My father-in-law left this earth far too soon for what's considered so by human standards. At 52 years old, many would argue that he was plucked from us right in the prime of his adulthood. A devoted husband and father; a doting grandfather; a loyal brother, uncle, friend. He was well-loved by so many here on earth, yet for reasons beyond any of our understanding, he was called away to be with the Father in heaven, whom he loved and served.
I had the honor of meeting Rick back in the December 2002, when he and his wife Rhonda opened their home to me when I visited Randy over our winter break from Penn State. I drove almost 7 hours across Pennsylvania; arriving long after dark, only to walk through the back door of the solid, 2-story farmhouse and practically right into the welcoming arms of a man who gave me a glimpse into what middle-aged Randy would resemble.
Getting to know Rick and Rhonda {as Uncle Mike said at Rick's memorial; there wasn't one without the other} felt to me like stepping into a storybook. There was a rhythm to their interactions. A natural flow of how things went in their day-to-day. It looked easy and comfortable and comforting. I had never personally observed a couple with such a relational style like that; and it intrigued me.
Growing up with parents in two different households and a lot {a lot} of issues that were never properly handled; what I brought to the table in relationships was jaded in every sense of the word. It's not an excuse for the lackluster job that I do in being a mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend; but it did rest some pretty jagged foundation blocks in the construction of each of these entities. Most of the cracks are the result of wounds that are self-inflicted and self-sabotaged; the result of my inability to properly handle turmoil, stress, trauma, and pain. I shoot myself in the foot and then wonder why I don't have a good leg to stand upon. And the infection that has grown from those wounds is travelling deep into the throes of my adult life. The offshoots impacting the core of my relationships--my home.
The 'mom' part of me, like every other mother is subject to this increased levels of mom-shaming and mom-guilt that runs so rampantly through our society. When met with a highly fractured foundation of self confidence; the effects produce countless negative outcomes. Depression, bursts of anger, anxiety, lack of consistency, yelling, removal of joy. The tone of the household is reminiscent of a frozen lake in spring; crackling and popping, faces riddled with caution, constantly on-edge for the unexpected break in the ice. It's a frightening way for
But it's the true root of the home--my marriage--where I find my shortcomings have brought the deepest, hardest, realest, most damaging, relationship-ending kind of pain. My flawed foundations, my broken shell, my poor decisions...all have brought about what feels like an inevitable ending to a marriage more times than I'm proud to admit. But admit them, I will. I lived a lot of years bound up by the gnarled, tight-fisted grip of shame. And where has it found me? I'm a 35 year old mom of four, married for nearly 12 years to a man who can't and doesn't even want to look at me because of the ways in which I've shattered his heart. He sees me as dishonest, untrustworthy, manipulative, mean, and incapable of change. Even these words I type; the truths I spill out for my children to one day read and know who their mom was will be spun into the depths of our dysfunction; viewed by some as a way to gain empathy. When all they really are, are just truths. And not the so-called truths I spent years and years, and years craftily weaving into the story I wanted people to believe about me. Real. Genuine. Truths.
When I met Randy's family; my guard was up in every sense of the word. What I knew about them screamed 'ideal family'; and I was nervous. I was a girl with raging insecurities and a nonexistent idea of my core set of values; and I was terrified. I remember telling Randy's mom that I don't discuss religion or politics after being asked a {most likely} harmless question. My brain couldn't wrap around those topics for no other reason than I hadn't been brought up with the knowledge of such. It just 'wasn't discussed'; so rather than adding some well-roundedness to my identity, I shut the door and hammered a few boards across it. And it wasn't unique to those two hot-button topics. I shut and boarded up lots of doorways in my life's story; for fear I wouldn't be accepted.
Yet despite my own many, many issues, Randy's parents seemed to like me and didn't have vocal oppositions to me hanging around for what would become the long haul. I grew to love them as a second set of parents. The physical distance between us of course serving as a hurdle to our flourishing relationship; however I am rarely short on words so phone conversations filled in the gaps between our visits.
When we moved to Colorado shortly after arriving home from our honeymoon, the visits from family and friends became cherished treasures on the timeline of our lives; countless memories and quality time squished into the span of mere days, captured in a few snapshots for prosperity.
Shortly after Gavin was born, and just over a year into our marriage, Rick and Rhonda came to visit and meet their newest grandson. Randy and I of course put on our best tour guide attire and proudly showed off a few of the little gems we had stumbled across in our short tenure in our new home state.
But it was the times when we were doing 'nothing'; or 'visiting', a more fitting term for the quality time spent; that stand out in my mind with the most prevalence. There was one afternoon--I recall a couple of conversations that both Randy and I viewed for many years with a negative connotation.
We had been driving somewhere; lunch downtown, the Harley shop...the specifics aren't important; and there were some terse words exchanged between my husband and me. Again, the attention isn't in the details; but there was just enough 'oomph' in our tones with one another that it raised a flag in the eyes {and ears} of my in-laws.
When we arrived back home, I sat in the living room to nurse a very hungry Gavin, and my mother-in-law sat to keep me company. I'm not sure how it came to be, but Randy and Rick were in the basement, watching something on tv together.
Later on, Randy and I each discovered that in the conversations we each had with his parents; concerns were voiced in regards to the earlier interaction they'd observed. My husband and I grew defensive; frustrated by what we felt was an attempt to stick their noses into our lives after just a couple of days in our presence. Randy was not pleased. And, because I had this inherent ability to mask myself behind shame, I was embarrassed that his parents saw the interaction and decided to step in the way they did; worried they'd think we were failing.
But what if they were right? What if they saw something in that brief exchange that they recognized as a crack that could eventually topple a structure? What if they weren't so much 'sticking their noses in' as 'imparting wisdom'? What if their motives weren't meant to be moment-killing, but instead, to be seed-planting? To take pieces of their past experiences and wrap them in a tender coat of concern; planting them deep in our hearts for chance they take root and grow and flourish. And what if we, in our haughty naivete, squashed the seeds out of assumption that we knew what we were doing on our own.
I know for a fact that my in-law's marriage was not the 'ideal' I had labeled it as in my mind during those first few months of knowing them. This isn't to point fingers and label and highlight any one thing; it's just a common fact. And even if I never once heard it from the source, I would know it to be true because, humans. We are all affected by the nature of human brokenness; and my precious in-laws are no exception.
So what if we missed the mark that day; met their intentions with frustrations, and fought against something meant for our good?
Ironically enough, on that fateful day; when Randy was approached by his father; I was sitting across from my mother-in-law, in an over-sized arm chair feeling both defensive {as is human nature, I suppose}, but also feeling receptive. As a postpartum, brand new mom who was essentially considered a newlywed, I was smack dab in the midst of the reality of my new circumstances. And as a perpetual people pleaser driven by the fear of shame; I wanted to get it right.
The specifics of our conversation are buried deep in the unreachable archives of the human mind; however, it was how we ended our talk, the words we spoke {well, she spoke...I was too 'new' and uncertain I'd do it right--hello?! confidence issues much?} did plant a seed. The prayer Rhonda led me in that day planted a mustard seed. I knew that day that she had faith in me. That she was proud of me. And that my father-in-law felt the same; because when Rhonda told Rick, I was once again welcomed into the arms that had hugged me that first night I met him. It was as if HE were hugging me himself. And even then, I remember feeling a bit embarrassed, feeling a bit of shame as my husband looked on. I felt like I was showing weakness when really, HE was just getting me started on my pathway to strong.
My seed took some time to take root. The forces necessary to bust through the hard coat and reach for the enriching soil didn't take effect over night. And there have been many, many setbacks. I've plucked my mustard seed from the ground at times; thinking I can do it on my own. Events along the way have wreaked havoc on that little seed. Floods have tried to wash it away; drought, threatened to waste it away.
I've made some really crappy choices in recent years. I've kept my little seedling growing in the soil, hooked up to a self-watering device so that I could try to have it both ways. Try to keep up appearances while following a self-fulfilling role.
And it has all but ended me. My marriage is gripping the thinnest thread, some days with greased fingers. My children. Oh, I see the eyes of my children and I fear for what this season is writing on their hearts. I fear for their confidence, for the way in which they identify themselves. I worry they'll take on shame and wear it around like a coat that keeps the pulpy, vulnerable parts of them hidden away. It's in those pulpy vulnerable parts where life is--when a seed grows, it busts through those hard shells. Right through the coat and those feelings of insecurity or pride or shame or low self-esteem; and the stuff inside does its work. Does its growing.
I didn't really begin knocking on that hard coat until a couple years ago. And to be honest, if it weren't for Randy discovering my gross inequities in our marriage; I don't know if I'd be where I am today. If I'd have the courage to let the pulpy vulnerable show. The trouble is, the damage that's come from the little self-watering system I had set up is lifelong. And I can't change it. Or bring it under control. There have been other seeds planted in that. Seeds of doubt and distrust, of hurt, anger and indifference. The coats of those seeds are much, much harder; nearly impossible to crack. But I have a suspicion that the insides of those seeds are filled with the pulpy vulnerable stuff as well. From the insides of those seeds, we find the salve of healing. It's a deep and very carefully guarded treasure; the control of which lying in the hands of the offended, not the offender. The harvest could take years. Even a lifetime.
I wish my father-in-law were still with us for so, so many reasons. I have found such comfort in conversations with Rhonda over the years; but my heart hurts for her knowing she isn't able to spend her remaining days with the man she chose to plant and harvest seeds with. Their relationship may have been riddled with periods of flood and drought, they may have had times when their focus wasn't always on their own seeds; but when I met them, none of that showed on their faces. Their faces reflected one another because they had tilled the ground and removed the weeds. The hard-shelled seeds still hung out in the soil because, humans. They didn't let those stubborn seeds choke out the land and render it useless, only to move on to greener pastures. They tilled and tilled and broke down those hard, hard shells until the pulpy vulnerable eeked its way out and touched soil. The seeds that were once hard and impossible gave way to healing and to life.
I wish we had listened more that day in 2006. I wish we had been receptive rather than rejecting. I wish we would have seen that setting a good foundation; planting seeds in well-tended soil can't guarantee a good harvest, but the odds are in favor of such. But our soil is rocky. Dry; baked by a harsh sun, requiring nutrients so great it can seem impossible--even pointless to try acquiring enough.
But there's these four kids. And their hearts. So we slowly, slowly, slowly gather; only watering when we think of it--not nearly enough to encourage flourishing. But thank goodness in this world there's a community of seed growers. They support those seeds when the growers just can't. Sprinkling nutrients, tipping a can over the fence to let water rain down from above. Just enough to keep it going and growing.
I wish my father-in-law were still with us. For so many reasons. I would want to talk with him more. To watch him with our children and my husband and hear his laugh and to watch in real-life the fruits of labor in a marriage pocked by pain, yet redeemed by rain.
