potholes

There's something enchanting about New Year's Eve.  The anticipation of potential thick in the air as the media fills our eyes and ears with montages of images and video clips all strung together with songs intended to illicit feelings of reflection, introspection, and anticipation.  In the closing moments of the tapestry of yet another year; we find ourselves somewhere along the continuum of emotions; more often than not. performing a two-step across the spectrum as we recall all of the events that comprised our own 12 month gift of time.

Too often we take the gift for granted; chalking up the bumps and valleys we encountered yet overcome as our own ability to not only survive, but to thrive.  We pat ourselves on the back and prepare ticker-tape parades to celebrate the positives; a welcome distraction to those cavernous pits of negative that pock mark the path in our rear view mirror.

As we buckle in and prepare for the next journey around the sun; our focus is so often jaded.  We float in that undetermined space between 'the end' and 'what's next'; targeting our trajectories on the wonderfully sunlit positive potential; glancing ever-so-briefly {if even at all} at the pot holes.

And they're there, those pot holes.  Occasionally, they're right out in the open; but more often disguised until the last minute; intent on jarring one off course.  The potential in these divots is one we often brush aside; ignore; don't take into consideration as we work our way down the path.  Partly ego, partly pride, partly optimism; but almost all of it is because we just don't see them coming.  

What if we did, though?  Would we keep on going?  Would we willingly submit ourselves to potential disaster, the outcome of which completely unknown?

Reflecting back some years--a baker's dozen, in fact--to a moment on a New Year's Eve that marked the merging of two individual paths, I find myself asking that of the man whose path melded into mine.  

The precipice of potential gleamed alongside the shiny diamond solitaire nestled in the ring box as my instantaneous boyfriend-turned-fiance spoke into a microphone in front of hundreds of featureless faces that encircled a suddenly empty dance floor.  The symbol of this ring, an endless circle representative of love and commitment soon adorned the third finger of my left hand as we basked in the glow of what 'could be'.

What if we had a glimpse, though?  What if in that intangible time between 'we'll see' to 'we will', we had a glimpse of the path; the highs, the lows, the blessings, the bumps, the potholes?  

Would we still?

Would we have planned and arranged and registered, knowing what these last eleven and a half years of marriage have brought? 

Would we have written vows that bore a striking similarity in phrasing, theme, and verbiage; and then shared them with a hundred-plus of our family and friends?

Would we have packed a U-Haul to the gills and trail-blazed for a destination nestled in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains without the comfort of family and familiarity nearby?

Would we have signed for a mortgage and upgraded vehicles to accommodate an unanticipated need for a car seat before we had even celebrated one year of marriage?

Would we have spent years growing our family and planting roots to then make the decision to uproot and move south?

What if we saw the potholes of a shutting down of a wife.  Of a breakdown of communication.  Of infidelity.  Of lies.  Of deceit.  Of heart shattering.  Of questioning the future of the marriage.  Of the frequent use of the word and idea of divorce.  Of the counseling and the fighting and the tears and the uncertainties and the fear and the distrust.  Of the brokenness.  

What if we saw all of those things in those brief nanoseconds of time that elapsed between the enunciation of his question and the teary, elated nod of acceptance?  Would we have continued anyway?  Would he have taken it all back?  The vulnerability of his speech in front of hundreds of strangers, the money thoughtfully spent by a college senior on a ring instead of a round {or...many rounds}?  Would he rather have explored his new home state a bachelor; hiking trails, climbing peaks, and sampling microbrews in his spare time off the rigs?  Would he have knelt before me on that dance floor in anticipation knowing one day he'd be towering over me in anger?  Would he have encircled my finger with a ring, knowing that a decade later, it would be sitting in our safe; unworthy of resting upon the hand of someone who would shatter his heart into countless pieces?  Would he have welcomed me walking toward him down the aisle knowing one day we'd be walking away from one another, mere cohabitants of the same house?  Would the sight of the potholes have veered him off course?  Taken him to a place where I wasn't?

Would he still?

Of course, it's easy to say that without that kneel, without that speech, without that ring; 3-almost-4 children we've created and raised together would not be; and who can imagine a life without that immense blessing?  

But aside from that.  Not to discount our children, but to focus on the source.  Would he still, would I still, would we still...if on that New Year's Eve thirteen years ago, we could jump ahead to this New Year's Eve.  To glance in this rear view mirror over the last year {or even two} of discovered pot holes and sparingly few ticker tape parades.  Would the foundation still be poured out; the cement of a life lived in union be risked at the guarantee of bumps and swerves and those big, gaping potholes.

It's hard to disassociate myself from the family we've created {and are still growing} to make a definitive response to the 'what if'; however as I close out this year, I find myself more reflective and introspective.  Filled with more joy and gratitude.  I find myself knowing that even if he 'wouldn't still', I would have; and regardless of the what if's; we did.  We did and we hit bumps and we stumbled and we hit pot holes and we fell.  But we did.  And, while we don't ever know what pot holes may await; I know that we have been strengthened in the breaking.  We have scar tissue over wounds that proves that the ring; the symbol of endlessness; has yet to claim us as victims.  We did, we still, and we will.

 

Incomplete

I have been walking around for a couple weeks now, struggling to pinpoint exactly what this feeling is that's been weighing heavy on my heart; taking advantage of the cracks and finding warm places to stay and hibernate for a while.  My polish is dulled.  Fingerprints and smears coating my tongue have lead to me spit fire and miserableness toward the people with whom I should be demonstrating and modeling grace in the most significant of ways.

This morning, as I marinated in my own frustration/annoyance/pity, it finally came to me.  The feeling I'd been trying to identify.  Finally.  I could 'fix it' and move forward.  Because that's what we want to do, right?  Encounter, identify, fix, move on.

If only.

This morning, the air was filled with the aromas of chocolate and peanut butter as I decorated my husband's birthday cake.  I usually have my earbuds in while decorating; as the music masks the background noise of giggles, bickers, imaginary play, or whines that are a constant soundtrack to life.

A singer/songwriter station on Pandora had a great mix going; when the next thing I knew, I heard song lyrics that seemed to be a little bit louder, a little bit bigger, a little bit knocking right on the door to my soul.

The song had been playing for about a minute and it was the words in the chorus that gave me pause and had me glancing at my phone to see what it was that I was listening to.  I knew the artist; had heard several of his songs before, but never this one.

The world will turn and we'll grow, we'll learn how
to be 
to be incomplete.

Bingo.  Incomplete.  That's what word I'd been searching for all this time.  As it clicked into the space in my mind, I felt a little loosening in my shoulders and a light shone behind the massive haze that has taken up residence in my soul.

When I thought of the word incomplete and how it fit into my world, the endless lists and calendars and to-dos jumped to the forefront of my mind.  Which, on the surface, is what the mass majority thinks of when we envision incomplete.

But outside of my daily and weekly to do list, the feeling of incomplete touches so many places in my heart.

The song continued; the chorus adding lyrics the next time around:

The world will turn and we'll grow, we'll learn how
to be 
to be incomplete.  
This here now, it's where we touch down.  
You and me let's be incomplete.

Ever had a moment when you feel as though a song has been written specifically with you in mind?  When the lyrics hit you right *there*?

You and me.  Let's be incomplete.

It was talking to me.  To us.  To You and Me.

Randy and I had our first dance as husband and wife to the song You and Me by Lifehouse.  We have signs displaying those words hanging in various places throughout our house.  We have matching tattoos bearing those words on our wrists.  It's always been about You and Me.

Except there's this time period.  This uncomfortable, ouchy time period when things are tough.  Sensitive.  Challenging and ugly and very, very hurtful.  A time when when the You and Me became second string.  When it took a back seat to a whole slew of things that went awry inside of a mind and heart and then metastasized into a giant cancer that strangled and threatened the very life of not only You and Me, but the foundation we'd built over the decade plus since becoming You and Me.

But somehow, somewhere, someway...we're still here.  There's still a foundation; there's still a force that's kept our broken pieces in close enough proximity to each other that we can still qualify as an us.  As a You and Me.  The glue within that ampersand between the 'You' and the 'Me' is heavy-laden with grace.  With patience.  With an underlying foundation of love that stretches back to those first few months of undefined uncertainty when we were too nervous and hesitant to name what was actually developing between us in the wee hours of the night; as we shared pizzas and Louie's chicken sandwiches and story after story story.

Seems like we've always had a bit of incomplete.  Even when we finally defined 'us', I don't think we realized that our definitions, our plans, are really just pencil-drawn ideas that sit upon a drafting table; awaiting the ink from the pen of the One who holds it all together.

This year, we nearly took an eraser to our entire plan.  We nearly took our crumpled paper plan and rubbed out the lines we'd sketched way back when.  We nearly turned it to ash at the hand of a fire that smoldered and erupted and swept through our life.  But somehow, somewhere, someway...we're still here.  The pencil we're using has a dulled point.  It draws broken and imperfect lines.  The plans are half-done and undeveloped.  They aren't incomplete just because we're using a faulty tool.  They're incomplete because we're not the true architect.  We're the apprentices, learning as we go, making mistakes, gaining experience, and {hopefully} applying the knowledge we pick up along the way.

This year we spent a lot of time in apprentice mode.  We approached the paper plan with experiences and perspectives we had never once envisioned way back when.  The learning curve has been steep.  The healing has been and will continue to be a process that leaves scars forever.  The pencil lines we'd once sketched have been tweaked and lead us into territory that seemed insurmountable.  That is, until we found a bit of baseline.

When the mess of pencil seemed too smeared and rubbed raw to read clearly, we found the ink of grace.  Slowly that ink became more and more visible; gradually and deliberately making its way to the surface.  Growing in strength and beginning to bind up wounds and leaving behind scars that aren't meant to be forgotten; but to serve as stepping stones.

This year we began the rebuilding of a You and Me.  We aren't nearly where we should be.  But we sure as hell aren't where we were.

This year we found the grace in the ampersand and began illuminating it in ways we never had before.

This year I really, truly realized what You and Me means is "two are better than one, for if they fall, one will lift up the other {Ecclesiastes 4:9-10}.  And even beyond that, though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.  A cord of three strands is not quickly broken {4:12}."

That third strand.  The strand of grace, the strand of ink that rests between the 'You' and the 'Me' in the shape of an ampersand and an infinity.  It's that third strand that makes the world turn.  That third strand that gives us grace as we grow and as we learn how to be, to be incomplete.