to raise my children properly . . . and others were seeing all my shortcomings.

I turned down a street, and right in front of me was a park I knew well. I hadn’t paid attention to where I had been driving because I had been so wrapped up in my own pity-party. As I drove slowly past the park, I could almost picture my little family sitting on a blanket having a picnic there. That was one of the good memories I hadn’t thought of in some time. Emmett had met us there after work one summer day for a picnic dinner. I was pregnant with Tytus. Abbey and Alex, who were dating at the time, where also there with us. It was a perfect evening spent eating, laughing, and playing with the kids at the park.

Instantly, I snapped out of my feelings of embarrassment and anger over the children, and I just missed Emmett. I missed his smell. I missed his kisses, I missed the feeling of having a complete family, eating dinner at the park. I missed having someone to talk to when I needed to find answers for the kids’ struggles. 

I began to talk to him as if he were in the car, “Em, I can’t do this with out you. I don’t want to do this alone. We were supposed to work together, and grow old together. Why do I have to be here alone, trying to figure out how to help our children? Why did you have to leave me . . . Why wasn’t I enough for you?  Why can’t you come back and take care of me and our babies? You promised me you would take care of us . . . Emmett . . .”

Suddenly, the sorrow I felt because I missed him was transformed into a wave of anger against him, and because of my inadequate parenting. I began to scream, “Emmett . . . WHY WASN’T I ENOUGH for YOU? Why did you leave me here alone? WHY do I have to do all the dirty work because of your freaking mess? These kids are so hurt, they are crazy, they are almost an embarrassment to me! They can’t function in society. I don’t know how to help them, and it’s all because you are not here. It’s because you are dead. WHY did you LEAVE us?  Why didn’t you fight for us, Emmett? I hate you, you know that? …Yeah, I don’t miss you at all, because . . . because I HATE YOU! So there. Now you know, I don’t miss you, Emmett. I hate you for leaving this mess for me. I hate you for leaving me alone. I hate that I miss you so badly my soul hurts. I hate that a “bad guy” came and destroyed our family. I hate that it was Kandi holding you when you took your last breath. I hate that you left me . . . I was begging you to stay, but you left me all alone. And now, I am still alone. You never came back to me. You said you were just going to run to Walgreens. I waited for you all night long . . . I called you. Why didn’t you answer your phone? Wasn’t I worth answering your DAMN phone for? I worked so hard to make you happy . . . I would have gone to the ends of the earth to see you smile. I hate you for that, too! You had me, I was right there waiting for you . . . and you couldn’t even see me. I was right there. I was . . . I miss you Emmett. I miss your smile. I miss making you your stupid eggs. I miss your toothpaste all over the counter, and your wet towel on my side of the bed. I miss your stinky socks all over our room. I HATE you for doing this to me, but I . . . I still need you. I still want you . . . I still love you. What am I supposed to do now? The kids have asked me a million times what they are supposed to do without you, so now I pose that question to you as your wife: What am I supposed to do without you? How can I help our children fill the holes that are left in their hearts, and how will I ever fill mine?”

My contradictory words came out like the floodgates had just opened. I missed him so badly that it hurt, but I was also so broken because of his actions, I didn’t know for sure where to even begin: with anger or with love. 

It wasn’t just Rob’s or Emmett’s fault that my children were having issues, it was my fault as well. Never before in their lives, had I been embarrassed about their imperfections. I had spent years laughing when they made mistakes, and loving them through them. Now, all they could see of me, was that I was ashamed of them. I was trying so hard to fill my own holes, I was overwhelmed with the thought that I had to help them patch their own holes. I was not being the mom they deserved. I was allowing others’ views of my kids determine how I saw them.

They had to learn to forgive and move forward, but the principal way they were going to be able to do that was . . . by watching me. I had to show them how to let go, and I was not being the example they needed.

Forgiveness. Such a simple word, and yet its meaning is so strong. This past week, as I sat in church and listened to others speak of the lessons they had learned about forgiveness in their lives, I was humbled to my knees. Tears would not stop flowing as I thought of all the heartache I have read about over the past few months in messages sent to me by unfamiliar names who wanted to share with me their own stories of pain. I have felt humbled to be the ears to which some silent hearts have turned to share their deepest pain.

Why do we hurt each other? The thoughts of tender voices who cry in the night, all alone, break my heart. My eyes have wet my pillow on many nights these past few months, as I have prayed for some of my brothers and sisters whom I will probably never meet.

This world is huge. Each of us has our own story, but the darkness that tries to destroy hope, and the fear that causes us to live in pain . . . is in us all.

Forgiveness is the answer to that pain, but what most of us want to know is . . . HOW? What my children needed to SEE was HOW.

One afternoon, I heard the kids upstairs screaming that the toilet was overflowing. As I ran upstairs, huffing and puffing as I skipped steps, I angrily thought about all the times I had pleaded with my children to stop using so much toilet paper. When I reached the cresting toilet bowl, the kids were staring at it, horrified at the nastiness floating around inside. I let them have it! I repeated the demands I had been spewing for weeks. “Why can’t you guys stop using so much toilet paper! Doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” They all scattered, leaving me alone to let out my anger on the toilet.

I grabbed the plunger and began forcing it into the water over and over again, all the while emitting angry words about everyone using too much toilet paper. I worked for about five minutes, but the clog would not budge. I continued to abuse the toilet with the plunger and my words. Still, nothing happened.

All of the sudden I stopped. I held the plunger over the toilet and watched the nasty water drip down into the full bowl. I realized how stupid it was that I was grunting out my anger onto a porcelain toilet bowl, and I was humbled to realize I was going about it all in the wrong way. I said a quick prayer in my mind, “Heavenly Father, I am sorry for the way I have gone about this challenge. I cannot get this toilet to work, and I really need Thy help. I’m not plunging this toilet for fun. I’m not doing it for myself. In fact, I really wish I didn’t have to do it at all. It is disgusting, I am ticked off, and I have to figure out how to fix this. I’m not doing it for me, I’m not even plunging this toilet for my children . . . I am doing it for Thee.”

I pushed the plunger back into the water, and within three seconds the bowl drained. It was so simple, and yet, such an eye opening moment. That toilet didn’t matter to anyone . . . including my children. They didn’t care if they used too much toilet paper, because I was the one who would be there to clean up their mess! There wasn’t a person on the planet who gave a crap (no pun intended) about that toilet in my upstairs bathroom. At that moment, I didn’t even care what happened to that toilet. For all I cared, we didn’t even need it anymore. I was trying so hard to make it obey ME, but as soon as I found purpose in what I was doing, the real reason I needed to plunge that toilet . . . it flushed. 

That plugged toilet was a learning-lesson for me. Its imperfections—though they were inconvenient for others—didn’t really matter to them. And so it was with my children. Their imperfections didn’t really matter to other people—only to myself. I had to stop worrying about what anyone thought.

Other people are going to put you down about how you are raising your children. They may even call and tell you about all the things your little ones are doing wrong. What really matters is not what others think, but the way your love can help your children through their hard times. As hard as it feels for you as the outsider to have them struggle, try to remember how hard it is for them. Our children already know they are not perfect. They are reminded of that fact by others, and they also discover their own weaknesses by themselves.

The only way we will find the right answers for them personally is through Heavenly Father. In the same way I couldn’t get that toilet to work properly on my own, we cannot properly mold our children without the help of God. The minute I included Him in my plunging, the problems I faced were solved. We may hear stories and think that our kid's are just like someone else's, but the answers we need for each one of them are unique. Sometimes the only “self-help” we can receive will not come from a book, or from a phone conversation with a friend. No, the answers we are seeking may only come through heartfelt prayer.

All of these responsibilities weigh us down at times. They feel as though they are heavy burdens and immense trials. Due dates loom, and children complain. Teachers share concerns, and coaches degrade. Cars need cleaning, and laundry takes over every empty space in our homes. The list of hard things will never end. Heavenly Father didn’t ask us to complete all the hard things we have to do in one day. He never said that He only sees our worth when our children are perfect, when no one is disapproving, and our houses are clean. He has asked us to take on these responsibilities, and do our best. He has pleaded with us, as we pray for his counsel, to do ALL things for Him. With that request, He promises that if we ask . . . He will send us help.

If you are overwhelmed with the heavy burdens of daily life, give them all to the Lord. He knows the list never ends, and He has seen that the trials get heavy. I have looked at my life when I tried to carry my load alone, and it’s a joke. I drove around in my car overwhelmed with the messes I had yet to clean up, and I splattered poop all over the bathroom trying to fix things on my own. In the moments, when I transferred the burdens of my responsibilities from my own hands into the hands of my Savior, He picked them up and helped me find the way. 

He may not literally grab the plunger out of your hand, but He will send you the light to know how to use it.

Sometimes when life feels the heaviest, we are too bent over from its weight to see the light shining at the end of the tunnel. Today, I feel impressed to challenge us all to look for the good. Maybe you are lying in a hospital bed with a heart condition, maybe you are alone in an apartment full of emptiness, maybe you are buried deep in laundry and your babies are screaming, and you . . . are just trying to remember who you are. Wherever you are today, I want you to find reasons to smile.

Right now, as I sit at this computer, I can see a picture of my children. They are all at school right now, or taking naps in their beds, but they are the first priority on my list. They make me smile with the funny things they say and the happy voices they spread throughout our home.

I can see a few piles of their misplaced toys, and I am thankful for the sweetness they bring to my children’s imaginations. I am thankful that I have the ability to teach them the responsibility of hard work. 

I can see a sink full of dirty dishes, and I am so thankful I have enough food to feed my family. I am thankful for the clean water that pours into my cup at the simple turn of a tap. I am thankful for my dishwasher, because I have no idea on earth how I could keep those dishes clean without it.

I can see a pile of bills. How thankful I am to have electricity and heat to keep my house warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I am thankful for a cell phone that helps me communicate with my loved ones. I am thankful for warm showers, and garbage days. All of the blessings, that come from the bills I pay. 

I can see a gash in my table made when one of my children took a fork and imprinted thirty little indents in it that will probably remain there forever. I am so thankful that I have healthy children who enjoy spending time with me. I am thankful for their creative minds that have brought me many works of art . . . some not so convenient . . . yet quite creative, like the artful patterns made in the wood of my table.

That table may look like it needs to be replaced. My windows sure as heck need to be washed, and my dishes are rarely clean . . . but how amazing is it to be surrounded by so much beauty? My children are not mine . . . they are on loan to me by Heavenly Father. The bills sitting on the counter are His. I am just His steward as I take care of the responsibilities He has blessed me with.

Parenting, dating, school, work . . . wherever you are . . . ask for Christ’s hand to enrich the little moments when you stand with a plunger in your hand, unable to find the answers as to how to solve the riddle.

It is my prayer that we can be the putty that fills the holes made by others in our children—and the holes in all our relationships—and that we can let Christ choose the pieces we use to build the foundation of who we are, so that He can fill the holes inside of us.

We can be the constant in others’ lives to help them see their roles; we can be the love that holds them together when others try to bring them down. And we can put our faith in them when they need the benefit of the doubt.

Many eyes have whispered a million words to my heart, and many voices have pierced my soul when my children have made mistakes. Let them watch; let them talk. Pray for the guidance to be the stability your child needs. Others may cause you to believe that the people in your life are burdens . . . but you have the power to find the good. 

Sometimes we are in the wrong. Let us teach our little ones to take responsibility for their own actions and not to use others as the excuse for why they are being “picked on.” Then other times, when they really are working hard and trying their best, let us remember to believe in them, even when others do not. My mom believing in me was empowering as she let me walk away without punishing me. Her silence spoke stronger to my soul than any words she could have scolded into me. I knew she believed in me. She had drilled and drilled me that I had to own up to the role I played in the scenarios of my life. And this time, I had played a role I could be proud of . . . and she trusted me. 

It’s okay that our children aren’t the star athletes. It’s okay that they are sometimes less than mediocre. Luckily, they were not sent here to be perfect for us. Just as Christ loves us with all of our shortcomings, we must see the worth of our loved ones . . . even when they are covered in holes. Christ never said it would be perfect, He only promised that it would be worth it. 

The relationships in our lives are no different. They will not be perfect, but when we desire our part to be better . . . we can pray for His love to guide us in the roles that WE play. 

As children we have a different job to do. Mothers and fathers will not always do everything right. Hopefully, our children can still love us when we fall short as their parents. Even parents fail. We react poorly to a situation; sometimes we even hurt those that we love. Physically and emotionally we get stretched to our max . . . and in those moments, sometimes we don't respond with love. All the while, our young children still love us . . . because we are their parents. Their love is not contingent on our perfection.

How dare I feel sorry for myself for raising “broken” children, when I myself was just that. Heavenly Father never saw me as a burden or trial He was merely trying to overcome. He saw me as his daughter, no matter how messed up my actions seemed to Him, or to the onlookers who went to Him with the problems they were having with me. 

Emmett’s children had holes in their hearts because of their father’s death, but as Heavenly Father’s children . . . we can become whole because of Christ’s willingness to die on the cross for us. Death is the ultimate teacher. It teaches us about who we want to be; its lessons ring through the lives of those it impacts. But death can also be the ultimate healer. Christ’s death was not in vain, as Emmett’s seemed to be. Our brother Jesus died so that all the holes that have been shot through our lives . . . can be made whole. Even the wounds unseen, discreet holes, left by a gun.

He was resurrected so that we can one day live again . . . complete and whole from the sins of this world. All wrongs can be made right, and all debts can be paid. He may have died on the cross for us . . . but the thing we can never forget is: He lives again, and so can we. 

Easter message

Grateful in any circumstances

Single

A few days after Emmett’s funeral, I had a doctor’s appointment. I sat in the office waiting for someone to come in and speak with me. As the door opened, I was expecting to see my usual nurse, but instead, in walked a woman I had never seen before. She looked so casual and calm and asked, “What is it that you are here for today?” 

“Well,” I said. “I would like to have my IUD removed.” She glanced quickly through my chart. “It looks like you just barely had it put in . . . like a week ago. Is there a reason you don’t like it?” 

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Well, actually, a few days after I came in here to have it put in, my husband died . . . so . . . I just will not be needing it.” 

She glanced up from my chart, and asked “Then what are you going to be using?”

I looked into her eyes with an inquisitive glare. “Um . . . well, I am not going to be using anything.”

This conversation must have been a new one for this poor nurse. “I am just worried that you might not want to take it out,” she said. “Have you thought about keeping it in as your form of birth control? Should we discuss the other forms of protection we offer here before you make your decision?”

Again, I tried to make my point clear. “Well . . . like I said, my husband passed away, and I am no longer in need of birth control, so that is why I am here . . . to take OUT my IUD.”

The baffled look on her face made it clear she was doubtful of what I had just said. “Are you ready to get pregnant already . . . looks like you just had a baby about two months ago?”

This time she had to understand. “So . . . I am a single mother now, my baby is not quite two months old. I have four other children all under the age of six . . . I am no longer married . . . and I will not be having sex, because I am . . . not married . . . I . . . am . . .  I am single.” 

As the words slipped out of my lips, I got a pit in my stomach. Single. I was now a single woman, a place I never thought I would be again. I had not even considered my recent step into widowhood as a catapult throwing me back into the realms of single life. Just seven years earlier, I had pictured my wedding day as the moment I overcame the obstacle of being a single woman, but here I was again . . . and this time, the odds of ending another period of being single were even less in my favor.  

Sitting in that doctor’s office, and fighting the nurse about birth control, was an eye-opener for me. I had some work to do. The morals I held as a single adult before my marriage to Emmett were still just as important to me now, as they were back then. I was a single woman again, but this time . . . I was dragging behind me five beautiful additions. 

As I drove home from my appointment, I pictured walking into a singles’ ward at church carrying Tytus in his car seat on one arm, Kaleeya on my hip, and my other three children waddling behind me. I chuckled to myself as I pictured all the eyes that would turn their gaze toward me . . . not as an inappropriate “check-out” . . . but to watch my circus entering the building. Yes, a singles’ ward sounded like it would be a lot of entertainment . . . but it probably wasn’t the crowd I was looking for. I might have become a single woman again, but the single life I once knew was far from where I was now. 

One night, a few weeks later, I got a crazy idea that I should go looking around in Emmett’s e-mail account. It seemed like it would be a nice break from going through his box of crap in the garage. Since receiving his e-mail and password for Facebook, I figured it would be easy to get into his g-mail account and see what it contained.  

My heart was racing. I felt like I was a high school girl again . . . driving by a cute boy’s house. I slowly typed in the username and password. It worked!  I looked around me to make sure no one was watching, as if I were doing something sneaky. The list of recent e-mails pulled up. Many of them were messages he had received on his Facebook account after his death. Some of them I had read, and others were new. 

I kept scrolling down . . . searching for any juicy e-mails from the days before he died. I just knew the e-mails I was searching for had to have some new information for me. I kept scrolling, and scanning the names from whom the e-mails were sent. 

KANDI! And there it was. The first of any saved e-mails I had seen from Kandi. I opened it. It was a picture of her, in what looked like her daughter's high school prom dress. That wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted the meat of the case. I wanted to see hate mail from Rob and love letters from Kandi. I craved to see the ugly facts with my own eyes, so my heart could shut the book that was permanently waiting on its shelf to be read. I needed real closure.  

I kept scrolling. His account was strewn with singles’ websites. Singles? Dating? It hadn’t crossed my mind that there could have been more women than her. I had secretly hoped her spell was the only thing that had made his eye wander. 

That night, I came to know even more about the man I had loved, who was now gone. He didn’t have just one stupid affair with a woman he thought could help him progress in his career. No, he had been out searching for more women! 

This time, my detective work did not bring me the peace for which I was hoping. It stirred up new emotions within me. 

Single life . . . was that really the path he was seeking?  

I was sitting alone at a computer . . .  still trying to do the impossible—save a marriage that no longer existed. And while Emmett had had all that I still craved . . . he was looking for something else. Something less! It didn’t make sense to me. What part of this lonely life of being single did he find so appealing? 

Before I met Emmett, I had a lot of experience with being single. It was a title I can’t say I would ever search for again. I had some great times as a single adult, but there was nothing about it that appealed to me as an alternative to the safety I felt in being committed in marriage. 

Now, I found myself forced back into the single life, which before my marriage, I had spent so much time . . . trying to “overcome.” 

In my young single years, I can remember many dates I had with lots of different types of men. A few times, I even thought I had found “the one.” The minute I felt like “I could see myself with this guy,” I would plan out our life in my mind. I threw my heart in before the guy even asked for it. 

I would put so much thought into the idea of being with him, that I no longer held the power over my own happiness. I would sit by my phone . . . and its silence would shatter my night . . .  or my month, for that matter. At that time, my ultimate feeling of self-worth could come from a phone call . . . or could be destroyed by the lack thereof. 

In the end, a few of “the one”s never did call again. It wouldn’t just break my heart, it would cause me to doubt myself and my worth. I spent many weekends in a state of depression because of the lack of a promised call. Why? In that moment, when my feelings of self-worth were at an all-time low, I truly believed I had lost my chance at love. If that boy didn’t call back after the first date, somehow I was no longer beautiful or lovable. Somehow, I would never be enough.  

Then with the ones who did call back. . . I would find reasons why they weren’t good enough for me, and I would push them away. Sometimes it would be as stupid as hating the shoes he wore, or that I couldn’t stand the fact that his mother still did his laundry for him. I didn’t like the fact that he spent more time on his hair than I did, or that he was too quiet . . . or too loud. The list of stupid reasons for which I would push guys away was longer than the number of first dates who never called again. 

Unfortunately, between those two types of dating experiences, I found myself allowing my view of myself to come from my experiences with men. I didn’t have enough self-worth to keep myself from allowing the missed phone calls, or the stupid shoes, from determining if I was happy or not. I believed my happiness was based on the perfection others found in me. I needed them to tell me I was worth their time, before I allowed myself to be worth my own time. 

Some of us, as singles, spend our days walking around looking for Mr. Right. Instead of becoming “right” ourselves, we look for him on the outside and hope he can generate a belief of our worth, which we can’t seem to find in ourselves. Until Emmett came into my life, I walked around secretly hoping I was on the right sidewalk at school to lead me to my Mr. Perfect. Every morning, I got ready just in case I ran into him. I went to the grocery store to buy healthy foods so I would be perfect for him. I went to the gym so I would have the type of body he was looking for. Most of my decisions were not made for me, but for the imaginary dream boy for whom I was searching. 

And when I found him, it WAS perfect. He believed in me, he told me I was special, and he adored everything I did. My worth was safe, and my fears of rejection seemed to be in the past. 

The night Emmett died, it was much more than just automatically getting thrown back into singlehood. Once again, I had to face all those fears that Emmett had calmed. I didn’t want to be single. I didn’t know how to find worth in myself because I had used him as my gauge if ever I wondered if I was a good person, a good mom, or a good wife. And up until about three months before he died . . . it had worked! He believed in me. He encouraged me, and he lifted my feelings of self-worth higher and higher. 

Being single again was daunting. Sitting at that computer reading notes from a singles’ website changed something inside of me. He had been searching for others to fill the void in his view of his worth. That was crazy to me, especially as his wife who had done my very best to let him know of his worth. And yet, hadn’t I been searching and waiting for him to fill the void I had within myself? Wasn’t that just as crazy? Did he really need other women to give him his sense of worth? Did I really need a husband to let me know that I was a wonderful person?

Now was my chance to search, but not for another single person to tell me that I was enough. It was my turn to search for myself. Who was Ashlee? What does Ashlee want, and who is Ashlee supposed to become? Questions raged inside me, helping me look past the loneliness of singlehood and fueling the desire to know who I really was. Being married could not be what defined who Ashlee was anymore. I had to remember—for the first time in my life—who God had sent me to earth to be, and who I really was.

It wasn't Emmett that had made me great. It was ME. His words, though they were encouraging, were not what I needed anymore. He was gone. I was single, and I wanted to become okay with the single life that had come back upon me. I vowed to myself that I would never again let another person determine my happiness. I knew I had a long road ahead of me. I knew that one day, I would have to do the things I had done in my past as a single person. It didn’t have to be scary, it didn’t have to be lonely . . . because this time around, I wasn’t going to look for anyone to tell me something I didn’t already know on my own. 

Being single offered a new view for me. I didn’t need to let my happiness be determined by a phone call or a date. I was going to be happy being single. I figured it would be years before I decided to head down the road of commitment again, but until that time, I was going to make the most of my life. In the past, my desire for marriage had always driven my choices. Where to live and who to be was driven by the hope of finding “the one.” Even a walk to school could become an imagined heavenly intervention for me to find Mr. Right. Don’t get me wrong, I know Heavenly Father helps our paths cross with those who can bring us joy, but constantly seeking it, is not a way to live. What I wish I had known then as a young single adult, which I know now, is to just live. Find happiness in yourself and not in a phone call that does or does not come. Happiness is inside of you. It’s not a gift that comes in the form of another person. Yes they can increase the happiness we have, but it cannot be another person that creates it.

Search for the man who is compatible with you, as you are right now. Search for a girl who can sacrifice and forgive and work hard. Find a partner who can complete you. Quit waiting for an imaginary perfect being, because even if you find him or her, what will he or she see in you? I know we want what we want, but we must seek what the Lord wants for us. He knows the qualities that will bring you lasting happiness . . . and they aren’t usually measured by the world’s standards. Find the standard that the Lord has set.

Your future doesn’t have to hold riches for it to be wonderful. You might be blessed with an amazing person who adores and cherishes you, who is merely just “an apple picker.” Happiness is not promised, it is achieved through hard work. If that apple picker puts God above him or herself, and can sacrifice and encourage and be kind, then those are the things that will really matter in the end. 

Looks can be shattered in a moment. Cars will crash, houses can burn, diseases can cripple, and bullets can fire. Money can be spent, investments can go bad, and cars can be taken away. What really matters is what is inside a person.  Look deeper than the surface.

They may not be the star basketball player your mom always told you to find; they may not have ever been invited to step onto a runway . . . but these imperfect single people who are right where you are . . . maybe all they need is for you to let them in. Maybe then, you will see how amazing they are. 

It is true, you have to be attracted to a person. What attractions are holding you back from meeting the right one? What standards have you set for the person you seek that will never be realized? If you are a single adult, now is your time to put both feet in. Be you . . . maybe that won’t be enough for everyone . . . but let it be enough for yourself. 

Until you realize that the true kind of love will only come when you are true to yourself, you will push them away.  Be you, and if they walk away, at least it is you they are leaving and not a pretend person you were trying to be. If they let you go when you are yourself, at least they leave you standing. If it is the other person holding you up, you will fall. Standing tall as yourself is a lot easier than being crushed into a million pieces and gluing the broken bits back together. 

You may find that even after you have found yourself, people still leave. That’s okay, because if they don’t see you now, they never will. Before you commit to your dream spouse, become the person you always dreamed you would be. But if you have found someone who truly sees you, even when you can’t see yourself . . . it’s okay to let him in too. He might see the part of you you’re trying to hide, and still not walk away. 

What if we get rejected? What if we aren’t enough? I can promise you, that at some point in our lives, we will all face rejection. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday you might not measure up for someone you care about. So what? Who cares? You are still the same person you started as. It doesn’t mean you turn on yourself as well.

Rejection, and suffering losses don’t just come to those of us who have been married. A loss can be as simple as that phone call that never comes. Rejection can be interpreted as being anytime our desires are not met. Feelings of serious loss, betrayal, and confusion can cloud your mind. The stages of grief can come from the loss of a love you once thought was going to be yours, even if it was just one date. As single adults—single, divorced, or widowed—there are many lonely nights and many depressing days. We cannot let them define who we think we are. Those nights when you feel you are suffering alone, seek peace from a God who is always there. He knows you are suffering alone, let Him join you and remind you of the worth He sees in you. 

Spend less time worrying about your checklist for others and more time figuring out what qualities on the list you want to develop. So he doesn’t ever call you back, or friend you on Facebook? What matters is that you are true to the ‘you’ God made you to be. It would be easy to pretend to be someone you are not, but in the end, you will forget who you really are. Be you, and let it be enough. It is only you that can find the mission you were sent to this earth to fulfill.

Single life before Emmett, was just a search for the “one” to help me progress. Once he was gone and I realized I must still find a way to move forward, my eyes became open to a new view of being a single adult. I was not the little girl who was searching for reassurance; I was an adult searching for myself. I knew being single would be a different experience this time around, but I was determined to just have faith. I couldn’t wait around for someone to hold me up. All I had was myself, my family, and God. I was a single mom who was not going to fall. I had to stand.

Being single can suck. Love can be hard. But love for yourself and for another is what life is all about. Don’t let anyone break you. Don’t let another person determine if you smile. That phone call wasn’t meant to be. Let it go. Cling to the things you can control, and let the others go. Ready or not, love might come your way, but you must remember who you are. 

Being single is not a punishment or a sentence. It is a time in our lives when we get to put our needs first. It is a time to reflect upon the person we want to be; and a chance for us to realize that who we are is enough for Him. 

We hear stories about rejection and loss, and it almost furthers our cause to just remain single forever. Mine is one of those stories. Emmett’s choices and Rob’s anger put me in a state of raw rejection and serious loss: the loss of a life I loved, the loss of the life I thought I had, the loss of the love I had shared so deeply, and the loss of any sign of true commitment. A perfect storm for a recipe of a life of forever being single. . . Right? 

Before March 11, 2011, if you were to tell me that I would have to tread through a pain so immeasurable . . . I would have run away. I had heard simple version of stories like mine, and sworn that there was no way I would still be breathing. I didn’t know I could do hard things . . . until they were done.  

As I stand today, I can see that even through that hell storms . . . I am still the same person I was before, but with even more strength and belief in myself. 

You might get rejected, you might even lose at love . . . but what do you really have to lose, if you don’t have it right now? 

 I lost everything in love, but here I am. Yes, it still hurts sometimes. It still brings me to my knees every single day. I still cry, I still have doubts . . . but I am still me. If changing my past meant not having my five children and the relationship I’ve developed with my Heavenly Father as He sent Angels to lift me up, I wouldn’t change anything. My past embodies the fears of all the singles who are afraid of commitment. Don’t let your fears of losing, stop you from loving. The love that surrounds me today is stronger than any I have ever known, even though the losses I have endured have hurt more deeply than any I could have imagined. 

Set standards for yourself, and don’t waver. Set expectations for your future lover, but don’t get so set on who they are supposed to be . . . that you cannot see them. If you are too busy staring at your list, you will miss seeing the qualities that are uniquely theirs. Strive to be the best you, and hope for the best them . . . and then when you find each other, and you both seem to fall short . . . Let God fill in the gaps. He believes in marriage. He believes in love. He cries when we do; and He hurts when we hurt.  Marriage is hard; love can hurt . . . but so can being alone. 

Maybe you have never had a second date in your life. So what if you have never had the passionate embrace of a first kiss? Maybe your dream boy has always been in your view, but has never asked you out. Maybe your perfect girl has been your best friend all along, but you have been too busy watching all the other girls who walk by her. Where ever you are, if you are not in a serious relationship . . . you are single. You may feel alone, but you are not. There are so many of us who have sat home alone, single, wishing for a life that we righteously desired. Don’t give up on love . . . but even more importantly . . . please don’t give up on yourself. God believes in marriage, and he created love . . . but he also created us. Even if you have never loved, or never do . . . he believes in you.