Dispicable "D"

It was an amazingly fateful day many years ago when I walked towards a man standing tall in a starched black tuxedo with tears in his eyes that met with mine and melted me.  I knew without a doubt that I was about to marry Mr. Right.  What I didn’t know at the time was that he was Mr. Right All The Time.

Love is blind but marriage is a real eye-opener.

The school-rhyme held true for me and Bob Cole, a.k.a, The Man of My Dreams: first comes love then comes marriage then comes the baby in the baby carriage…THEN comes reality.

I couldn’t say the exact day it happened, but sometime after the tan faded from our blissful honeymoon-stay on a tropical island and before the birth of our first child, we rolled over in bed, looked at each other and nearly screamed in shock in terror as we realized: “I married a…HUMAN!!!”

Our fights had moved on the spectrum from cute (during the dating days) to killer (post “I Do” days).  At first it was, “Honey, you are so busy working hard so don’t worry about it but I noticed you forgot to take out the trash.  Actually, I thought it was kinda cute because you are my sugar-smoochie-poochie and nothing you do could ever bother me.” Before long though, it was more like, “Don’t forget to take the trash out again or I’ll go all Nick Nolte on you (please see picture below).

The thing is, some days we just don’t FEEL like being married.  We don’t FEEL knock-off-our-socks, sweep-us-off-our-feet, and madly in love with our spouses.  And when these feelings come knocking, they bring with them a very repulsive and deadly friend that goes by the name of Despicable “D”.  

Despicable “D” has a pretty trashy reputation that is known all around the globe. His presence in someone's life has actually shortened their life expectancy* (*see below for all documented stats) In fact, a researcher from Yale concluded that the effect of Despicable “D” in a person’s life is so dangerous, it is almost comparable to smoking a pack a day.

Despicable “D”  has a negative influence on the mental health of both men and woman that often rears it’s ugly head through depression, hostility and negative personal growth and relationships.  As if ravaging the mind and body weren’t enough, the Despicable “D” goes after people’s pocketbooks too.  Sixty percent of those who have been pillaged by the Despicable “D” are under the poverty line.  

Unfortunately, the Despicable “D” is no respecter of persons and it is not beneath him to attack innocent children as well.  These young victims will sometimes earn lower grades and be less pleasant to be around than their peers.  The older victims (teenagers) are more likely to need psychological help with a year of the Despicable “D” visiting their home.

In studies that compare the children whose parents were affected by the Despicable “D” verses children whose parents died, the children from homes affected by the “D” have MORE psychological problems (more on this below also).  The health of children from these homes is also at risk.  Children affected by the Despicable “D” are more likely to experience injury, asthma, headaches and speech defects.  There is more on the Despicable “D”’s rap-sheet of suffering and pain but there’s not enough room in this blog to continue.

Take a breath right now if you need one.  I understand that well since my heart is heavy too as I share these sickening and mind-boggling statistics about divorce, the Despicable “D”.

Divorce isn’t the easy way out of a marriage, it’s the hard way.  May I now suggest something about those feelings that tell us we’d be better of without him/her…the feelings that say we don’t have the same _______ (passion, love, fun, fill in the blank here) as we did when we were dating or first married?  We need to tell our feelings to take a long walk off a short pier.  We need to kick their butt out of our lives when they are shouting BIG lies into our heads.

There are many things that ignite passion in my Irish blood (and my husband is a passionate man as well) but there is nothing we feel MORE passionately about than this: the “D” word will NOT be an option.  The Despicable “D” may come knocking and he can huff and he can puff but he will not blow this house down.  Good ol’ Mr. RIP VanWinkle is the only way the love of my life will ever get rid of me (now don’t get any ideas, my dear).

Best-selling author and marriage guro, Gary Thomas, puts it this way, “If we get married for trivial reasons, we get divorced for trivial reasons.  Compare yourself to Jesus and tell me if you have any time left over to fix anyone else.  Let us purify OURSELVES (not our spouses) (2 Cor. 7:1).”  I love the biblical concept he presents that is quite opposite to the world’s ideology: the MAIN purpose of marriage is not to make us happy but holy.  

To be quite honest, I’m not very excited about this concept when I’m facing off my sweetheart in some all-important debate (that I can never remember later, why is that!?), because I want HIM to make ME happy.  But in those (rare!!!) times that I die to self, entrust the situation over to God in prayer and let His peace fill my heart then I feel God changing me.  He makes me more like Him.  That is HIS goal (1 Peter 2:5) and I’m striving to make it MY goal too (rather slowly and with some backward steps too as my husband could confirm).

We need to face down the Despicable "D" Grumpy-Old-Men style: ornery and stubborn.  Will you be ornery, mean and stubborn about not letting this be an option?  Because if so, it could change your life and the lives of your children forever.

*Note from author: this is a message written with the audience of married people in mind. Knowing that this audience may include people having gone through divorce, I want to encourage you that there is ALWAYS hope and grace in Christ.  Even a dark and difficult situation can be turned around and (my favorite part) gloriously used in His Kingdom!  Also to be noted: there are biblical grounds for divorce and I am not arguing against those as much as the very petty reasons people are separating over these days.  If you are in a situation of ANY kind of abuse, it would be wise to seek immediate help and possibly a separation while you both undergo professional counseling.  With care and prayers, Tara Cole


The STATS:
Life expectancies for divorced men and women are significantly lower than for married people (who have the longest life expectancies). 3
A recent study found those who were unhappy but stay married were more likely to be happy five years later than those who divorced.4
The health consequences of divorce are so severe that a Yale researcher concluded that “being divorced and a nonsmoker is [only] slightly less dangerous than smoking a pack a day and staying married.” 5
After a diagnosis of cancer, married people are most likely to recover, while the divorced are least likely to recover,6 indicating that the emotional trauma of divorce has a long-term impact on the physical health of the body.
Men and women both suffer a decline in mental health following divorce, but researchers have found that women are more greatly affected.7 Some of the mental health indicators affected by divorce include depression, hostility, self-acceptance, personal growth and positive relations with others.
1 Pamela J. Smock, "The Economic Costs of Marital Disruption for Young Women over the Past Two Decades." Demography 30 (1993): 353-371.
2 John Crouch, "Virginia"s No-Fault Divorce Reform Bill," interview with John Crouch and Jim Parmelee on Television Channel 10, Fairfax, VA, www.divorcereform.org.
3 Robert Coombs, "Marital Status and Personal Well-Being: A Literature Review," Family Relations 40 (1991):97-102; I. M. Joung, et al., "Differences in Self-Reported Morbidity by Marital Status and by Living Arrangement," International Journal of Epidemiology 23 (1994): 91-97.
4 Linda Waite and Maggie Gallagher, The Case for Marriage (New York: Doubleday, 2000), p. 148.
5 Harold J. Morowitz, "Hiding in the Hammond Report," Hospital Practice (August 1975), p. 39.
6 James S. Goodwin, William C. Hunt, Charles R. Key and Jonathan M. Sarmet, "The Effect of Marital Status on Stage, Treatment, and Survival of Cancer Patients," Journal of the American Medical Association 258 (1987): 3125-3130.
7 Nadine F. Marks and James D. Lambert, "Marital Status Continuity and Change among Young and Midlife Adults: Longitudinal Effects on Psychological Well-being," Journal of Family Issues 19 (1998): 652-686.
5. Studies in the early 1980’s showed that children in repeat divorces earned lower grades and their peers rated them as less pleasant to be around. (Andrew J. Cherlin, Marriage, Divorce, Remarriage –Harvard University Press 1981)
6. Teenagers in single-parent families and in blended families are three times more likely to need psychological help within a given year. (Peter Hill “Recent Advances in Selected Aspects of Adolescent Development” Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry 1993)
7. Compared to children from homes disrupted by death, children from divorced homes have more psychological problems. (Robert E. Emery, Marriage, Divorce and Children’s Adjustment” Sage Publications, 1988) The DEATH of a parent is LESS devastating to a child than a DIVORCE. (Even I wouldn’t believe this if I didn’t see the statistic myself.)
8. Children of divorce are at a greater risk to experience injury, asthma, headaches and speech defects than children whose parents have remained married. (Dawson, “Family Structure and Children’s Health and Well Being” National Health Interview Survey on Child Health, Journal of Marriage and the Family)

Action Girl Strikes Again!

Lately four words have been suspended in the air every time I stand at the crossroads between peace and worry, between fear and faith.

“Do you trust me?”

The situations change, the dilemmas take on different faces but the question remains, “Do you trust me?”

I don’t know…do I, Lord?

Because the answer to that will determine how I respond in this moment and, ultimately, it will determine the outcome of THIS situation...which could change my life forever.

But no pressure, right?!

Can I be real with you?  Trusting sometimes seems like INaction to a girl who loves action (which is why I truly am loving life with all my tiny people, just call me Action Girl!).  Trust seems like giving up but I’m realizing it’s really giving in to the Creator who sees the entire symphony while I stare in confusion at a single note on the music sheet.

You know that saying, “Some people have to learn the hard way?”  Hello, nice to meet you: I am that people.  Darn it all.   I seem to enjoy head-butting a brick wall repeatedly before I finally rub my head and say, “Well, maybe there’s a better way.”  Thankfully, I do eventually learn and try something different!

Just today I heard these four little words again when I hung up the phone after a conversation with my husband (and the loudest “la-la-la” song I could muster didn't do a thing to quiet that question in my soul).

Let me just say, I adore my man.  He’s a good, hard-working man and the best daddy I could have ever dreamed of to our four children.  I feel pretty dang lucky.  That being said...the man drives me crazy sometimes!  Especially when I feel I got marching orders for our life and he has a different idea.  Why can’t he ever just smile and say, “Yes, Dear.”?!  It’s not like I want to be in control…I just think sometimes my way is the HIGH way, as in the BEST way.  Like I said before: brick wall.

Both my husband, Bob, and I felt God put it on our hearts last year to get our home ready to sell.  I have no idea why since raising four children in a two bedroom home has been marvelous fun but, alas, I will sacrifice for the sake of the Kingdom if God has something better for us (wink, wink!).  

It was truly an exciting day last fall when (just a few days after I had decided to be completely content with where we are now) I felt God nudge me and say, “Get the house ready to sell next year.”  When I first heard this, I immediately wanted to know “the scoop”, “Sure, God: but then what?  Should we start looking for a new home?  Where are we going?  What will we be doing?  How will this all work?”  Here was the answer I got: “Do you trust me?”  I took a big breath and nodded, Yes, I do.  

Next, I sealed my lips (which should really be the 8th wonder of the world) and waited patiently for God to confirm this by putting it in Bob’s heart also (can I get a woo-woo from all the ladies out there who also think they hear from God first, ha ha!!).  Sure enough, a few weeks later, Bob (who had wanted to have the house paid off before we ever sold it, i.e. in the year 2050 when we would be transitioning to a nursing home) said the same thing out of the blue and I nearly tackled him to the ground in excitement (which brought NO complaints from him, of course).

Fast forward seven months to this spring as I envision our front yard; flowers blooming, green grass sprouting and a “For Sale” sign attracting just the perfect buyer for our well-loved home.  That would, of course, be according to “Tara’s Way or The Highway Plan” which was vetoed tonight by my sweetheart. His plans included finishing up a few home projects (which for a family short on time and cash and big on family demands made me feel like he was proposing we scale Mt. Everest, blindfolded.) and taking more time (remember, Action Girl here?!) to think and pray about it (boring, ha ha!).  Naturally, I did what any self-respecting Action Girl would do: I proposed my plan again and again…and again from different angles.  I try so hard to be tricky but tonight, I was busted by Bob, “If you insist, we’ll do it your way then.”  An image of a brick wall flashed in my mind and I sighed, “No, it’s okay, we’ll stick to your plan, that sounds wise.”  With that, I hung up and a tear escaped down my cheek.  Nothing was going according to MY plan and I felt helpless when suddenly, I heard four little words,

“Do you trust me?”

Do I trust Him to not only lead me but trust him to lead my husband in the direction we are supposed to go?  When I slipped a shiny band over my fiancée's finger six years ago and spoke the words of commitment until death that made him my Leader, my Best Friend and my Husband, I meant it.  But there are days that I try to carry a burden that is too heavy for my shoulders, days I try to lead and make him follow ME…days that I DON’T trust him which reminds me I’m not trusting the One that equipped him with the faith and fortitude to lead our family.

“Do you trust me?”

The question hung in the air as I stared at the silent cell phone in my hand.  

But I have to DO something, I have to MAKE something happen!  The protests of Action Girl were met with the same four-word-question and in my mind’s eye, I could see beautiful nail-scarred hands.  Who loves me more?  Who could possibly have a better plan for our life than the One that gave up his only Son so that we could have both life abundantly here on earth and in the life eternal that lays beyond this temporary home.

There was something a Girl of Action could do that would change things while I trusted God…

Something powerful…

Something amazing…

Something real…

I got down on my knees and prayed.

Yes, God, I trust You.

"Lead Me" Music Video

Sunday Morning Disaster

Rain + mud + worms + boys = Sunday Morning Disaster.

Relaxing is no longer an adjective that floats to the surface of my mind when I envision Sunday mornings.

Pre-children years included favorite music filling the house as we emptied our coffee cups and played footsie under the kitchen table.

Post-children years include the music of wailing as we squeeze our crew into uncomfortable church clothes intermingled with the sound of laughter as they streak through the house after their baths decked out in their “nuder-man” outfits (yes, that means naked!).  Meanwhile, the coffee maker sits collecting dust on the counter and the only thing being emptied at breakfast now are my cups of patience and joy as bowls of cereal topple off the table and lakes of milk form on my freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

All of this really gets me in the mood to go to church and be spiritual.  That’s why I’m relieved that real church isn’t a showcase for saints (oops, I missed that anointing for sainthood!) but rather a hospital for sinners.

After what happened this last Sunday, I was more than ready to raise my white hankie in surrender and admit that I sin with the best of them.  Glory hallelujah!

The children were lassoed and decked out in their outfits that included (for the boys) white long sleeved shirts and khakis (with strict instructions to not touch or even THINK about anything dirty), the mountain of Cheerios were swept up and the lake of milk was sopped up as my little soldiers were marched to the door to begin our "Exodus".  I typically begin the “Exodus” from our house about half an hour before we actually need to LEAVE for any given event as history has evidenced Murphy’s Law is a FACT with four children under age five.  

One baby loaded in the car seat and placed in the van, check.

One little girl buckled into her car seat with a handful of fruit snacks to keep her momentarily happy, check.

One three year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read, check.

One four year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read as well, check.

One Momma still wearing slippers…oh, snap…check.

“Okay, guys--Momma has to grab some shoes, I’ll be right back so just relax and STAY IN THE VAN, okay?”

They all nodded and I was foolishly deceived into thinking this is what things would look like when I reappeared.  I raced back outside…where I ran smack dab into my four year old son whose hand was submerged up to his elbow in a bucket of DIRT.

I did a double-take, what’s this?!  I immediately noticed His white polo shirt was now a lovely shade of brown and then he noticed a moment later that I had smoke coming out of my ears.

“Oh, Momma…" Gideon said, "I had to check to make sure the worms we caught yesterday are all alive.  Oh, wow--yup, they are.  Okay, I’ll get into the van now…oh, wait--I guess I have a little dirt on me…”

I would like to say I was very spiritual at that moment and reflected on the joys of boys and laughed about it all.  I would like to say that…but, I’ll shoot straight with ya’ll: I didn’t.  I did one of those First/Middle/Last-Name-of-Your-Child-Hollers that probably woke up the neighbors that were hoping to sleep in on a Sunday morning.  I have (quite infrequently) my saint moments, then, the rest of the time, I’m a sinner.

When Gideon and I climbed back into the van a few minutes later (with a clean shirt and dirt still under his fingernails), a little smile was starting to replace my crabby-Momma-face (thank God, that is such a bad look on me!).  When Gideon caught my eye in the mirror as he buckled back into his seat, I winked at him and his face lit up in a smile of his own, all was forgiven.  If God can forgive me for being a SPAZ about LITTLE things, for freaking out when I should take a moment to think before I speak, then how much MORE should I be quick to forgive my children who sometimes mess up in little ways.

I backed out of our driveway and headed towards the hospital for sinners…that was just the kind of place I needed to be on a Sunday morning like this.  I had some dirt of my own that needed to be cleaned up.

The Crazy Arby Derby

I loaded my crew into our mini-van and grabbed my cell phone while I was backing out of the Arby’s parking lot.  I couldn’t wait to call my husband.

“Well, that was fun taking all the kids to Arby’s for lunch.”

“Wait a minute!”  My husband replied on the other end, “Did you just say ALL THE KIDS, ARBY’S and FUN in the SAME sentence?”

I always feel naively optimistic upon entering any establishment to eat when I’m flying solo with my fab four in tow.  Either I’m subscribing to the “Ignorance is Bliss” theory or my hunger takes over the logical part of my brain that is screaming, “Don’t do it!  Get out while there is still time!” 

 

With the smell of curly fries and roast beef luring me in, I succumbed to the magical spell of Arby’s.  Once we were inside, I unloaded my four-year-old, three-year-old, and one-year-old into a booth and scooped the baby into my arms.  I would have to have to leave my three darlings for a moment to go up front and order, but I wouldn’t leave them alone, I was leaving behind the Holy Spirit, I mean-The Holy Fear of Their Momma!  

“Sit here,”  I said, locking eyes with my wiggly Judah to make sure he heard so he would be without excuse on the day of judgment, “Please be good.  Don’t stand on the table, on the booth or your brother’s head.  Don’t eat food off the floor, don’t lick the windows and most importantly, DON’T MOVE.  I’ll be right back with yummy food for those who have resisted the temptation of acting on every crazy thought that pops in their heads!!”  My children looked like angels as I backed…slowly…away, keeping them in my line of sight as I stepped into the food line to order.

Thankfully, only one lady stood in front of me in line.  Un-thankfully (is that a word?!), she had probably been a live witness to Noah’s Ark and the Great Flood and was apparently going to be paying for her entire order in…pennies!  Dear Lord, I prayed, this is going to take a miracle to get back to my kids in under a century.  Please make them behave.  

One glance towards those three little angels quickly assured me it would take a miracle to get my unattended children to behave, as in the good Lord Himself showing up (bolts of lightning and a loud, booming voice would sure sweeten the deal).

It was like “Home Alone: Arby’s Booth Edition” at the table, it looked like a game of The Muskrat and The Weasel was in full-swing as Jude, Gideon and EvaLee laughed gleefully and chased each other under the table and through the booth seats, stopping now and then to investigate a fry that was squished into the carpet.

I tried to appear calm and collected as I bounced Gabby on my hip and casually glanced at Grandma Penny at the counter.

“Let’s start over,”  The clerk smiled at the sweet little lady, “Here’s five pennies, six, seven, eight, nine….yes, mam’, the total is $6.84 again.  Okay, where was I?  Oh, yes: nine, ten, eleven…”

I tried not to lose my place in line as I did my best to send a discreet evil eye at the boys (EvaLee is still young enough to qualify for Momma‘s “Get-Out-of-Jail-Free-Card“) but they were too busy having fun to notice the smoke coming out of my ears.  They were all popping over the booth like a group of Jack-in-the-Boxes on speed.  Finally, Gideon caught my eye and I took the golden opportunity to hiss things like, “Sit down!” and “Be quiet, stop that!” without actually making any noise as I didn’t want to draw any more attention to them or me.  I figured the neon sign over the kids, flashing “CRAZY, HUNGRY, SILLY CHILDREN HERE!!” was enough excitement without the a side-show of their mother shouting and hopping around across the restaurant.  I was praying Gideon could read lips…and deeply furrowed brows.

Speaking of praying, I was also praying Grandma Penny would suddenly unearth a ten dollar bill from her tiny knitted purse and we’d all get to order before the new year!  My heart sank as I heard the clerk still counting, “…seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven…”.  Sweet Jesus!  I was just reaching into my own purse to throw a twenty on the counter and save us all from celebrating our retirement in the Arby’s order-line when the clerk exclaimed, “…and that should do it, Mam’!  You’re all set!”

I breathed a sigh of relief when all of the sudden my ears filled with The Bang Heard ‘Round the World: my wiggly three-year-old, Judah, attempting to stand with full force under the table and banging his head as a result.  The sigh of relief I had just been breathing froze mid-breath as I waited for it…and waited…yes, there it was, THE CRY.

Judah’s waaaambulence went off in FULL glory, giving every fire-truck and police-car in town a run for their money.

He bolted like an Olympic Sprinter towards me (I always wonder how much pain they could be feeling if they can run with that amount of focus and speed!) and jumped into my arms where he received (in addition to the attention of EVERY Arby’s patron) a kiss from me that silenced all his woes.  Just like that, he smiled and returned to the Boisterous Party at Booth #5.

I finally placed our order and reunited with my long-lost sanity and children.  We were just finishing the last of our milkshakes when a stooped elderly gentleman approached our table, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in towards us,

“Your children are so well behaved.”  

A milkshake never taste so interesting as when it comes through one’s nose when they attempt to suppress delirious laughter.

“Thank you, sir,”  I replied, “Um…you mean these children?  Did you see them while I was in line?”

He smiled and nodded, “Yes, I sure did and they are good.  I was so blessed watching you all eat and how nice of kids you have here.  I was just remembering my own children.  My baby boy just turned forty-five.”

Wow, forty-five, I thought, when my oldest is four, that feels like centuries away!  But time is short…life is short.  I thanked the sweet old man and as I watched him shuffle out the door, it felt as if life suddenly slowed down a bit.  I turned around and looked at each of my children, trying to freeze in my memory that moment in time, a moment I would never have again: Gabby chewing on a French-fry, covered in drool, EvaLee loudly slurping the last of a milkshake with a happy expression on her round face, Judah trying to nonchalantly slide under the booth (for the hundredth time, what exactly is the attraction to that spot!?) while I shook my head “no”, and Gideon jabbering away with his report from the front-line about any sibling that was committing a misdemeanor I may have missed.

Yep, that’s life sometimes.  Messy, loud, hectic…and fun.  I wouldn’t trade it for a million quiet dinners with the most famous people of the world at the fanciest restaurant in town.  So when I called Bob a few minutes later and said, “Well, that was fun taking all the kids to Arby’s for lunch.”, I really DID mean it.