Just a few things I've survived:
bullying
date rape
teenage pregnancy
cutting
crippling depression
self loathing
abusive relationships
abortion
poisoning
suicide attempts
homelessness
custody threats
anorexia
financial ruin
reposession
miscarriage
injury
cancer
unexpected hysterectomy
moving 12 times in 10 years
divorces
losing everything I owned. Twice.
...and everything else up to this point.
I've survived. I've lived through things that should've taken my life. I've moved past things that could've stolen my joy. I've risen above things that tried their hardest to push me down.
In those moments, when I was in the thick of it all, I couldn't see past the hurt, the fear, the anger. But all those things eventually faded away and I became better for it. I'm older now, wiser, more mature and experienced. I'm well versed in pain and I'm accustomed to disappointment and the vicious twists life can take. But I survive. I will never stop being that person who seeks out the silver linings in the storm clouds. I will never stop hoping that there is a happy ending to my story. If I'm silent, it's because I'm searching for the words... because I've learned that no one can twist the words you didn't say.
I've been asked repeatedly if I will write a book, My story, they say, is riveting, one that grips your attention and elicits amazement because to know me you would never imagine such things haven't spun me into the monster you'd expect from these type of experiences. I've contemplated a book, and always thought I hesitated because of the backlash that would encourage from those people in my life who don't want their dirty stories told. Truth is, I hesitate now because my story isn't over yet. There is more.
But I am finally ready to begin to tell the story of how I became the person I am, imperfectly perfect. I know I've been quiet lately, but I think it's time. I may or may not go in order, I haven't decided. But if I've learned anything about the life I've lived, it's that I've lived to share my stories. There are countless people who have the same ones, yet don't know that they, too, can survive. You need to know you can survive. Life is short, pain is hard, and joy is within our reach.
So bear with me as I open the vault of my experiences and dredge up realities that just might make you believe there is hope for the hopeless. Much love.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Thursday, March 26, 2015
This damn toddler...
I hate being mom.
It had to be said. Now, I don't REALLY hate being mom, but right this minute? Right this minute it seems like a real load of crap.
Let's review the last, oh, say, 18 hours... not completely, I'm sure, and a bit out of order perhaps, but everything I'm about to tell you is real.
Dinner is a fight. Well, not always, sometimes I can make a meal that a family of 6 (7 depending on the day) is perfectly happy with, but most nights there is an audible distaste for whatever veggie I am forcing my children to ingest. I cook, I serve, I retrieve whatever might be necessary (albeit with the occasional assistance of a most wonderful man) and then I sit down to attempt to eat. The toddler never wants whats on his plate, he wants whats on mine. But he wants to eat it while sitting in my lap. He wants orange juice, drank from my cup - of course, so he dumps my water into his cup and then later proceeds to spit into both his and my cups. Why? Why does a toddler do anything? The kindergartener never wants whats on her plate but she will eat from her brother's, who is eating from mine, so... why not. She also likes to announce, repeatedly, what on the table she doesn't want to eat and follow dinner with a request for something to eat.
Bathtime is a fun one... The littles typically are bathed together but this practice is most certainly becoming obsolete as one likes to sit on the other and there is a lot of hair pulling and water dumping and general asinine shenanigans. Last night? Pretty good, overall... the night before? Well, the preteen didn't want to clean the poop off the toddler pre-bath so the kindergartener screamed her objection (understandable) to bathing with "poop flakes". Mom to the rescue.
Bedtime stories are a must, reading is important and part of this mom's priorities... and last night we read 5. Yes, 5... only to have toddler fall asleep somewhere around the 8th page of the last book and must be carried to bed, waking with a start and a banshee scream when he realizes mommy isn't the one holding him anymore. Kindergartener gets in bed and finds THE book she had put aside for tonight's reading... and somehow gets irked when mom says "tomorrow". But the 2, 5 and 12 year olds were all in bed tucked in snugly by 8 or 8:30 so I'm not complaining about that.
Until around 10:30 when a cry comes from the littles' room. Kindergartener is kicking toddler in the head in the process of climbing off the top bunk. I grab her and take her from the room (because toddler is miraculously sleeping through this) and figure out that she's on the verge of peeing herself... but has made it this far without ACTUALLY peeing herself, so I sit her on the potty. Her eyes are still closed because, folks, she's still asleep. She pees, I hand her toilet paper, she wipes and....... hands it back to me. Well, alrighty. I put her back in bed... which might not seem like much, but hoisting 60 lbs of dead weight onto a top bunk silently is a talent rarely possessed.
I settle back in for more Netflix with my honey and another cry comes from the littles' room. I crack the door to see what's going on only to find that no one is crying. I stand for a minute to be sure and right before my eyes, toddler slides off the bottom bunk and crashes head first into the floor. I pick him up, put him back, kiss his head and all is well.
Now, in the mornings, I sneak into littles' room to wake kindergartener without waking toddler. It's like playing Russian roulette with 5/6 loaded. So this means that unless I want to drag a kicking, screaming, demanding small brick of irritation with me to the bus stop, I get kindergartener up, dressed and ready without so much as a creak of a floorboard. Most mornings I'm pretty good at this. This morning, success. (This morning, only success of the week. And it's Thursday.) Luckily, wonderful man took kindergartener and preteen to the bus stop today so mommy didn't have to (even though I've been letting preteen walk kindergartener more often now since I can see the bus stop from the window and kindergartener's bus comes before preteen's... 6:30am is too early for a bra.).
But just as they walked out the door? Toddler awakens.
*sigh*
And then teenager oversleeps.
And then toddler and mommy get dressed to take teenager to school. I need gas in the car, so I stop at the gas station and go in to use my rewards ($0.30 off per gallon, ya know) and the attendant -ugh- don't get me started... heifer stole my coupon and told me I'd get the 30 cents per gallon back on my card. Lies. That's not how this works. Lies. So this debacle caused us to arrive 2 minutes late and find that we would have to drag toddler into the high school to sign teenager in... so mommy makes the executive decision to have chicken minis from Chick-fil-a first. Never attack the day without coffee. I should've known better.
As we're eating breakfast, toddler decides the play area isn't climb-y enough, but that mama, who is attempting to eat her food, makes a perfect ladder... and proceeds to stand on my back, shoulder, wedge his way between me and the seat and dig his tiny elbow into my shoulder.... so he earned himself a swat on the rear and mama's stern talking to. The couple behind me told me I was doing a good job and that they're happy to see my discipline him... and I take it as a compliment because after nearly 16 years and 4 kids of parenting I'm pretty good at deciphering a genuine compliment from a condescending remark. We leave, take teenager to school and have an hour before story time at the library. So mommy decides to go to Old Navy.
While the actual roaming of the store part was not terrible, the checking out part was. Why, Old Navy, WHY do you keep that overflowing container of various sporting balls at your register? Don't you know that a grumpy, sleepy toddler is bound to pick one up and be hell bent determined to take it home? And when mama says no, over and over and OVER again and she tries to put the ball back only to have 3 fall and toddler pick another up and and AND vicious cycle...... Well, your cashiers know. So a hand slap and stroller confinement got us out of there... But I did buy a white cardigan and 2 bottles of sparking fruit water. Which brings me to the parking lot.
Yeah. I see you, first time mom with 4 month old baby. She's cute now and I know you can't imagine her EVER having to be held down while you strap her into her car seat as she pinches you and proceeds to bite your hand while screaming at the top of her lungs. Judge away. But this *circles pointer finger around this whole situation* THIS is what every toddler looks like at some point. And the fact that I kept my cool and calmly handled my hellion's tantrum may say less about my resolve to be on my personal best behavior and more about my proximity to my snapping point. So I put away the stroller and sit in the driver's seat, not going anywhere until the rhythmic shrieks from the back seat level closer to tolerable and I cracked open my fruit water. Not terrible. And then it begins... The demands. I calmly tell the back seat terrorist that he must as me nicely and then I will open his water. We're at a stalemate. Until he throws the cup of iced coffee remnants at me. (I had given him the ice from my iced coffee when we left breakfast and it had melted a bit while we were in the store.) I'm pretty sure I actually said the words "Aw HELL no..." out loud this time. He got a swat on the leg and I decided waiting for the screams to subside was akin to waiting for the flood to cease before seeking higher ground.
So... library's out.
He screamed at me all the way home.
Finally, he has a moment of clarity and in his sweetest "this is why I'm still alive" voice, asks me politely for his sparking fruit water. The red. Carbonated. Fruit water. Which I opened. Holding the bag with my new white cardigan in it... only to find that he had shaken the bottle. *sigh* I hand him the bottle after it stops fizzing and retreat to my room to assess the potential damage. Not bad. Not bad at all.......... So while I'm back there anyway, I figure it's a good time to pee. Before I even get firmly planted, the door swings open and there are toddler and fur child (the dog) both staring intently at my urination experience. Veteran moms know peeing with an audience is sometimes the only option, so I finish up. Before I even flush, fur child is whining because toddler has a firm grip on his rear leg. After several minutes of "let go of his leg" "he yikes it" "no, he doesn't like it, he's going to bite you" "*giggle* he no bite me"... I shoo toddler out of my bedroom and try to love fur child by feeding him because I know all to well how dealing with toddler makes you feel the overwhelming need to eat something... and then I walk into the kitchen where this kid has poured the entire bottle of red soda stuff into a cup and is now pouring it BACK into the bottle...... because we're in our "I do it" stage of development where EVERYTHING HITS THE FLOOR. So. 2/3 of this bottle of overpriced water stuff is puddling on the kitchen table and in the floor and in the chair where a distressed toddler is unhappy because HIS. FOOT. IS. STICKY.
He's now asleep beside me on the couch as I type this. Thank the good Lord. It could be worse. Ya know, like yesterday when at this very time, he dumped out every toy he has and proceeded to throw blocks and train pieces at my head repeatedly out of anger (why you mad, kid?) and then fight a nap to the point I just locked the door to his room and watched an episode of Frasier.
Have I mentioned how much I LOVE being mom?
It had to be said. Now, I don't REALLY hate being mom, but right this minute? Right this minute it seems like a real load of crap.
Let's review the last, oh, say, 18 hours... not completely, I'm sure, and a bit out of order perhaps, but everything I'm about to tell you is real.
Dinner is a fight. Well, not always, sometimes I can make a meal that a family of 6 (7 depending on the day) is perfectly happy with, but most nights there is an audible distaste for whatever veggie I am forcing my children to ingest. I cook, I serve, I retrieve whatever might be necessary (albeit with the occasional assistance of a most wonderful man) and then I sit down to attempt to eat. The toddler never wants whats on his plate, he wants whats on mine. But he wants to eat it while sitting in my lap. He wants orange juice, drank from my cup - of course, so he dumps my water into his cup and then later proceeds to spit into both his and my cups. Why? Why does a toddler do anything? The kindergartener never wants whats on her plate but she will eat from her brother's, who is eating from mine, so... why not. She also likes to announce, repeatedly, what on the table she doesn't want to eat and follow dinner with a request for something to eat.
Bathtime is a fun one... The littles typically are bathed together but this practice is most certainly becoming obsolete as one likes to sit on the other and there is a lot of hair pulling and water dumping and general asinine shenanigans. Last night? Pretty good, overall... the night before? Well, the preteen didn't want to clean the poop off the toddler pre-bath so the kindergartener screamed her objection (understandable) to bathing with "poop flakes". Mom to the rescue.
Bedtime stories are a must, reading is important and part of this mom's priorities... and last night we read 5. Yes, 5... only to have toddler fall asleep somewhere around the 8th page of the last book and must be carried to bed, waking with a start and a banshee scream when he realizes mommy isn't the one holding him anymore. Kindergartener gets in bed and finds THE book she had put aside for tonight's reading... and somehow gets irked when mom says "tomorrow". But the 2, 5 and 12 year olds were all in bed tucked in snugly by 8 or 8:30 so I'm not complaining about that.
Until around 10:30 when a cry comes from the littles' room. Kindergartener is kicking toddler in the head in the process of climbing off the top bunk. I grab her and take her from the room (because toddler is miraculously sleeping through this) and figure out that she's on the verge of peeing herself... but has made it this far without ACTUALLY peeing herself, so I sit her on the potty. Her eyes are still closed because, folks, she's still asleep. She pees, I hand her toilet paper, she wipes and....... hands it back to me. Well, alrighty. I put her back in bed... which might not seem like much, but hoisting 60 lbs of dead weight onto a top bunk silently is a talent rarely possessed.
I settle back in for more Netflix with my honey and another cry comes from the littles' room. I crack the door to see what's going on only to find that no one is crying. I stand for a minute to be sure and right before my eyes, toddler slides off the bottom bunk and crashes head first into the floor. I pick him up, put him back, kiss his head and all is well.
Now, in the mornings, I sneak into littles' room to wake kindergartener without waking toddler. It's like playing Russian roulette with 5/6 loaded. So this means that unless I want to drag a kicking, screaming, demanding small brick of irritation with me to the bus stop, I get kindergartener up, dressed and ready without so much as a creak of a floorboard. Most mornings I'm pretty good at this. This morning, success. (This morning, only success of the week. And it's Thursday.) Luckily, wonderful man took kindergartener and preteen to the bus stop today so mommy didn't have to (even though I've been letting preteen walk kindergartener more often now since I can see the bus stop from the window and kindergartener's bus comes before preteen's... 6:30am is too early for a bra.).
But just as they walked out the door? Toddler awakens.
*sigh*
And then teenager oversleeps.
And then toddler and mommy get dressed to take teenager to school. I need gas in the car, so I stop at the gas station and go in to use my rewards ($0.30 off per gallon, ya know) and the attendant -ugh- don't get me started... heifer stole my coupon and told me I'd get the 30 cents per gallon back on my card. Lies. That's not how this works. Lies. So this debacle caused us to arrive 2 minutes late and find that we would have to drag toddler into the high school to sign teenager in... so mommy makes the executive decision to have chicken minis from Chick-fil-a first. Never attack the day without coffee. I should've known better.
As we're eating breakfast, toddler decides the play area isn't climb-y enough, but that mama, who is attempting to eat her food, makes a perfect ladder... and proceeds to stand on my back, shoulder, wedge his way between me and the seat and dig his tiny elbow into my shoulder.... so he earned himself a swat on the rear and mama's stern talking to. The couple behind me told me I was doing a good job and that they're happy to see my discipline him... and I take it as a compliment because after nearly 16 years and 4 kids of parenting I'm pretty good at deciphering a genuine compliment from a condescending remark. We leave, take teenager to school and have an hour before story time at the library. So mommy decides to go to Old Navy.
While the actual roaming of the store part was not terrible, the checking out part was. Why, Old Navy, WHY do you keep that overflowing container of various sporting balls at your register? Don't you know that a grumpy, sleepy toddler is bound to pick one up and be hell bent determined to take it home? And when mama says no, over and over and OVER again and she tries to put the ball back only to have 3 fall and toddler pick another up and and AND vicious cycle...... Well, your cashiers know. So a hand slap and stroller confinement got us out of there... But I did buy a white cardigan and 2 bottles of sparking fruit water. Which brings me to the parking lot.
Yeah. I see you, first time mom with 4 month old baby. She's cute now and I know you can't imagine her EVER having to be held down while you strap her into her car seat as she pinches you and proceeds to bite your hand while screaming at the top of her lungs. Judge away. But this *circles pointer finger around this whole situation* THIS is what every toddler looks like at some point. And the fact that I kept my cool and calmly handled my hellion's tantrum may say less about my resolve to be on my personal best behavior and more about my proximity to my snapping point. So I put away the stroller and sit in the driver's seat, not going anywhere until the rhythmic shrieks from the back seat level closer to tolerable and I cracked open my fruit water. Not terrible. And then it begins... The demands. I calmly tell the back seat terrorist that he must as me nicely and then I will open his water. We're at a stalemate. Until he throws the cup of iced coffee remnants at me. (I had given him the ice from my iced coffee when we left breakfast and it had melted a bit while we were in the store.) I'm pretty sure I actually said the words "Aw HELL no..." out loud this time. He got a swat on the leg and I decided waiting for the screams to subside was akin to waiting for the flood to cease before seeking higher ground.
So... library's out.
He screamed at me all the way home.
Finally, he has a moment of clarity and in his sweetest "this is why I'm still alive" voice, asks me politely for his sparking fruit water. The red. Carbonated. Fruit water. Which I opened. Holding the bag with my new white cardigan in it... only to find that he had shaken the bottle. *sigh* I hand him the bottle after it stops fizzing and retreat to my room to assess the potential damage. Not bad. Not bad at all.......... So while I'm back there anyway, I figure it's a good time to pee. Before I even get firmly planted, the door swings open and there are toddler and fur child (the dog) both staring intently at my urination experience. Veteran moms know peeing with an audience is sometimes the only option, so I finish up. Before I even flush, fur child is whining because toddler has a firm grip on his rear leg. After several minutes of "let go of his leg" "he yikes it" "no, he doesn't like it, he's going to bite you" "*giggle* he no bite me"... I shoo toddler out of my bedroom and try to love fur child by feeding him because I know all to well how dealing with toddler makes you feel the overwhelming need to eat something... and then I walk into the kitchen where this kid has poured the entire bottle of red soda stuff into a cup and is now pouring it BACK into the bottle...... because we're in our "I do it" stage of development where EVERYTHING HITS THE FLOOR. So. 2/3 of this bottle of overpriced water stuff is puddling on the kitchen table and in the floor and in the chair where a distressed toddler is unhappy because HIS. FOOT. IS. STICKY.
He's now asleep beside me on the couch as I type this. Thank the good Lord. It could be worse. Ya know, like yesterday when at this very time, he dumped out every toy he has and proceeded to throw blocks and train pieces at my head repeatedly out of anger (why you mad, kid?) and then fight a nap to the point I just locked the door to his room and watched an episode of Frasier.
Have I mentioned how much I LOVE being mom?
Monday, February 2, 2015
Why I Don't Go To Church Anymore
This topic has been grinding on me for a few weeks now... And while I'm sure I'll catch some flack for putting it as boldly as this, I feel it needs to be said.
I used to go to church. Well, let me be more specific. I used to do a LOT of church things. I was active in ministry. I was there every Sunday service and Wednesday Night Live. I helped with VBS. I worked occasionally with hospitality. I was an active member of our women's group, even taking on an executive board position one year. I was a regular face in Bible study groups. I was the child care coordinator for three facets of the chapel. I had a key to the actual building, y'all. I attended and supported so many areas of God's house that my involvement transcended services and I knew people from every religion.
And I found out a few things.
First let me say that I believe in God and I consider myself a Christian. I have paid my dues and I understand that He is there for me even when I question everything about life. I will still give credit where credit is due and I will still stand in support of those struggling... but I don't go to church.
I quit going to church when I moved this past summer. I always said I would go back... I would find church home, somewhere I felt was right... but the truth is, I have no desire. The truth is, I don't belong in church. Oh, lawdy, EV'RYONE belongs in church, hon... no. Just... no. Church was what I needed when I found Christ, but church isn't what I need now.
Let me expand on that.
You see, through all that chapel work, I met some absolutely amazing people. I met REAL people. People who I could talk to. People who were just as broken as me, who longed to be accepted as the work in progress that they clearly knew themselves to be. I met people who were more refined by fire, but still had the scars of their journey an would share them with you when the time was right. I met people I looked up to and could count on when times were hard or when I needed solid encouragement. Those people are still very dear to me. I had many, many wonderful experiences and maybe one day I will log them all into a post where that makes sense. But for now, as the title clearly states, this is to explain why I DON'T go to church anymore.
I also met people who were judgmental, mean spirited or just plain lazy. I met people who would listen to your cries for help, profess that they would "pray for" you and then gossip your troubles to the world. I met people who envied my position in the chapel and would run me down or sabotage me at every turn. I met people who were so fake and two faced that they made me question my sense of self. But more than anything... I lived in a home that, from the outside, was a good Christian home. I lived in a home where the husband was just as active in church as me. Where he played in the band and raised his hands in praise in front of the congregation every Sunday... and it was all for show. Because he was that "godly" man and we were "good Christians", well, there is no other choice but to make that marriage work, right? Right? Because no matter what, God doesn't support divorce, right? God has a plan... right?!?
I tried to talk to my church people. They didn't want to hear reality, they just wanted to "pray for the marriage". They told me over and over how it was my duty as a wife to make it work and that I just needed to submit to him, to cater to him, to never lose faith in the union... a union that was so broken and unjust that there was nothing to save. Even when I knew it was over, the resounding advice was that I stick it out, that I forgive everything.
I stayed with a man who disrespected me, ignored our children, pitted people against me, made our home a nightmare, didn't lift a finger to help with anything, expected me to drop everything on a whim and attend to his demands... He was abusive, even admitted to officers that he knew he was mentally and emotionally abusing me... all with a smirk on his face. He had inappropriate relationships with various women yet had no time to even bother with me. And when depression kicked in, I was the crazy one. And because he's the good, Christian man... well... clearly I need to try harder. Because I had a "good man". And there was no REAL support from the church unless it was supporting me to stay right where I was, in a horrible marriage to a person who didn't deserve my efforts.
I had a liar. A cheat. A poor excuse for a man and an even worse choice for husband. A man who would (and very literally did) throw a glass of water in my face en route to Sunday services because he was in a bad mood, tell me to suck it up and exit the car to greet Brother so-and-so with a hearty laugh and pat on the back before walking in to lead worship. I was absolutely, positively miserable. My children were absolutely, positively miserable. And when I finally stepped out of "what God wanted" and made the decision to leave, that decision came with a break from the fallacy of church.
And now? Now I'm happy. I feel like I have begun to find myself, the me I actually am, not the me I've had to present to the world for all these years. Now I have a good man. I have a man who is, in every way, a real man. A man who I would be proud to fight for but don't have to because he makes me a priority. I have a man who has taken my four children and been a better role model for them than any man I met in a church. He's set the example of love and respect. And my house is happy. My children are happy. I am happy. I am living my life the same as I would if I were attending church. I don't need a Sunday scripture to remind me to be kind or loving. I don't need someone shutting my greatness down because I don't meet their definition of what makes a "good Christian woman".
I am a mom of four, twice divorced, living "in sin" with a man who will probably never marry her. Forget everything about who I am, what I believe, the awesomeness that oozes from my aura every time I breathe. Forget all the same about everyone else in this house. And imagine walking into a church, any church, and saying "hi. I'm Tori. I have 4 kids, three different dads... twice divorced... oh, no, my boyfriend isn't the dad of any of them... uh huh... yes we do live together..." and just completely bypass all the stink eye that comes when I try to explain that this man by my side has been my best friend for nearly 14 years and, yes, I know, he's put up with far more from me than anyone ever should have... and no... no, there wasn't inappropriate relations during my marriage, that's not..... oh screw it. I'm happy. And my life has been one big, continuing stream of hot mess for a long time now. But here's the fun part. I don't need the people in a church who have no idea who I am to start telling me how to live. That's how I got into all this trouble in the first place.
I should have stood up for myself and said "this isn't right". I should've fought for myself. I should have fought for the person that was being stolen from me. I should have fought for me. Instead, I let the church shame me into thinking that who I was couldn't possibly be good enough. I let the church shame me into feeling like I could only be important if I pretended to have it all together. I let myself go and pretended that everything was fine.
I refuse to let myself go again.
Besides. That ex-husband is still raising his hand in praise, standing before an all new group of God-fearing folk who have no idea what demons are running loose in his soul. He's praying to sweet baby Jesus and publicly presenting himself every bit the godly man his new wife is fully convinced he is. Maybe this time around will be his turning point. Maybe he will actually become the man he portrays himself to be. Maybe his soul will be cleansed and he will have an amazing testimony... Or maybe he will just keep pretending. But church can't change him... only God can.
And knowing that church is the place where people will open their arms to evil in a cloak of grace while turning their back on people with a sorted past who are completely honest in their sins... well, it's just not the place for me. God knows me for who I am and He greets me no matter where I am when I call to Him.
I'm happy with my decision. I know how I feel about God and I'm pretty certain I know how He feels about me. And I'm going to suggest that all you folks who see things in black and white try to open your eyes to that rainbow. You never know who you're not helping.
Sidebar: If you can't accept and support someone's decision to personalize their faith, then you're part of the problem. If you are someone who feels like no one understands and you've written off God based on the people who claim to know Him, come talk to me. I'll tell you some stories. I promise you'll leave that conversation feeling like there is nothing you can do to lose God's heart.
I used to go to church. Well, let me be more specific. I used to do a LOT of church things. I was active in ministry. I was there every Sunday service and Wednesday Night Live. I helped with VBS. I worked occasionally with hospitality. I was an active member of our women's group, even taking on an executive board position one year. I was a regular face in Bible study groups. I was the child care coordinator for three facets of the chapel. I had a key to the actual building, y'all. I attended and supported so many areas of God's house that my involvement transcended services and I knew people from every religion.
And I found out a few things.
First let me say that I believe in God and I consider myself a Christian. I have paid my dues and I understand that He is there for me even when I question everything about life. I will still give credit where credit is due and I will still stand in support of those struggling... but I don't go to church.
I quit going to church when I moved this past summer. I always said I would go back... I would find church home, somewhere I felt was right... but the truth is, I have no desire. The truth is, I don't belong in church. Oh, lawdy, EV'RYONE belongs in church, hon... no. Just... no. Church was what I needed when I found Christ, but church isn't what I need now.
Let me expand on that.
You see, through all that chapel work, I met some absolutely amazing people. I met REAL people. People who I could talk to. People who were just as broken as me, who longed to be accepted as the work in progress that they clearly knew themselves to be. I met people who were more refined by fire, but still had the scars of their journey an would share them with you when the time was right. I met people I looked up to and could count on when times were hard or when I needed solid encouragement. Those people are still very dear to me. I had many, many wonderful experiences and maybe one day I will log them all into a post where that makes sense. But for now, as the title clearly states, this is to explain why I DON'T go to church anymore.
I also met people who were judgmental, mean spirited or just plain lazy. I met people who would listen to your cries for help, profess that they would "pray for" you and then gossip your troubles to the world. I met people who envied my position in the chapel and would run me down or sabotage me at every turn. I met people who were so fake and two faced that they made me question my sense of self. But more than anything... I lived in a home that, from the outside, was a good Christian home. I lived in a home where the husband was just as active in church as me. Where he played in the band and raised his hands in praise in front of the congregation every Sunday... and it was all for show. Because he was that "godly" man and we were "good Christians", well, there is no other choice but to make that marriage work, right? Right? Because no matter what, God doesn't support divorce, right? God has a plan... right?!?
I tried to talk to my church people. They didn't want to hear reality, they just wanted to "pray for the marriage". They told me over and over how it was my duty as a wife to make it work and that I just needed to submit to him, to cater to him, to never lose faith in the union... a union that was so broken and unjust that there was nothing to save. Even when I knew it was over, the resounding advice was that I stick it out, that I forgive everything.
I stayed with a man who disrespected me, ignored our children, pitted people against me, made our home a nightmare, didn't lift a finger to help with anything, expected me to drop everything on a whim and attend to his demands... He was abusive, even admitted to officers that he knew he was mentally and emotionally abusing me... all with a smirk on his face. He had inappropriate relationships with various women yet had no time to even bother with me. And when depression kicked in, I was the crazy one. And because he's the good, Christian man... well... clearly I need to try harder. Because I had a "good man". And there was no REAL support from the church unless it was supporting me to stay right where I was, in a horrible marriage to a person who didn't deserve my efforts.
I had a liar. A cheat. A poor excuse for a man and an even worse choice for husband. A man who would (and very literally did) throw a glass of water in my face en route to Sunday services because he was in a bad mood, tell me to suck it up and exit the car to greet Brother so-and-so with a hearty laugh and pat on the back before walking in to lead worship. I was absolutely, positively miserable. My children were absolutely, positively miserable. And when I finally stepped out of "what God wanted" and made the decision to leave, that decision came with a break from the fallacy of church.
And now? Now I'm happy. I feel like I have begun to find myself, the me I actually am, not the me I've had to present to the world for all these years. Now I have a good man. I have a man who is, in every way, a real man. A man who I would be proud to fight for but don't have to because he makes me a priority. I have a man who has taken my four children and been a better role model for them than any man I met in a church. He's set the example of love and respect. And my house is happy. My children are happy. I am happy. I am living my life the same as I would if I were attending church. I don't need a Sunday scripture to remind me to be kind or loving. I don't need someone shutting my greatness down because I don't meet their definition of what makes a "good Christian woman".
I am a mom of four, twice divorced, living "in sin" with a man who will probably never marry her. Forget everything about who I am, what I believe, the awesomeness that oozes from my aura every time I breathe. Forget all the same about everyone else in this house. And imagine walking into a church, any church, and saying "hi. I'm Tori. I have 4 kids, three different dads... twice divorced... oh, no, my boyfriend isn't the dad of any of them... uh huh... yes we do live together..." and just completely bypass all the stink eye that comes when I try to explain that this man by my side has been my best friend for nearly 14 years and, yes, I know, he's put up with far more from me than anyone ever should have... and no... no, there wasn't inappropriate relations during my marriage, that's not..... oh screw it. I'm happy. And my life has been one big, continuing stream of hot mess for a long time now. But here's the fun part. I don't need the people in a church who have no idea who I am to start telling me how to live. That's how I got into all this trouble in the first place.
I should have stood up for myself and said "this isn't right". I should've fought for myself. I should have fought for the person that was being stolen from me. I should have fought for me. Instead, I let the church shame me into thinking that who I was couldn't possibly be good enough. I let the church shame me into feeling like I could only be important if I pretended to have it all together. I let myself go and pretended that everything was fine.
I refuse to let myself go again.
Besides. That ex-husband is still raising his hand in praise, standing before an all new group of God-fearing folk who have no idea what demons are running loose in his soul. He's praying to sweet baby Jesus and publicly presenting himself every bit the godly man his new wife is fully convinced he is. Maybe this time around will be his turning point. Maybe he will actually become the man he portrays himself to be. Maybe his soul will be cleansed and he will have an amazing testimony... Or maybe he will just keep pretending. But church can't change him... only God can.
And knowing that church is the place where people will open their arms to evil in a cloak of grace while turning their back on people with a sorted past who are completely honest in their sins... well, it's just not the place for me. God knows me for who I am and He greets me no matter where I am when I call to Him.
I'm happy with my decision. I know how I feel about God and I'm pretty certain I know how He feels about me. And I'm going to suggest that all you folks who see things in black and white try to open your eyes to that rainbow. You never know who you're not helping.
Sidebar: If you can't accept and support someone's decision to personalize their faith, then you're part of the problem. If you are someone who feels like no one understands and you've written off God based on the people who claim to know Him, come talk to me. I'll tell you some stories. I promise you'll leave that conversation feeling like there is nothing you can do to lose God's heart.
Friday, January 23, 2015
The real problem with teens (texting edition)
I've been seeing a lot of hatred toward teens and young adults today. It began as a simple question regarding texting and driving and teen safety and somehow the anger toward all teens emerged in the process (because they know everything and will never listen to reason and, of course, will do whatever pleases them...). As the mother of an absolutely amazing teenager (15) who was born when I was just a teen myself (17), I have enough authority on the matter to say what I'm getting ready to say.
Texting and driving is a real and very present danger. Yes. Teens text and drive. But there is no sure fire way to guarantee that your (or my) teen will never take their eyes off the road for any reason and especially not for checking or sending texts. That being said... Teens aren't the only ones who text and drive. In the very same thread where someone was so adamant that teens shouldn't even have cell phones, parents admitted that they, too, were guilty of texting and driving. I'm not entirely certain how this train of thought is going to play out, so just bear with me.
I never thought I would be sitting here, typing words into my computer or vocalizing them in any way, defending the positive aspects of a teenager having a cell phone. When I was a teen I didn't have a cell phone. My dad got me one after Katy was born, though, because he wanted to make sure that I had a way to call him if something happened. Even though I'm only 32 now, that was before texting became the thing it is now, so texting and driving was not a huge threat. (Although it was definitely the days of pressing the button a thousand times to get to the right letter so really, texting took a lot more effort.) When all of Katy's (and Kenzie's - who is turning 12 soon) friends began flashing their cell phones and asking my kids for their numbers somewhere around 5th grade, my girls replied that they didn't have cell phones. Even when grandpa thought Katy needed one, mama did not and therefore, my teenager was not part of the cell phone crowd... Until last Christmas. When she was 14.
Why does your 14 year old need a cell phone, Hypocrite? Well, that's a good question, there. We spent 4 years overseas where 14 was the age when kids could legally stay home alone or babysit. She was never alone or in charge of her 3 smaller siblings. She was always with an adult. Someone with a.... you guessed it... cell phone. But when we moved back to the states, it became clear that the benefits of her having her own, mobile line of communication far outweighed the stubborn stance that she had no need for one. She was at a new school and the busses were highly unreliable. On more than one occasion, she had no way to call me to let me know that they dropped her off at the wrong school (she had classes at 2 campuses) or never even came to get her in the first place. The school office told her to use her cell phone, which she didn't have. She went to the mall with friends and the roads began to ice over and she was unable to call me to let me know where she would be waiting for me. Well, now she is 15 and needs arise where she is home watching her 11, 5 and 2 year old siblings... with no land line. And let's face it. Things happen, like when she went to the mall with a friend here (we've moved twice in a year) and texted me a hundred times showing me awful fashion choices and telling me how she wanted to come home because her friends weren't the kind of people she wanted to hang out at the mall with. Good school people, just, not hanging out people.
On that thought, let's go back to me. As a teen without a phone. When I was 16, I got in the car with my boyfriend thinking we were going to a local party. Two and a half hours later, we are in the middle of nowhere heading to a party where there were two sober people - me and the one other girl I knew. I had no way to call anyone and no way to even tell anyone where I was. I went and sat in the truck to get away from all the madness and try to figure out a way home. That's where I was when I lost my virginity. Against my will. I was taken advantage of several times that night. Had I had a cell phone, I could've called someone. I would've called my dad. But I wouldn't have my teenager. The one who I would want to have a phone, one with a parental tracking ability. One she could text me, call me, kick me, snap me, IG me, whatever it took.
See, I understand that kids need to be taught about real dangers. I've lived a LOT of real dangers. I've had my ex-husband try to kill me and no landline, no cell phone, and my dad and police search for me for 6 or more hours. They could've tracked a cell phone. I could've gotten help sooner. I've been put out in the middle of the road with nothing but the clothes on my back and the phone hidden in my bra. I was able to call for a friend because I had a cell phone. I'm not saying that any of this will happen or is even likely to happen to my kids, but I am saying that in addition to cell phone, internet and text safety, I teach my kids other REAL dangers. And because I consider an intruder attacking my children while I'm at Food Lion right up there with a head-on collision, I teach cell phone safety. And I practice cell phone safety.
Maybe it isn't the kids "doing whatever the hell they want" that's the biggest problem regarding texting and driving. Maybe it's more that their parents say "don't text and drive" and before their breath has left their lips, mom or dad picks up their phone to respond to a friend, check a notification, let someone know they're "on their way" or google the fastest way to their destination. I will not text and drive. It's not because I'm all high and mighty, it's because I typically have my children in the car and their lives mean more to me than anything someone says while I'm driving. I practice what I preach. My teen will actually see a text come through on my screen (because my phone is typically stowed in the holder above the radio) read it to me, and ask me if I'd like her to respond. Because it's all she's ever known, she isn't just told that texting and driving is bad, she's shown that it's not even an option. And about all that other stuff? She has the same passcode on her phone as I have on mine. Not because I told her to, but because (as she said) "that way you won't have to ask me what it is when you look through stuff". Because she also knows that there is a standard we hold ourselves to and, oh yes, mama goes through all of your communication.
None of this is me saying that my kid is immune to bad decisions. I have it on good authority that she's human and will undoubtedly make mistakes. All this is to point out that the first problem with teenagers isn't teenagers. They're new at this. It's parents who have yet to figure out that implementing standards that you, yourself, don't find important enough to adhere to will ultimately fail to teach your kids that those standards are as important as they really are.
Parents. It's not the cell phone that's the problem. If you crash your car and injure your child as a result of your neglectful texting while driving... are you going to blame the fact that you're 46 and all your friends do it and you've never crashed before? No. You're still going to live the rest of your life knowing that you caused harm because of a stupid decision you made while simultaneously yapping about how texting teens are such a danger. That is, if you're lucky enough to not take a life, including your own.
I'd like for everyone who has made it through this rant of mine to make a real, honest, determined effort beginning right now. I want each and every one of you to stop texting and driving. If the use of any cellular function requires you to take your eyes off the road, I beg you to wait until you're stopped or have someone else do it for you. And if you have children, make sure to tell them "I will check that message when we stop because it's important to focus on driving". Teach them through your actions. If you already live by the code of no texting and driving, thank you.
There is no sure fire way to guarantee that any one of our children will not make the mistake of texting and driving... but we can all set the right example and in turn, make ourselves more focused drivers while taking one more texting driver off the road.
Food for thought.
Texting and driving is a real and very present danger. Yes. Teens text and drive. But there is no sure fire way to guarantee that your (or my) teen will never take their eyes off the road for any reason and especially not for checking or sending texts. That being said... Teens aren't the only ones who text and drive. In the very same thread where someone was so adamant that teens shouldn't even have cell phones, parents admitted that they, too, were guilty of texting and driving. I'm not entirely certain how this train of thought is going to play out, so just bear with me.
I never thought I would be sitting here, typing words into my computer or vocalizing them in any way, defending the positive aspects of a teenager having a cell phone. When I was a teen I didn't have a cell phone. My dad got me one after Katy was born, though, because he wanted to make sure that I had a way to call him if something happened. Even though I'm only 32 now, that was before texting became the thing it is now, so texting and driving was not a huge threat. (Although it was definitely the days of pressing the button a thousand times to get to the right letter so really, texting took a lot more effort.) When all of Katy's (and Kenzie's - who is turning 12 soon) friends began flashing their cell phones and asking my kids for their numbers somewhere around 5th grade, my girls replied that they didn't have cell phones. Even when grandpa thought Katy needed one, mama did not and therefore, my teenager was not part of the cell phone crowd... Until last Christmas. When she was 14.
Why does your 14 year old need a cell phone, Hypocrite? Well, that's a good question, there. We spent 4 years overseas where 14 was the age when kids could legally stay home alone or babysit. She was never alone or in charge of her 3 smaller siblings. She was always with an adult. Someone with a.... you guessed it... cell phone. But when we moved back to the states, it became clear that the benefits of her having her own, mobile line of communication far outweighed the stubborn stance that she had no need for one. She was at a new school and the busses were highly unreliable. On more than one occasion, she had no way to call me to let me know that they dropped her off at the wrong school (she had classes at 2 campuses) or never even came to get her in the first place. The school office told her to use her cell phone, which she didn't have. She went to the mall with friends and the roads began to ice over and she was unable to call me to let me know where she would be waiting for me. Well, now she is 15 and needs arise where she is home watching her 11, 5 and 2 year old siblings... with no land line. And let's face it. Things happen, like when she went to the mall with a friend here (we've moved twice in a year) and texted me a hundred times showing me awful fashion choices and telling me how she wanted to come home because her friends weren't the kind of people she wanted to hang out at the mall with. Good school people, just, not hanging out people.
On that thought, let's go back to me. As a teen without a phone. When I was 16, I got in the car with my boyfriend thinking we were going to a local party. Two and a half hours later, we are in the middle of nowhere heading to a party where there were two sober people - me and the one other girl I knew. I had no way to call anyone and no way to even tell anyone where I was. I went and sat in the truck to get away from all the madness and try to figure out a way home. That's where I was when I lost my virginity. Against my will. I was taken advantage of several times that night. Had I had a cell phone, I could've called someone. I would've called my dad. But I wouldn't have my teenager. The one who I would want to have a phone, one with a parental tracking ability. One she could text me, call me, kick me, snap me, IG me, whatever it took.
See, I understand that kids need to be taught about real dangers. I've lived a LOT of real dangers. I've had my ex-husband try to kill me and no landline, no cell phone, and my dad and police search for me for 6 or more hours. They could've tracked a cell phone. I could've gotten help sooner. I've been put out in the middle of the road with nothing but the clothes on my back and the phone hidden in my bra. I was able to call for a friend because I had a cell phone. I'm not saying that any of this will happen or is even likely to happen to my kids, but I am saying that in addition to cell phone, internet and text safety, I teach my kids other REAL dangers. And because I consider an intruder attacking my children while I'm at Food Lion right up there with a head-on collision, I teach cell phone safety. And I practice cell phone safety.
Maybe it isn't the kids "doing whatever the hell they want" that's the biggest problem regarding texting and driving. Maybe it's more that their parents say "don't text and drive" and before their breath has left their lips, mom or dad picks up their phone to respond to a friend, check a notification, let someone know they're "on their way" or google the fastest way to their destination. I will not text and drive. It's not because I'm all high and mighty, it's because I typically have my children in the car and their lives mean more to me than anything someone says while I'm driving. I practice what I preach. My teen will actually see a text come through on my screen (because my phone is typically stowed in the holder above the radio) read it to me, and ask me if I'd like her to respond. Because it's all she's ever known, she isn't just told that texting and driving is bad, she's shown that it's not even an option. And about all that other stuff? She has the same passcode on her phone as I have on mine. Not because I told her to, but because (as she said) "that way you won't have to ask me what it is when you look through stuff". Because she also knows that there is a standard we hold ourselves to and, oh yes, mama goes through all of your communication.
None of this is me saying that my kid is immune to bad decisions. I have it on good authority that she's human and will undoubtedly make mistakes. All this is to point out that the first problem with teenagers isn't teenagers. They're new at this. It's parents who have yet to figure out that implementing standards that you, yourself, don't find important enough to adhere to will ultimately fail to teach your kids that those standards are as important as they really are.
Parents. It's not the cell phone that's the problem. If you crash your car and injure your child as a result of your neglectful texting while driving... are you going to blame the fact that you're 46 and all your friends do it and you've never crashed before? No. You're still going to live the rest of your life knowing that you caused harm because of a stupid decision you made while simultaneously yapping about how texting teens are such a danger. That is, if you're lucky enough to not take a life, including your own.
I'd like for everyone who has made it through this rant of mine to make a real, honest, determined effort beginning right now. I want each and every one of you to stop texting and driving. If the use of any cellular function requires you to take your eyes off the road, I beg you to wait until you're stopped or have someone else do it for you. And if you have children, make sure to tell them "I will check that message when we stop because it's important to focus on driving". Teach them through your actions. If you already live by the code of no texting and driving, thank you.
There is no sure fire way to guarantee that any one of our children will not make the mistake of texting and driving... but we can all set the right example and in turn, make ourselves more focused drivers while taking one more texting driver off the road.
Food for thought.
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