My physical past includes collegiate tennis, completing a marathon, and an incredible sex life with my husband.  So, it might surprise you that the most physical exercise I have ever experienced in one “sitting” was actually sitting (plus some bawling) front row with center seats for a live production of Les Miserable.  The emotion was simply overwhelming.

You see, I was in my fourth marital separation from my beloved husband and through the previous year I had found only two “friends” I thought might possibly relate to me.  One was Fantine, the other Eponine.  It has now been four years since that day and I remain undecided as to which one fits me better.

As a single mother of three young children I struggle to provide working two jobs and I intimately know what it means to give my all, my last gasp daily, to whatever my family needs.  My eyes sting each time my iPod wearily reminds me how “life has killed the dream.”  I too put all my proverbial eggs into the basket of happy family living, “I dreamed that love would never die…that God would be forgiving…”  I too submitted my life to a faithful God.  Yet, I also mistakenly submitted to a domineering and abusive man who denied his mental illness while blaming me for his insecurities.  That year, my church and community were busily pouring out support for victims of cancer, infidelity, or alcoholism.  Yet, bipolar spouse survival was not on the service menu.  In fact my minister insisted mental illness was not to be spoken of (until a year later when his wife suffered severe depression).  If I had raced to the divorce table and demonized my husband by sharing accounts of his terrifying rages, perhaps a river of support would have flown.  Yet, I knew my husband was ill so I simply sought help and accountability.  My desire to be separated for my family’s safety yet not divorced labeled me “un-Christian”, “not committed”, and even “spoiled.”  Fantine reminded me “they turn your dream to shame.” With each higher note she sings I am pointed to God who is good even when the situation is indeed bad.

Yet, maybe I am Eponine?  I “love him on my own.”  Just the hope of my husband someday facing his reality has fueled my loyalty and been totally fueled by faith in God.  My favorite comforts are my husband’s imaginary arms around me or my too distant memory of his loving, caring voice.  “I love him, I love him, I love him.  But, only on my own.” 

Both Fantine and Eponine die tragic deaths and basically alone.  It is no great gig being either, so why did I care so much to determine which I was?  My heart and mind bounced back and forth across the stage as if I were watching center court at the Wimbledon final.

Then it hit me.  Not the ball, silly, the question.  The question was not, “Am I Fantine or Eponine?”  It is, “Is my husband Jean Valjean or Javert?”  Jim, like Jean Valjean has plenty of reason to be angry.  Decades of blame for his mother’s alcoholism and his parents’ hateful marriage because at age six he had a temper tantrum…How does that compare with 19 years in chains for stealing a loaf of bread?  Jim has been blessed by dozens of “second chances” and God’s grace.  Will he choose to take responsibility for himself and his life, face his reality, let go of bitterness, and prosper?  Or is he compelled to chase the enemy, unable to accept the gift of life, and thus doomed to take his own life in the end?  Right there on the stage before me Javert acted out my greatest fear.  The bridge and Javert were more than I could take.

It is four years since that day.  I still pine for my husband’s affection and love him dearly.  We remain separated and I still ponder the same questions.  Now there is a major motion picture released of the same story.  It was God’s Christmas gift to me. A gift I have yet had the nerve to open.  Will you see it with me?  Will you hold my hand and pray alongside me as the screen begins to blur behind my tears?  I promise to give you my share of the popcorn as my tummy will be in knots.  One specific thing I ask of you is that when you “hear the people sing” please hear my cry to stop judging mental illness.  Please consider being “strong and stand with me” for marriage and biblical separation where needed.  I need you.  “There is a life about to start” and tomorrow will come!

Note: It is worth restating that having a mental illness can be NO problem, denying it can be devastating.

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Do you ever wonder why Alvin and the Chipmucks are singing on your Christian radio station?  Do you relish when the pop station plays O Holy Night?

An odd thing happens around December;  a role reversal.  The secular stations which are often terrified to speak of “a Higher Power” and never hint towards one true loving intimate God take off their guards, get rid of their chatter, and for a brief week or so provide glorious traditional hymns.  On the other hand, you might find for a month or so the station which once was filled with only prayer and praise has moved to pop.

I have come to learn that often the Christian station is thinking of this time of our Savior’s birth as a good time to reach beyond the committed Christians.  Their strategy is to minister to the unsaved by inviting them in with familiar, often secular tunes.    So, they provide a mix.  All month they play all “Christmas” but not all Christian—you know what I mean…think (and thank) Rudolf.

Recently, it came to my attention that one of my favorite Christian radio hosts was under attack for the “Christmas “ music.  Many of us ran to support him through Facebook and were stumped asking “Who wouldn’t like Christmas music?’  Then we were saddened to understand it was the CHRISTIANS who were down right mean and insensitive in their communication to remove the secular from the holy station.  I immediately again defended this wonderful, faithful brother in Christ.  His station has literally been my lifeline.  Long after the cyber discussion concluded God kept pricking my heart, “Remember her,” He would whisper.  “Benefit of the doubt,” He would encourage. 

God was reminding me of a lonely Christmas I experienced two years ago.  It was Thanksgiving weekend and I was beginning my commute home from my third job.  In my head I was praising God for the donated turkey from our church that I needed to thaw, wondering if my estranged husband would appear for the holiday feast.  I was missing his embrace and our once happy marriage.  Yet, I felt relief for the reprieve from his abuses.  My eyes were focused on the road as I blazed the trail home to my three fantastic children knowing they were eager to see me and I consumed with the need to hug them.  “I have barely started my shopping” the radio host says in a stressed, you-are-supposed-to-feel-sorry-for-me voice.  I reach down and turn the station.  “Who changed the dial?“ I think to myself, knowing this couldn’t be my Christian station.   I hit a few buttons, some up, some down—eyes mostly on the road— and land on “Blessed Be Thy Name” as the tension in my neck relaxes into the glory of God’s grace.  Then it starts again, “My tree needs more ornaments.”  I think I am in a bad dream.  Who has hi-jacked my station?  Why aren’t we giving thanks?  Why are we focused on materialism of Christmas ever, especially in NOVEMBER?  I mute the volume and thank God for the quiet time to just speak with Him.

As the week progresses, this routine happens again and again.   They keep talking about tree lights, shopping, lists, presents, even Santa.  Don’t they know my children are listening?  How do I prepare my kids for the no presents they will receive this year and prop up how unimportant the consumerism is when that is what they are hearing on the “safe haven” radio station we had all come to love all year?

I feel abandoned.  I am alone.  I had been alone.  No help, no husband, no supportive church (remember churches like "good girls" and happy couples, not to be reminded that denied mental illness often leads to abuse and violence...but I digress). I am alone with just praise, just the radio.  I thank God for the incredible music and uplifting I had found over the past 8 months.  Then I grieve.  Why does it have to leave me now?  For the following month I turn off the radio.  I bring CD’s.  Like a discarded wife of a cheating husband I “peek” at my station from time to time to hear if things have changed, hoping my frustration was only in my head.  I miss their prayer, their spirit… Repeatedly, I tune in but I can’t last for more than 5-10 minutes because the hosts revert to jingle bells or worse, bustle and materialism, not peace and praise…so I retaliate with “Silent Night” popping in the CD.

That Christmas God was indeed faithful.  In a time when all little children were told “good kids will find presents under the tree” I had none to give.  Neighbors I barely knew bought, wrapped, and delivered (secretively) warm coats, toys, and fabulous food.  Today when my 1st grader inquires about “believing in Santa” I pronounce my honest commitment, “I believe!”

I share this story because I want to speak to three of you.  First, if you are “her/him,” the parent holding it together, I love you.  I know you.  Much more importantly, God loves you and knows you.  Hang on.  The dedication you are showing to prioritize family and faith are instilling far greater gifts in your family than anything sold at Wal-Mart.

Second, if you are the radio host, thank you!  I LOVE your work.  I love your heart.  I am thankful for your service to our Lord.  Please forgive those who have been cruel.  And, I ask you for a favor.  Would you consider creating a brief auditory sanctuary?  Please recognize that this time of year IS an outreach.  Go for it!  Yet, please note that dedicated followers may need a refuge, a time of knowing Jesus is the nucleus.  Maybe a scheduled hour of the day or day of the week can be “Holy Hymns Hour” or “Son-day?”   Make a special invitation so we can meet you and God “there” for purity of praise, pardon, and prayer.

Thirdly, if you are the listener against secular music I ask you NOT to be mean.  I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you are truly caring about our Lord and Savior and you do not want to water down His message.  Nevertheless, be kind, please.  Be kind to all people all the time.  But especially be kind to the dedicated servants who choose ministry.  My personal request is that you redirect your energy.  Where you had been angry and aggressive to the radio host, be generous and giving to the parent in need.  You can turn the capitalism of Christmas into a caring moment with Christ.

Merry Christmas!!    


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Dealing with a mental illness or even a simple fear can be manageable and a rich way to build a loving, trusting foundation.  Imagine talking with a five-year old ballerina who is afraid to go on stage for the big performance.  You can attempt to force the youngster from back stage hidden behind curtains and nudge her along with her friends into the blinding lights and hundreds of “aw’s.” Or you can address the concern and try to work it out together, “I know you are scared, do you want to tell me about it?  Do you need to skip it today?”  I was a surprised when my friend calmly explained to me that her daughter simply couldn’t go through with it.  Our daughters were “cooks” in the Nutcracker and the girls were to open the Act II walking across the stage proudly holding rolling pins or bags of flour.  My heart still thumps when I think about it.  My friend knew that no one in the audience would notice one less cook and creating a negative experience for her daughter could ruin a lifetime of positive ones.  Many years later, I still treasure Nutcracker season.  This year I watch through tears of joy as my friend’s daughter floated across the stage with a radiant smile delighting in her star role of Marie.

In my experience, forcing NEVER works.  With mental illness, rage and violence are likely to erupt.  When mental illness is denied the challenges unfortunately compound.  Since you are unable to speak truthfully and logically about fears and concerns, then what would be encouragement or a nice invitation to a more stable person feels like “force” to the mentally unstable.  And worse, there is no discussion of solution because the trust builder, of “I see you are feeling…” is not a welcome conversation.  Lastly, continual efforts to lovingly discuss situations without bringing truth about feelings of commitment, fear of failure, insecurities, etc. are exhausting.  Below I share a typical, although not exact, conversation from my world:

Honey, you asked for an orange so I am going to get you an orange.

Thanks, that would be great, I really appreciate it.

Do you really need it?  Why do you want it?  When do you need it?  Who else has an orange?  Why do they think they need an orange?

Oh, I guess I will get the orange, thanks anyway for considering it.

No, no, you asked for it so I will get it for you.

Great, that would be wonderful.  I really appreciate it.

Days pass, no orange.  An awareness by both that there is no orange.  Eyes avoid contact.  Conversations intentionally fill with subjects to other than the request for an orange.

Eventually, “Honey, did you get the orange?”

Well no, you didn’t tell me what kind of orange you needed.  Did you want a navel orange, a large orange, a small orange?  By when did you need the orange?  Why do you expect me to do things when you don’t tell me what you need?”  You expect too much of me, I can’t read your mind.  There was an article in the paper today about women expecting men to read their minds.  Too many women are like that.  You are like that.  I hate when you want me to read your mind. Why do you want me to read your mind?

I am sorry.  I just wanted an orange.  Any orange would do thanks.  I really appreciate you getting it.  Do you still want to get it or shall I get it myself?

No, no, I will get it.  It is important for me to help out.  I helped out yesterday.  I will help out tomorrow.  I am a good contributor.  You don’t appreciate me and what I contribute. You don’t think I am a good husband.  You don’t think I am a good father.   I am a good father and I am good husband.  I am not no good.

You are not speaking about my feelings.  Do you want to talk about your feelings?

No

Do you want to get the orange?

Yes, I will get you the orange.

Thanks.  I appreciate it.

Days pass, no orange.  The continual void of awareness by both that there is no orange.  Eyes avoid contact.  Conversations fill with subjects to avoid the conversation about the orange.

Eventually, “Honey, did you get the orange?”

Did you really need it?  What did you need it for?  When were you going to use it?  Do you still want it?  I thought you didn’t want it anymore?  You said you could get it.  Didn’t you say you could get it?  I distinctly remember you saying you could get it?  Right?  Why did you say you could get it if you can’t?  I don’t understand you.  You are so hard to understand.  Frank doesn’t understand you either.  I distinctly remember one time Frank said you were confusing.  You are hard to understand.  You are difficult.

I am sorry for the confusion.  I was counting on you to get it.  Do you still want to bring me an orange?

Yes I will get it.  Safeway has oranges.  I will be there on Monday.  I will get you an orange.  I am going for the meeting.  The meeting is important.  I am important.  I have learned that I am important.  I am doing lots of things to show I am a helper and I am important.  I wish you would think I was important.

I don’t understand what you are saying.   You are not speaking about my feelings.  Do you want to talk about your feelings?

No

Do you want to get the orange?

I will get you the orange.  I do what I say I am going to do.  I am dependable.  You never appreciate me.  You don’t think I am dependable.  You don’t appreciate me for anything.  You want me to buy an orange.  I will buy an orange.  I can buy an orange.  I will do what you want me to do.

Thanks.  I appreciate it.

Days pass, no orange.  Big void of awareness by both that there is no orange.  Eyes avoid contact.  Conversations fill with subjects to avoid the conversation about the orange.

Eventually, “Honey, did you get the orange?”

Yes.  I bought it just like I said I would.  I got the orange.  I help out.  I do things for you.  You never told me what part of the orange you needed.  Did you need the peel?  Did you need the center?  Did you need the juice?  Why do you ask me to read your mind?  Lots of women want men to read their minds.  I read about studies about women like you.  I know you and how you think because I read the studies.  I told you about this.  You must not have listened.  You don’t read the studies so you don’t know.  I got the orange just like I said I would when I went to the meeting.  I went to the meeting.  I am important.  There were important people at the meeting.  The people at the meeting think I am important.  I am important. Jim was at the meeting.  He is doing important things.

Great.  I am happy for you.  Where is the orange?

You want the orange?  Did you say you wanted it?  How was I supposed to know you wanted the orange?  I ate it.  I didn’t know you needed to have the orange.  I thought you said you just wanted me to buy it.  Didn’t you say you wanted me to buy an orange?  How was I supposed to know that you weren’t asking me just for the experience of buying the orange?  You never told me why you needed the orange.  How was I supposed to know?   I didn’t know you wanted the part of the orange that you eat.  I didn’t know if you wanted the peel or the orange.  Did you tell me?  I don’t remember you telling me?  Why didn’t you tell me?  I bought the orange on Monday after my meeting just like you told me to.  So, now you are mad.  Now you are disappointed.  I did just what you told me to do.  I bought an orange.  I went to a meeting.  I am good.  It is never enough.  Here, there is a seed left.

Thanks.  I appreciate it.

Now, filled with joy and appreciation she gives thanks.  She is happy with the peace and quiet from the attacks.  She is relieved the conversation is over and prayerful that perhaps someday a more honest conversation can arise.  She gives thanks for the seed, the husband that tries, the chance to have a family, and the great life she enjoys.  Most importantly she gives thanks for a God that continues to turn a tiny seed into a blossoming orchard.


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I totally treasure some surprising things: a girl going blind, a mother dying young, and being mistreated by my minister and deacon.

Really?  Would I wish a 14 year-old girl (or anyone for that matter) to lose her eyesight?  I wouldn’t have thought so.  Yet, here I am thanking God for one bright and curious little girl who went blind and her dedicated and loving sister who replaced her eyesight with detailed descriptive accounts of their lives. Personally, reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books has created quiet special moments in my family that serve as a foundation for our unity.  Moreover, Laura’s stories detailing the food, chores, and challenges of westward moving settlers provide an important account of American history not found elsewhere.  Laura mentioned that when Mary lost her sight, Laura had to be her “eyes.”  Thus, she learned to illustrate colors, landscapes, people, and events by weaving together words in order to replace images.  One day God put it on my heart that without this experience Laura wouldn’t have produced the descriptive narratives we cherish for their peaceful bonding moments and American history portrayal.  Thank you God for creating a lasting treasure from this tragedy.  I pray today for a mother in the midst of mourning a set back for her own child to find comfort in the possibilities.

Additionally, I praise God for a woman’s premature death thus leaving behind seven precious children and a very lonesome husband. How tragic.  On September 3rd, 1922 Agathe Whitehaed Von Trapp died of Scarlet Fever she had contracted from her daughter Agathe.  (Amazingly, “Little Agatha” lived to be 97 only passing in 2011).  You guessed it.  I am not just a casual fan of the world’s most popular movie,  “The Sound of Music.”  You might say I am an addict.  We have taken the tour in Salzburg, we speak German, wear dirndls and lederhosen, and watch and re-watch the movie.  Yet, I think the actual family is more interesting than the one depicted in the film.   Since I am someone familiar with mental illness and rage I found it especially interesting that one child said of Maria Von Trapp:

"She had a terrible temper. . . . And from one moment to the next, you didn't know what hit her. We were not used to this. But we took it like a thunderstorm that would pass, because the next minute she could be very nice."

I love so many things about The Sound of Music: the story, the music, the setting, and scenery.  Mostly, I love the “theology” that we are to climb every mountain; that when God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window; we must face, not shut out our problems; that God is preparing each of us with incredible talents for His glory; and we never know which talents He might use or how, whether it is singing, leadership, or confidence.  The only theology I disagree with is “I must have done something good…” depicting God as some sort of Santa Claus checking his list twice.  But mostly I love that out of devastation came glory, not only for a family, but a worldwide story of hope and survival even in the most dire of situations.

Lastly, surprise, surprise, I was not thrilled when the tragedy was mine.  I was shattered when I could find no help or support while my husband’s mental illness led to damaging rages, financial destruction, and a total sense of chaos for me and our three children.  Why did my minister scold me for privately seeking him to console and advise me about help for mental illness?  Why did my Deacon reprimand me for needing the safety of separation when my husband’s violence was more than I could bear? “God is clear about sticking with the marriage,” he would admonish.  It was a lonely, devastating time.  One that only quiet, prayer, and tears with our Lord can heal.  Eventually strength came.  I didn’t realize what a blessing their hubris and critical spirits were to me until recently when I started blogging.  I found one of my faith essays on the “I hate God” Facebook page.  There I saw hardened hearts totally closed to the Gospel and love of Christ.  I wanted to argue, to set them straight, to make them love God.  But my heart swelled, God whispered to me that they had been hurt just like I had.  That somewhere along the line they had a hope or expectation of humans in the church and it was unmet.  I wept.  I knew He was right.  Why do humans have to be so… human?  Why does the church have to be “fixed” by those who are “broken?”  I knew that I had a chance to share love, to listen, and to give.  I knew that this gift was mine only because of the devastating experience I had had and now I was grateful for that gift. 

Thank you God for the tragedies before us today.  Let us hand over to you our devastations and sit back and watch you weave them into glory!


Note: It is worth restating that having a mental illness can be NO problem, denying it can be devastating.

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In the after math of Sandy as so many of my northern friends continue to suffer without electricity, I thought I would share this experience my family had a few years back.  I hope it is encouraging:

“What is a generator” my six year old son asked.  The lights had just flickered into darkness, the basketball game disappeared from the TV and the stir-fry on the stove came to an abrupt halt.  We looked around the neighborhood and upon seeing lights across the way my husband announced, “Larry’s generator kicked in.”

Heading for the flashlight I started to explain about the storm, electricity, public utilities, and of course private generators.  By now our 8 year old daughter was in the mix with her own questions while patting the curly headed three year old, “don’t worry Bub, you’ll be OK.”  Initially the house felt not only dark, but cold and uncertain.  I checked the clock and immediately wondered if we should catch the next ferry to the mainland and spend the night with family.  My dear husband remained calm and discouraged that idea.

Before long the house was aglow with candles, the fireplace crackled with warmth.  The children began piano and violin concerts and we talked.  Later we read our next chapter of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book and relished in it.  Are those special quiet family evenings she described gone?  Is there a way to get them back into our culture?  What REALLY is a generator?  As far as I could tell, a generator was something that keeps people from the most precious family time imaginable.  I don’t want one.



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You have heard of deadly sins and cardinal sins.  Do you know the one unredeemable sin? 

Although some are taught that certain sins carry more weight, the Bible is clear that a sin is a sin is a sin.  It even goes so far as to say that to lust after another man’s wife is the same as adultery itself.  So the way I see it, God is leveling the playing field here.  He removes any opportunity to point the finger at the “really bad guy.”

What about murder?  Shouldn’t that be in a category all its own?  Nope.  Again, the Bible tells the story of personal redemption.  All people may redeem themselves through a relationship with our Lord and Savior.   The story of David shows that murder AND adultery were redeemable even before Christ walked the earth and the Holy Spirit dwelled within us.

Yet there is one commandment to watch out for: Do not be unequally yoked.  Plain as day, yet it is easy to miss.  It is certainly not in the big ten and I don’t think it is even repeated.  More confusing are the apparent contradictions in the Bible.  We are told to care for the sick and poor, minister to others, witness unceasingly, love they neighbor as thy self.  One could get confused.  

Many of us missed this critical commandment all together.  And most likely we did so not with ill intended hearts; actually quite the opposite.  Personally, I was filled with joy and appreciation for the grace and mercy God has poured out, so the natural tendency was to want to pour it out onto others.  And those who DO NOT know Him are more in need and seemed to be better targets for such love.  Thus we might fill out cups with the everlasting water of God’s love and pour, pour, pour.  What I have learned is that while pouring may be fine, attaching or yoking is not!

My checkered past reminds me that no one has sinned more than me.  Yet my blessed present days filled with the joys of three wonderful children remind me that no one has been blessed more than me.  So, my life philosophy is simple.  God loves me.  I deserve his love less than anyone alive but have been given it more so. In sum: "Since God loves me, I love you."

It is a great plan which God supports.  Loving others is encouraged.  BUT don’t miss 2 Corinthians 6:14.  Attaching ourselves (i.e. marrying, founding a business) nonbelievers is the no-no.  Had I been deep into Scripture earlier in life, I wouldn’t have missed it I suppose.  But life is a journey and Christianity is a walk.  I prayed, attended church regularly, journalled, served, and like many brides nearly memorized 1 Corinthians 13’s advice on love.  Yet, somehow I missed this critical passage in the very next book. 

Why is being unequally yoked the one and only nonredeemable sin?  This is the one YOU can’t pray yourself out of.   Even GOD can’t alone do His miracle.  God loves us.  His one desire is to know us.  To know us we must be in relationship with Him.  A personal relationship requires a personal commitment.  There it is.  God is a gentleman.  He waits patiently at the door of our hearts but refuses to break it down.  Could He?  Well, Scripture and my life experiences have taught me there is NOTHING God can’t do.  But there is one thing God won’t do.  He won’t make someone love Him.  If He did, where would faith be?  He allows us to live in a world of chaos which causes Him and us great pain.  Nevertheless this world of chaos allows for personal will.  Truly it is His greatest gift to us.  He gives us the ability to choose to love Him.  Thank you God for this remarkable gift! 

So now what do we do?  Perhaps some have used this passage as an excuse for divorce.  Try typing divorce into your online concordance.  You don’t have to do too much scrolling before seeing divorce is not something God supports.  You’re in it, be safe, stick with it...

Jesus does offer us his yoke.  Let’s try it on.  He even promises that when we take up His yoke our load will be light.  I have found this to be true.  I am "unequally" yoked to my verbally abusive bipolar husband.  Though we have suffered four separations necessary for the safety of my family we are growing.  The growth really started when I fully yoked myself to Christ.  I explained to my husband that I was married to Jesus and that my husband is welcome to join us; that will have to be his choice, not mine.  I have found that being bipolar is no reason for separation from God or anyone.  My experience demonstrates that denying mental illness and blaming the condition on others creates separation.  God created us the way we are.  Part of putting on His yoke is to accept who we are, learn to make the most of it, and accept the love that surrounds us.  Today, I remain prayerful that one day my husband will accept that opportunity.  So, even God won't force my spouse to love me or God.  Yet, through Christ, I can have enough love for both of us,  Thank you, Jesus! 

Note: It is worth restating that having a mental illness can be NO problem, denying it can be devastating.

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Dear Kay (Arthur), 

Did you write the David Deeper Still Bible study for thousands of women or just me?

This Bible Study is spoon-feeding me through an excruciating time.   I know you have had the experience where the day would be simply impossible with the exact few words provided at a particular moment from Scripture.  It is an intimate gift from our Lord and I count it amongst my endless blessings.  Today, your lessons are that gift to me.

Kay, I thought your first lesson was a joke.  A bad one.  It was more than I could bear.  My breathing stopped.  My pulse stilled.  You there speaking of bipolar, agony, suicide...I needed you to be my rock, not so....human.  You spoke of my worst fears yet they were your reality.  Hearing your story did not illustrate for me God's strength and ability to live beyond.  In my weakness, your story only served to confirm the real risk of my fears.  The pain from thinking of it now makes the tip of my nose sting and my bottom lip quiver. 

Kay, my husband is bipolar.  One diagnosis was 5 years ago.  Before I knew him, his mania had his expelled from College and he took Lithium.   Although the verbal abuse and physical threats have been extensive over the past 12 years, there was a recent scene with my husband which illustrated how much worse the abuse had been than I ever allowed myself to believe.  (I know God allowed this scene only while I was deep in the Deeper Still Bible Study.  Right between Weeks Three and Four.  Beth, her love, and her wisdom served as my necessary safety net.)  It was like God had turned off the VHS player in my mind.  “Tape is up.”  ---there was no more room for more attacks.  God hit rewind and started playing back scenes for me.  Over time and through prayer he allowed me to “tape” them anew.  For example, the “new tape” recognizes that I was normal to ensure that our babysitter (a Russian in Germany) knew how to phone 911 in case of an emergency as I packed my breast pump and headed for the office that first day I left my new born baby at home.   Similarly, the “new tape”  assured that I am an OK person even though I did not like my 2 year old left unattended at a McDonald’s playground less than 100 yards from Interstate 95.  These were revelations for me.  My husband had been towering over me, filling the shaking house with accusations, “You are too demanding!”  Years of verbal abuse assured me he was right.     

Watching Lesson 5, I thought, “Kay was lucky not to be a Christian at that time (when married to a bipolar man).”    As if divorce or affairs were flavors the non-Christian ice cream parlor offered.   Yet, here I am stretching up to the counter to order, “Endurance, with sprinkles of agony, please.”

Of course with God’s grace in Session 6, you blessed me beyond belief.  You spoke of the pain of your children from your first marriage and the difference it makes to raise a faithful child from infancy.  I am blessed.   I am a Christian, in the midst of my husband's raging bipolar.  And yes unfortunately that means I am in some ways burdened by the church, its lack of understanding or ability to help.  I also have a Christian conscious and knowledge that God alone is enough which battles daily with my intense desire for some human to rescue me from and pluck me out of my situation.  Nevertheless, each of my three children speak of God in heavenly ways, inserting Him in conversation not only with me but with strangers.  It is a miracle for which I give great thanks.   I will endure any amount of pain in order to have the gift of being Christian, especially WHILE my children are young.

You say the culture is at a crossroads.  You are right.  We need to step up.  (hope Beth gets the pun :))  I worry that the problem is even worse than you think or state.   Schedules and commitments acceptable even in Christian circles put us at an alarming crossroads on the cultural highway to a dead end.  One simple example is that over programming three year olds cuts into family dinners.  Facebook’s victory over front porches is another.  But let’s go deeper still.  

Do ministers or churches really believe in the possibility of true Christian community?   1 Peter 3 speaks to the community, not just the woman.  It states that a woman must be submissive even to a non-obedient husband.   God does not waste words.  He wouldn’t put it in the Bible it weren’t necessary.  A church reading 1 Peter 3 is at a crossroads.  Should they, blow off the lesson and discount it with, “This passage is for women and non-obedient husbands, not me?”  Or should we embrace with “God, you gave me these words.  Thus, there must be a submissive woman with a non-obedient husband in my midst.  How can I create an Acts II like support system to help bear her burdens?”

I am separated...again.  I love my husband and I am committed to him.  Yet, separations have been the only refuge for me to keep myself and our children safe and attempt to build a secure life.  The first was 4 years ago.  I am not divorced.  I have not filed for divorce.  The Bible is OK with separation, our society is not.  Cultural values demand quick answers and immediate solutions; then cast lots of blame.  Tell a Christian your mom had outpatient surgery and your freezer will be filled with tuna casserole.  Try explaining to the same person that your marriage is failing and you wake two hours before the kids do just to get the agonizing wailing out of the way so you can face your day.  The reaction will range from judgment, to providing lawyer’s phone numbers, to inquiries about “how bad can it really be?”  My minister sat at our kitchen table with my husband and I.  At one point when my husband screamed, stood up, and banged on the table so hard that the salt and pepper flew, the 6 ft, 200+ pound minister responded, “Jim, now I am scared.”  Even with the acknowledgement from my husband and me that this scene was only a morsel of what myself and the children regularly endure my minister has denied me support and wonders why I insist on seeing a change in my husband’s heart before I would feel safe having him live in our home again.   How bad can it really be?  Our culture has decided that if a woman follows scripture, relies patiently on our Lord, and tries to work through a treacherous marriage that “it can’t be that bad.”  I am here to tell you the culture is wrong.  The observation is not that something is “not that bad,” but that OUR GOD IS THAT GOOD!

Note: It is worth restating that having a mental illness can be NO problem, denying it can be devastating.

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It is a gorgeous day and I am jogging along the Port Royal Sound awed by salt marshes, blue Heron, rhythmic waves, and a stunning sunrise.  What floors me though is the shrimp boat.  It stands before me at a perfect right angle; the bow offering a welcoming smile and arms out stretched as the nets appear like robes gently hanging from loving limbs.  It is Jesus calling me to Him.  He knows I am tired and weary, He knows how I have worked two full-time jobs for over four years while tending to three small children and attempting to hold things together as my husband’s bipolar rages.  Jesus knows and invites me to release my burdens to Him, to relax in His embrace, and accept His yoke.

I continue jogging and start to cry.  I feel the tension release, I know what I have seen and I know it is love.  Why does he love me so much?  I start to share my feelings out loud, “Thank you Lord for caring so much.  Thank you for being willing to meet me wherever I am physically and emotionally.  Thank you for giving me a visual welcome right when my faith is beginning to falter.  You love me, and you let me know it, you don’t make me choose to just feel it, you went out of your way to show me.  Thank you.”  I am feeling better, enjoying the morning breeze, taking in the moment.

As I continue jogging I continue the conversation with our Lord.  The shrimp boat is getting larger and larger.  I am approaching it and my jog morphs into a run.  I start to apologize, “God, I am sorry my faith is so weak.  I am sorry I need physical reminders of your love.  I know you have followers who don’t grow weary as I do and whom never deny your presence.  I am thankful for such Christians Lord.  I am sorry I am not one and I thank you for accepting me as I am.  I needed to SEE you today and you came.  Thank you.”

Right then as I finish my apology I am moving past the ship filling myself with the strength and power provided to me only from a Lord who always has my back.  Then I see it.  Way out on the horizon also at exactly at right angle is another shrimp boat, inviting smile, embracing robe and all.  God is saying, “Don’t worry little girl, I am here, I do meet you where you are, …and I always will.“  I am wet.  It is not sweat or mist.  I am weeping.



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Through Baptism, I join Christ’s family,

So, you have a role raising me;


To face the world, I need a solid start,

My parents pray you’ll do your part:


- Tell me about the heavens above

- Instruct me in God’s love


- Read and teach to me His Word;

- Show me trust in our Lord


- Guide me down those roads so long

- Lend your voice to His song


For all you will say and do

Now we give thanks to you!



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Today I am gently reminded of miracle that happened at a resort pool with my youngest child, Tyler.  It was Thanksgiving weekend, a cold, rainy November day.  This is the kind of day where I am amazed by my ability (and good fortune) to locate swimsuits for everyone.  Living on an island, we swim nearly every day of the summer, yet by fall swimming is a distant memory and the goggles, diving sticks, and other swim gear have long been stored away.  On this day, we are invited to an indoor birthday party with our cousins from Kentucky.  We are thrilled they organized the celebration around being with us and can’t think of a better activity for such a day.  The only stress in getting out the door is the search for the float-ies.   One was in the basement, but none are in the boys’ room, cubbies, pool bag, or toy chests, so on and on all we all look.  There is much discussion explaining to Tyler that with two arms we need two float-ies, and aren’t we thankful Tyler doesn’t have three arms.  Finally, minutes before the ferry my husband Jim locates one under God knows what, we are off!  As it turns out we arrive at the car to find another one tucked in the back—but who knew?  I laugh and I hope you do too. 

So what is the miracle?  Tyler nearly drowns.  I am not a sideline sitting mom but I had missed this one.  Together we all swim for two hours full of joy, lots of ball tossing, talking, cup and saucer playing, etc.  Eventually we stop for fresh delivered pizza, cupcakes, and presents,…the works.  The float-ies come off and towels go on.  Break time turns into catch up time and then clean up time.  My back is to the water engaged with the other adults.  Indoor pools are filled with echoes and noise yet no real sound.  I never hear the splash or even the cries for help.  All I see is my eleven-year-old nephew Dylan delivering to me Tyler who is dripping and startled.  Dylan has just scooped him from the deep end.  Although I held and cuddled Tyler for the next thirty minutes, I honestly didn’t realize how scared he had been or how real the danger was until we returned home that evening after a long day of vaccines at the pediatrician, exploring toys with cousins, and numerous errands.  Within seconds of greeting his father, Tyler announces how Dylan saved his life.  It truly was a miracle.  It was the kind of miracle that too often goes unnoticed.  My heart breaks for the careful, loving, and nurturing parents who take endless precautions yet have lost children.  There is no explanation for why one toddler climbs a bookshelf causing it to tumble and crush himself, or how window blinds can be deadly.  The stories are endless and the pain unimaginable.  I can only know that today I explode with thankfulness that my children are healthy.  I know it is a gift not an accomplishment and it fills me with gratitude.



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