A Beginning

I sold my home today.

I can hardly believe those words.  I have been waiting for a year and a half to be set free from the bondage that Brett left behind for me when he left our home and our marriage on December 16, 2010.  The intervening days have crawled by as I have sought to find some sort of footing, some sort of reason for living after everything that I believed in came crashing down around my ears.

Impossible.  Inconceivable.  Incomprehensible.  These words have swum around in my thoughts, chasing each other, and seeking for some sort of explanation.  Eighteen months later, no real answer has presented itself, no theory has made any sense.

Today, I don't want to figure out what happened to Brett.  I still really can't talk about that.  The same words keep coming out, repeating and repeating in an endless chorus of pain.

Today, I want to record what God has done for me.  I want to bear witness to the fact that He has always been with me, every step of the way, even when I thought that He had deserted me too.

Two years ago, I had a sudden mini vision/impression.  Revelation has often come to me that way: fast-moving pictures and words written on my heart.  I saw myself falling down a deep, dark pit.  The fall felt endless, and I was terrified.  Just as I reached the bottom, I felt the Savior wrap His arms around me, and I could feel His breathing against my back.  He whispered in my ear: "We are going to be in here for a long time . . . but I will be here with you."  I remember being surprised that Christ had been waiting at the bottom of the pit, instead of looking down from the top, ready to pull me out.  And I wondered how long "a long time" was going to be.

At that time, there were a number of concerns going on with Brett.  I was frightened, but because of the depth of our relationship, and because of the promises I felt were associated with our marriage/sealing, I felt certain that somehow, everything was going to be ok.  But, it wasn't.

"A long time."  Since that little vision - since Brett left - I had a priesthood blessing from David Boak, a great man with a wonderful wife (one of my dearest friends) in my ward.  In the blessing, David corrected my interpretation of the pit as actually being a well.  That seemed fitting, considering all of the symbology associated with wells in the scriptures.  One of my favorite stories is of the woman at the well (more about her story another time).  It touched my heart to remember that the Savior waited at the well for the woman that day, and now He was going to wait with me in the well.  I knew that He was there, but I have to admit that I often felt overwhelmed by the darkness, and couldn't feel the comfort of His arms about me.

I can't count the number of nights I've cried out to God: "I just need to feel you hold me!"  . . . And I couldn't feel Him.  But, there were other times that I would choke those words out, and He would send me a dream of comfort.

The Lord has been my Master Physician, administering my prescriptions in measured doses.  I have to admit that there were many times that I felt I would surely die as I encountered some new realization, and I reeled with despair as I drank from my own bitter cup.  "This has to be the last dose," I would think, "It's got to be over."  But, there was more to come.  There is great comfort in knowing that the Savior has indeed, drained the dregs of all bitter cups, and that as terrible as mine has been, it has still been diluted because of His love and sacrifice.  He has been my only constant in the midst of sleepless nights of grief and worry.  I have often reflected upon His sacrifice, and cried out for the healing balm of the Atonement.

My home teacher, Steve Ward, David Boak (mentioned above), Zac Cherry (Brett's Dad), and others, have gently tried to teach me a sense of independence.  I think that this method is quite in harmony with what the Lord was trying to teach me, too.  Brett had taught me to lean on him, and I had become quite used to it.  But, when he left, I was suddenly overwhelmed with so much all at once: I was afraid of the coyotes that howled every night, I was afraid that I couldn't get a job, I was afraid that I would get a job, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, I was afraid that someone would break in (someone did), I was afraid that I couldn't keep the yard up, I was afraid to buy a car, and I was afraid to be alone.

Steve and David didn't respond to my emotion when they came over to help.  I was afraid of the field mower, and I was also afraid of the ATV.  So many hills and ruts, and marshy land to get stuck in!  Instead of just "doing" all of the mowing for me, Steve and David taught me how to start the ATV and the mower, how to hook them up, and then said "You can do it!"  I felt pretty frustrated by it all, because I was pretty sure that not only could I not do it, but I didn't want to do it!  Here I was a 57 year-old woman - wasn't this supposed to be man's work? - and wasn't this the biggest symbol of having been deserted?  I'd bought the land for Brett - he was the one who had been so eager to work it!  On the other hand, I couldn't bear to take advantage of anyone else, and I was quite aware that both of these men (and other helpers) were incredibly busy with their own families and responsibilities.  I got on that darn ATV, gritted my teeth against the blisters that formed quickly on my hands from gripping and controlling the many turns, and mowed the yard!  Wow! What a feeling of accomplishment! (Later, I injured my wrist severely when the rope caught and wouldn't pull all the way out - and I turned the mower over to Zac and others.  More to come on that.)

Another example of Steve's methodology was when we had a big snowstorm, and my house was without power for four days.  I'd parked my car at the top of the road when I had heard the storm was coming, because the driveway is pretty steep, and I had been unable to get it up the ice the year before.  I didn't have the luxury this year of staying home; I needed to get to work.  Steve came and spent more than an hour digging the car out, but told me that he wasn't going to drive me to dry land, he was going to follow me out.  Many of the country roads around us were closed, and trees were laying on power lines.  Our roads were the last to be cleared, and many cars and trucks littered the ditches on both sides.  I was pretty worried about taking my new not-paid-for car out on those kind of roads, but I also knew I had an obligation to my employer, and I needed to get paid.  So, once again, I gripped the steering wheel with the same determination with which I had gripped the ATV, and I started out, praying the whole way.  Steve calmly followed behind me, and when we hit dry ground, told me what a great job I had done.  I can honestly say that after that experience, I don't think I will ever be afraid to drive in the snow/ice again.  

Those experiences have been the template for the many days and hours spent mowing, carrying, lifting, fixing and taking care of this place.  I've learned that I am much stronger than I thought I was! And I have come to love and cherish this land as I have labored and wept over it.  

I've only let myself start to live again within the last eight weeks.  It began by having a Passover dinner at the house.  I hadn't cooked or had anyone over since Brett left (I'm going to have to call that SBL going forward - takes up much less space and sounds less dramatic).  As my friend Brandee (a constant lifesaver) helped me get ready for the event, I felt a deep shock to my system over how "normal" everything felt - pulling dishes out, chopping herbs, and expecting friends.  I hadn't felt "normal" in so long!

That was my first day back into the land of the living, and it seems like the clock started moving with it.  I've been in limbo for so long, locked in mourning and grief.  I haven't known how to really express myself.  I haven't known how life could look for me.

One of the most healing influences has been this beautiful place.  In the last eight weeks, I have spent nearly every moment that I could out walking the land, standing in the creek, praying under the tree, and smiling as I watch Isabeau run. I could sense that release was coming; my bondage was coming to an end.

I intend to devote a great deal more here to the individuals who helped me through all of this, and to share many of the lessons learned.  Today's entry is just a beginning to embracing my new life.  I feel that God has opened a door and said "It's time to stop mourning now."  I want to accept that invitation.  I'm venturing out into the land of the living.