The Quiet Voice

The boys played their first baseball game last week, and it quickly became apparent that it was their first time in a sport where the coach provides live instructions during the game. In swimming, there’s a private chat before a race, a private chat afterwards, and some cheering during the race. But in baseball, the coach actively tells the players what to do on a play by play basis. And that’s how Eli found himself playing third base with a player from the opposing team running in his direction, and a coach yelling at him to tag the base, then throw to first. Unfortunately, another parent was screaming, “Don’t go back to third!” And several more were screaming, “Just throw to first!” And the mother of the kid running toward third, who was probably closer to Eli than anyone else, was screaming, “Go BACK! Go BACK!”

And Eli? He froze. And then he did a funny little dance where he took a step back and forth in both directions several times before he finally heard the coach’s voice and threw his best throw to first.

It’s a YMCA coach-pitch baseball game. They don’t even keep score. It was no big deal. But as I watched his confusion, it occurred to me that things would have been vastly different if he’d clearly known his coach’s voice.

His problem wasn’t just the conflicting voices being thrown in his direction. He was struggling because he’s only known his coach for one week. That’s definitely not enough time to pick out his coach’s command from a chorus of competing noises.

It takes time to learn a voice. To be able to pick that voice out of the crowd. To know which voice is trustworthy. For me, the voice I need to listen for is God’s voice. But instead, I’ve spent 40 years listening to others: my parents, my childhood church, bosses and co-workers, and most of all, my husband. Some of those voices are fun to listen to because they say good things. But others have taught me everything I need to know about shame. They’ve controlled me. They’ve stood in the way of hearing the truth about God, and they’ve replaced it with a twisted interpretation.

One of the loudest voices is the one that sleeps next to me, and that voice isn’t kind. It tells me I have to earn love, that I need to do more, more, and still more. That my worth is tied to the amount of work that I do, the amount of money I bring in, the size of my waist. Over the years, those lies have only increased, and while I know on some level that I’m being fed lies, that voice is relentless.  It wakes me up and keeps me up when I try to sleep. It’s present constantly, either in person or over text. Every once in awhile, that voice feeds me something pleasant, but the lies always come back.

But in the last year and a half, as God has used mentors and my counselor to turn my eyes back to God’s Word, I’ve begun to hear His voice more clearly than ever before. It’s a daily battle, and I can’t tell you that my husband’s words don’t leave me shaking and hurting…because they still do. But there’s another voice I’m learning to hear in the midst of all the noise.

It’s a voice that promises to protect and provide for me. It tells me that there’s value in me, value that God put there, that I don’t have to earn. It tells me that I can rest. I can hope. It tells me not to hide the hurt anymore, and invites me to open my hands and give that hurt to my heavenly Father.

It’s a moment by moment choice to remember which voice I should hear. Sometimes I forget, but the daily barrage of negativity ensures that I have plenty of time to learn a new rhythm of listening. It's beginning to become a reflex instead of an intentional choice. It's a new way of thinking…one that I’ve needed to learn for years.

I’m profoundly grateful for this growth that I’ve cried out to God for. But at the same time, I’m exhausted and not sure where to go from here. Some days I just want to go to sleep for a month and deal with it when I wake up. Other days, I want to throw more of myself into more work and end this marriage once and for all. Most days, I worry about the impact of his persistent abuse on my children. And I can’t figure out how to protect the kids. I’ve hit a wall, and all I can do is listen. For the voice I need to hear.

Lovely

I’ve been stalking TJ Maxx and Homegoods for over a year now in hopes of grabbing just one Rae Dunn mug. Yes, I know it’s trendy and I hate trends. (Most trends. Not shiplap. But other trends, like Taylor Swift.) But something about the black and white simplicity and the words – I love words – calls my name. Also, they can easily hold two cups of black coffee. Just saying.

I’ve never had any luck, though, and I refused to pay the resale markup. But a few weeks ago, I stopped in TJ Maxx to buy James a Hawaiian shirt and stumbled onto a whole heap of the stuff. Again, I know that means the trend is waning. But there they were…all these Rae Dunn mugs.

The kids tried to coach me. Eli wanted me to choose “Laugh” because, frankly, they think I need to laugh more. (Darn kids with their honest observations.) Caleb suggested “Be Bold” because boldness was the word we chose when we dedicated him, and he was hoping to get the mug for himself. I personally was hovering over “Dreamer”, which seems so true to my spirit of hopefulness.

And then, at the other end of the aisle, I spotted “Lovely”. And it spoke to me. Actually, I’m beginning to think, God spoke to me.

I’ve never considered myself lovely. Not even my 22-year-old, 120-pound self. Even then, I would have labeled myself “good enough”. When I turned 40 and took stock of a disastrous marriage, more failures than I can count, a struggle with weight I’ve never carried before, thinning, greying hair, and too many other sagging things to mention, it hurt. Bad.

I’ve never been particularly occupied with fancy clothes. I’ve never been one to frequent the salon. (In part because I married a man who can’t hold down a job but thinks my spending is the reason we struggle financially, but still.) I'm not super obsessed with the external, so I honestly couldn’t figure out why my physical condition caused me so much pain.

As I’ve watched friends in stable marriages, and the way their husbands treat them, I’ve begun to realize that good love lets your body age with grace and compassion. Not perfect love. Just good love. When someone loves you that way, the other things matter a whole lot less.

Of course, my husband doesn’t love me that way. He doesn’t love me at all. Tonight, in an hour-long rant about how awful it is that he has to work because work is hard, he said he was really questioning whether I was worth it. He backpedaled quickly, but I already knew. Dude, actions speak WAY louder and your words just caught up for a minute there.

I’ve realized that I really do just want someone to think I’m lovely. To really believe it.

And while that someone doesn’t exist on earth, I’m beginning to suspect God wants me to know he thinks I’m lovely. And maybe that can be enough.

Every time I drink my (double) cup of coffee from that mug, I feel like God nudges me and says, “This is how I see you.” I can’t quite grasp it yet, but I’ve spent a lot of time pondering how my life and thoughts would be different if I could really see myself how God sees me.

Lovely.

Get a Job, Get a Job

Dear James,

No, I won’t go out and get a full-time job. No, I won’t polish my resume. No, I won’t pick up your burden again.

I realize I’ve set a precedent. You lost nine jobs since we’ve been together, and each time I’ve stepped up and taken on additional work to maintain our standard of living. In addition to teaching, which you say isn’t a real job, I’ve coached soccer, swimming, and Power of the Pen. I’ve taught as an adjunct at two different colleges. I’ve worked as a co-op coordinator at a community college and taught summer school. I worked for three straight years as a contractor for an educational publishing company. I take work as I can get it for other publishers. I write and edit for a local blog. I tutor in our co-op. I manage curriculum for our church. I do it all without any childcare. Or any help around the house. You don’t even mow the lawn…I have to pay someone.

You literally have one responsibility: go to work. I don’t feel bad that you have two jobs, because somehow you still have more leisure time that I could ever dream of. I feel like I have to justify my very existence if I’m reading a book or doing a Bible study. You think naps are your God-given right.

I don’t expect you to acknowledge the terrible inequity that has existed in our marriage since day 1. I won’t even fight you about it because it isn’t worth my time. I just know that I won’t apologize for reading a book anymore. I won’t apologize if I only bring in $700/month instead of $1000 because our children needed more of me than work did. And I won’t accept your lies because you (sometimes) pull the bigger paycheck. Nothing…NOTHING makes someone deserving of the way you treat me.

You are supposed to be my protector. My provider. You are supposed to love me the way Jesus loves the church…to lay your life down for me.

Instead, I’ve done that for you. And in response, I’ve gotten called names and told I’m not enough.

I’m not enough, no. None of us are. But I’ve certainly given you more than you deserved. More than Jesus asked me to give you.

I moved here because you promised that I could trust you. It turns out, you lied. But I like it here, and I'm staying. And I’m not bailing you out this time. Or ever again.

I suppose I sound a little angry, and I’ve certainly struggled with anger. But at this point, I’m just DONE. With a capital “D”. I’m looking forward, dreaming of what I want for what’s left of my life. For my children’s lives. And I won’t be entangled by your fear-mongering anymore. You can’t shame me. Your voice isn’t the one I have to serve.

If you don’t like it, take it up with God. He created me. He enabled me to do far more than I ever thought I could. He has so much more for me to do. But He hasn’t told me to get a job.

Maybe you can change His mind?