"The person who rests in the shadow of the Most High God will be kept safe by the Mighty One."
Tonight was the whole night-before-a-holiday-visitation routine. It started around 5:00. Eva and Truett had been picked up from school
by Papa. He had a delightful evening of
four-wheeler riding planned while I stayed at school for conferences. Suddenly, Eva’s little face rounded the
corner.
“I want to stay with you, Mama,” she whispered. “I just want to be with you.”
Truett was next. “Eva’s
staying?” he pined. “I’m staying too.”
My dad knows his role in this situation and plays it
perfectly. No one, and I mean no one,
comes between a divorced kid and their mama.
He showers them with kisses and hugs and drives off, still dragging the
trailer full of four-wheelers.
The kids faked it well for awhile, busying themselves with
the book fair, helping others shop, reading new books, doing mini science
experiments with their sister, making bedtime snacks. For the well-seasoned divorced mom, it’s
important to use that time wisely. Laugh
it up, smile, crack jokes. But also,
take your makeup off, brush your teeth, change into comfy clothes, and GO TO
THE BATHROOM. Because when the tears
start flowing, you can’t peel the children off your hip. I got one of those things done in time
tonight.
“Why is Eva crying about tomorrow? What are we doing tomorrow?”
The answer means Truett won’t be speaking for the rest of
the night.
My precious husband came in to say goodnight, but the kids
are already so despondent they don’t even hear.
He isn’t offended and leaves Truett’s room where I’m calming but
desperately trying to get them to lay down with each other for comfort. Besides, Brad has his own child facing
visitation. He’s off to her room.
"I will say about the Lord, 'He is my place of safety. He is like a fort to me. He is my God. I trust in Him.'"
Hug.
Let cry.
Read scripture. (How did the Lord know we’d need Psalm 91 in
our devotional tonight?)
Watch scripture on video.
Re-read scripture with Eva’s name in it.
Ask Eva politely to not hug in such a way that chokes.
Repeat.
Sleep doesn’t really come on nights like this. And as I laid smushed between these two
precious children, I literally feel all of these spiritual emotions in a nanosecond. Pure, undefiled peace. Fierce faith.
Resolve. Weariness (Yes, that’s
an emotion). Utter righteous rage.
October is hard for me.
I made it to the 10th day of the month before I had a
meltdown. My mother assured me that-that
was really good for me.
“I can’t believe you made it so far, Amara! You’re doing so much better!”
So much better.
Tomorrow is October 14. I almost didn't remember. Seven years ago, I told my boss that I needed to take a personal
day. My husband was moving out, and I
felt like I needed to be at the house to make sure he didn’t take everything I
owned. Eva wasn’t two; Truett was 7 ½ months
old.
Octobers have always been a roller coaster. Though I still can’t explain it, October 2003
was the most painful of my life to that point.
I found myself planting wheat, then suddenly off the tractor, hands and
face in the fresh, fall dirt as I screamed and poured my heart out to the
Lord. The following October brought a
man, charming and vivacious, sweeping me off my feet. We were soon married. One of our Octobers brought a baby-Eva
Ashley. And then there was 2008, which
set off a steady stream of Octobers where visitation brought sickness, abuse,
confusion, and pain.
One October afternoon, while the kids were away visiting, I woke up from a nap unable to breathe. I called my parents and whisper-yelled, "Come get me now! You have to get me to the hospital now!" Panic attacks became a new normal.
On Meltdown Day this year, I told Brad, “You redeemed my
Octobers.” It was October 2012 that we
decided marrying each other was best for us, best for our kids, best for our
families.
It’s funny. I love
October. Not lying, I look forward to it
every year. Its ups and downs, its buckets of tears...a gift. A sweet...no that's not the word...a tender, soul-satisfying reminder that my Octobers could look so much worse. I'm thankful. Really. Thankfully divorced.
"He will certainly save you from hidden traps..."
Tomorrow, Eva and Truett will be two of our children who leave for four nights away with another parent. We'll be reunited Sunday night, usually over pizza. There will be a collective sigh of relief and our house will re-start its no-visitation routine. One week will ebb into November which will flow into the next holiday which will lead into the new year. The children in this house will make it. The parents in this house will make it. We will not just survive; we will thrive.
"He is faithful. He will keep you safe like a shield or a tower.
You won't have to be afraid of the terrors that come in the night.
You won't have to fear the arrows that come in the day.
You won't have to be afraid of the sickness...
...the plague..."
The visitation.
"No harm will come to you. You will see with your own eyes..."
He is faithful.
