My Son

I'd like my husband, when he is so mean, and he laughs about it; to see my son. To hear him.

I told him last night that I wasn't getting ready for hte trip since daddy forbid me to go. He began to cry. He wanted me to go. We wanted this for a long time, my son and I. We both have a love of learning and a love of history, and we wanted to do this together. Now my son does not have a love of schoolwork, no, but he loves to learn.

He came out of his room, but had no heart to go biking with his brothers, so sat quietly trying to figure out how to play his guitar.

Then at supper, we had a guest drop in (my husband was out, but brought this friend by for a few minutes on his way out of the city). He wanted to look up something on the internet on how to get somewhere. I had to tell him that I can't turn on any of the computers. My son's reaction was quick, "Why?"

Because daddy changed the passwords. "Even on yours?!" Yes.

He alternated between anger and tears for a time, and then made it through the evening, but cried himself to sleep. He woke several times during the night again crying.

These are his words:

I know you say it is not my fault, but it is in some way. And it affects me a lot. More than the other kids, since I don't know if they all know what is going on, but I do. And who can I talk to it about? I didn't even want to play with my friends because they do not understand, and I can't talk to them about it at all. Why does daddy do things like this?

I can't answer all of his questions. I think he answered them in one statement he made when I said that I was also sad that I couldn't go on his trip with him. He said, "You and I are a lot alike."

We are. Unfortunately, that means that this first son of mine is often targeted by his dad for anger when he is angry at me. All the things in me that my husband hates, he hates in my son, too.

I hurt when I look at this kid. He's been coming to lean up against me, not even crying, just laying his head against me like a small child wanting to be held. He's hurting, and he is powerless in the situation. I want him back out riding his bike and collecting snakes and dreaming up how to build a real airplane that will fly. Instead, he lies around on the floor with little energy to move when he is home. His tummy cramps up and he throws up food or just can't get any down.

I'm angry when I look at him suffering. I'm angry then.

Today, other than my son, is calm. My husband is still angry and nasty to me when he speaks, which is seldom. I worked in my garden this morning, watching flowers that were given to me by these people I am forbidden to contact bloom and sit there smiling in the sun by my front door, and I smile. I see them every time I walk in or out of my house - a reminder. The sun is shining and I just lay for awhile in the sun, stretched out looking up at the blue sky and being relaxed.

I still don't know what will happen next. We'll just wait and see.

Thank-you for all your letters and prayers, and yes, Karis, yours got through. I'll try to write back, but I am limited on my internet time, so it may be hard to do. I do, however, try to get on once a day at least and read.

I'm puzzled. I sometimes look up at God and am puzzled. I want Him to act. I want Him to do something. Perhaps He is. But it has been a long, long time. And that is hard for me. But. I still look up. There is little other choice. I'm still waiting, watching Him, reminding Him that He promised to care for me.

I know if I talked to one person today, he'd tell me to be strong and courageous, not to be frightened by any fear. I'm trying. I'm trying to wait with expectation and quietness, and not to let the fear inside my head. I can't get off my butte... for those of you who are not used to buttes - well, they are odd shaped tall rocks in a flat place. Places of safety. So I stand up there, above the shadows and wait.

A Longer Update

So, now I am in a place where I can get internet access for free. He doesn't think of these things, you know - that both my internet accounts are not tied into my computer, but are on the web. He also doesn't know about the blog - that I know of. He doesn't realize that he can take things away, but I am resourceful enough to be able to access some things without "disobeying" him.

But, my heart is heavy today. Just heavy. I did a quick check of my mail at the kid's school, talked briefly with a teacher there who is also a friend. It was to his and his wife's (another teacher) house that I went on Saturday when we had to leave fast. We stayed there all day, until late, late at night after the teacher had gone over and talked to my husband for a few hours. Then he phoned us to come home. He will come over again tonight and talk to us.

Which I feel bad for... his job is not well paid as it is, and he has four kids, works a second job on early Saturday mornings, and then dealt with us after that. But... practically - he sees us every day. He is my son's teacher. His wife was my daughter's teacher. And God has led this man through things which he can use to help in this situation. He himself was abusive and into things like my husband is into. And he is not a easy man to fool. He teaches 7th and 8th grade. He is also very blunt and tackles things head on. So blunt that at times he has me scared - but then he sees me tense and laughs and tells me to relax - it is just his personality. I watched him that night talking with my husband, and I was happy with how he works - how he can connect, and yet not get sucked in.

Still, my heart is heavy. I am at the moment in a wait mode. Wait and see what happens tonight, and then I will see what will happen tomorrow.

But... my husband forbid me to contact or be in contact with the people who have been walking with me for four years; people who are like family to me, the ones who have helped me heal and grow to this point. And it hurts. And unlike other relationships - at the school - where he forbid me to stay and drink coffee with them, this is different. Besides, my "coffee moms" heard the order, laughed, and came over to my house for coffee! Never said people can't drop in! Besides, the assistant principal and my friend, saw the threatening letter from him threatening that if I stayed at the school after dropping the kids off, that he would write them and formally ask them to kick me out. She laughed. No, she steamed first about how wrong that was, but she laughed. She said, "I'd like to see him try to bring a letter like that to our administration!" He can try to isolate me there, and he can make me hurt, but I have people who will not listen to him that are friends here.

But.. for the others, for the people who have always been there for me. He has cut me off from them, and he is laughing about it, pleased with his little self that it hurts. He laughs that I hurt that he took a trip away from me that I looked forward to for two years, something my son and I were going to do together and worked hard for. That hurts, too. But the silence hurts. I want to be able to talk, to hear, to be able to hear them pray for me, and it is silent.

He forgets something, though. One - I have an excellent memory. (sorry, not boasting here, but I just do - one thing God gave me.) I can play back like a tape things I have been told. I also have years of written letters that I can access when I sneak away to the internet place. Even without that, I have a memory. I developed it as a child because I was always told, "what if you are in a place without a Bible, then all you will have is what you know."

On a funny side, I have my friendly neighborhood JWs that regularily visit me. Last week, the lady started to quote something from Hebrews, her verse of the week, and stumbled on it and began to look it up, so I helpfully finished the quote for her. She said, "I know you know your Bible well, because whatever verse I read or quote to you when we visit, you can finish it!" She was amazed. So I smiled and told her, "Well, Hebrews is an easy one for me since I memorized the book." Oh, the look on her face.... it was priceless! Here she is trying to earn her way to heaven and convert me, and I go quoting more scripture than she can fathom is possible, and I'm not even worried about making it to heaven!

Anyway, this memory - it helps. The things that have been said to me, I can repeat. I know them. The other thing that he does not count on - Just because he stops communication between me and some people, does not mean he can stop prayer. So that I relax in. I know I am prayed for. I hurt. Yes, I am hurting. I feel alone, scared, hurt, and having someone laughing at the hurt they are inflicting is tough. But he can't stop prayer.

So, the pastor read from a Psalm on Sunday morning. I doubt I heard much else of the sermon, quiet tears dripped off my face most of the time. Friend passed kleenex row over row up to me, but it didn't help too much. But then he finished his sermon with this Psalm, and I looked it up to try to focus my mind.

It was a Psalm God had comforted me with a few years ago, going through a time like this, too. A time when I wondered if God can meet me, was He ready to act.

Psalm 31:19-24
How great is Your goodness, which You have stored up for those who fear You, which You have wrought for those who take refuge in You, before the sons of men! You hide them in the secret place of Your presence from the conspiracies of man; You keep them secretly in a shelter from the strife of tongues. Blessed be the LORD, For He has made marvelous His lovingkindness to me in a besieged city. As for me, I said in my alarm, "I am cut off from before Your eyes"; Nevertheless You heard the voice of my supplications when I cried to You. O love the LORD, all you His godly ones! The LORD preserves the faithful and fully recompenses the proud doer. Be strong and let your heart take courage, All you who hope in the LORD.

God knew ahead of time. He has brought me to this place in His time. He is not unprepared for this emergency. He has goodness, not only enough, but stored up for this time. I come to take refuge in Him, and He is ready to respond to me. He can hide me, but not like hiding alone in a dark place and scared. He hides me in His presence. He is with me when He hides me in His light. He hides me from the conspiracies of man - yes, from my husband, and even from the one leader who he feeds off of and who enables him to continue without consequences because of what he believes about me. He keeps me secretly and shelters me from their tongues. Even in a besieged city, or even in imposed isolation by my husband, He has made His lovingkindness marvelous to me. I am frightened and in fear, I feel I am cut off, but He hears me when I call. He will preserve and save me and He will fully pay back for these hurts. So, today, I chose to be strong and take courage. My strength may be shaky right now, but it is in the Lord, and His strength isn't shaky. My face may still run tears pouring out of my eyes, making a river down my cheeks, and dripping off in splashes on my shirt, but He says He catches our tears in a bottle and knows us. He hears even the quiet tears.

So, I am quietly, shakily holding on. Waiting to see what is coming next, what will be done. I think this man that God has brought into our lives, him and his wife, who have agreed to walk with us for this time are good people, and they are five minutes away and able and willing to act. But, still, when I hurt this bad, to even hear the gentleness in his voice this morning when he asked how things are started the tears. Why does my own husband delight in hurting me? This is not a man - this is not right. It hurts.

Thanks. I will keep posting, and I will let you all know how things are and what will happen. I am going to make some safety nets and be ready, but I am praying for peace, but not peace at any cost. There are times for a Churchill and not a Chamberlain, and this is one of them.

His Reason

Ok - two more minutes if no bells ring....

His reason, while he sat there smiling and laughing at the person he told it to - was specifically to hurt me. He did it to make me hurt.

Need for Prayer

My husband is angry again.

This time, he took my computer and changed the password. He forbid me to talk to my friends, to hang out for coffee and chat when I drop my kids off at school, to phone anyone. I can only stay home and not go anywhere. Those are his rules. Or he will write letters to people to kick me out.

He took away a trip that I was to go on which he knew I had looked forward to and earned for two years. He has said absolutely no contact with anyone who are any of my support people at all.

I can get on internet at work and a few other location, but other than that, I am off line.

Pray.

I have to go, but there is a psalm that was read in church today that was good, one given to me in another time like this. I'll share it again if I get another five minutes somewhere.

You Got Bit By A What?!

My middle son again - who else?!

I went to pick him up at school today, and he came bouncing towards me showing me his hand. "Look mom!"

Two teeth marks plainly visible on the hand.

"So, what is it? Did one of your snakes you were catching bite you?"

"No, not a snake! I was trying to catch a snake, but something small, grey, and furry bit me, probably a mouse or a rat."

Great. Questions run through my head... what can he catch from that? After half an hour on endless phone calls to this nation's wonderful health system, I find out that rabies is not going to be a worry, but that they suspect he might need a tetnus shot. About fifteen minutes more or fruitless calls to offices that tell me they'd love to help me, but it is not 4:29 and their office closes at 4:30, and perhaps I ought to phone someone else, I gave up.

I picked up the phone and phoned the one person I know will help me any time of day or night - a urgent care doctor from our home church. Quickly, because he was heading out somewhere, I explained the situation, and in two minutes got an answer back. Because the cut is so minor, we can wait on the tetnus and just keep an eye on him. Really, it is more of a scratch than a cut.

Whew! It was a simple question in the first place. "If my son last had a shot in '03, and has a minor scratch by a mouse who bit him, does he need a tetnus shot now?" Simple, you'd think. No, not in socialized medical systems. I talked to no less than four people without getting an answer. Why did I not go down to the clinic? It is free - yes, it doesn't cost money. But... if I went now, I might be seen before midnight. Average wait is about six to twelve hours.

Thank God for a doctor who has given me his cell phone number and answers questions for me! Even when we were "over there" and other missionaries would come to our city for medical questions, he was only an e-mail away with good advice. He's seen us through irregular heartbeats on a two year old, a three year old who swallowed kerosene, immunization schedules for my kids and others, a visitor with menopause questions, post surgical care of a hysterectomy, a case of TB, balancing dosage of an IV med with the lab's bloodwork results, a severe case of poison ivy, and an eight year old who put an arrow right through his lip, among other things. God bless this man! We love him.

And - no more rats! No more baths, either... except perhaps after hunting rats!

Why didn't I just have cute little girls who play with dolls...? (well, except Karis' girl who stuck a bean up her nose!)

On Being a Missionary

Right now I feel decidedly out of my habitat. I am here, not there. I am in a place where I should feel "home". It isn't my home, but it is so close that I ought to feel home. I ought to feel blessed. I am here. I can go get ice-cream, pizza, clean packaged meat. I even found a Cinnabun today and bought one - big mistake... I was trying on swimsuits... that is damaging enough to the ego, why try to fix it with a cinnabun?

There are times I do feel blessed. I am here, not there.

And there are times I feel so desperately lonely, homesick. I want to be there, not here. I want to be where I grew up. (Ok, not necessarily the country because there were a few, but over there, not here in what should be home.) I never thought I would be raising my kids here, not there. I wonder at times if they will become like people who have lived here all their lives. Will I be able to relate to them or will they be "at home" here and I will never be? Will their lives have all the different facets that mine does from growing up over there?

I'm adapting well. I'm fitting in and even learning to dress appropriately. I've learned that this here has different standards and expectations in dress and behavior from where my home church is. I've learned the language well enough to fit in with all its differences and nuances. Yes, it is my mother tongue, but this is not how we spoke this tongue. I had to learn what was normal here. I fit in now. I have a few good friends that I can count on and think I am secure with.

Two of my friends and I sat around the coffee pot this morning talking about one of their sessions they had had. She had read The Shack and then had heard the author's testimony. She said she was shocked, that she had no idea things like that could happen to missionary kids. Even leaving the abuse aside, she said she did not realize how he saw the world and how his world changed so much in moves.

They both turned to look at me. I had not heard his testimony, but I had heard people talk about it. I shared some of my past, the abuse, yes, but not only that - just the differences. She wondered how he ever fit in here after all that. I smiled. I said, "I think I fit in ok here, and am fairly comfortable with you all, but there is still a part of me that never will. There is always a part of me that feels like I am standing on the outside looking in, missing my home and my community. I am ok here, but every once in a while, I just want to take off alone - go for a walk and get away from people." It is as if I do fit in, but not all of me fits in. Part of me lives in another place with deep connections to people who I may only know for a few weeks to a few years, but are part of our missionary family.

My friend said the best thing one could have. She said, "I can understand that you feel like that, although we will likely never ever "get" that part of you, but I can understand that it is there."

I'm at home here. And I'm not. I miss my home. I miss being in the missionary community - having that connection to people who work with us who are not even from my same country or speak my language, but are our family. Like it or not sometimes, but they are "us".

I hope to go back "over there" one day. It may not happen. I hope it does, but it may not. What we have to do right now may be only able to be done from here. I try not to think long term. I try not to. I don't think I have the strength today to face being here forever. At the same time, I'm not excited about moving, either. Not again.

I want to go home. I remember what my grandma told me, "Little one, you have a forever home coming." One with no more goodbyes. One where I am as much at home there as anyone else. One where I will not always feel like half of me wants to be somewhere else. Where I finally feel complete.

Until then. Until then, we live one day at a time.

A Sore -----------

My husband has taken the week off. Well, not really off - he's lying in bed attempting to work in bed. He has a sore rear end. A hemorrhoid.

Ok, I do feel sorry for him. I'm sure it is very painful, yes. But there are moments that I think back to childbirth, episiotomies (my dictionary does not like that word - I didn't either!), and those wonderfully painful first days of nursing a baby. (Yeah, yeah, all of us nurses will tell you it is not supposed to hurt. If it hurts, you're doing something wrong. Yeah, I wanted to personally go and apologize to everyone I had said that to when I began with my first. It hurts! That part of my body was not used to being enthusiastically sucked on for hours a day - of course it hurt! Later, yes, later, it didn't, but those first few days - ouch!) So, I watch my husband and think that I am so glad that women have babies and not men. I doubt anyone would have more than one child if the men had them!

Other than that, the sun is finally feeling warm, my flowers are blooming, and I am feeling that odd combination of exhiliration that spring has finally arrived, horrible headaches and itchiness which confirms that spring has actually arrived, and am going stir-crazy because it has arrived, and I am stuck indoors again until the pollen goes away near the middle of June. Good time to buckle down and get some work done - in front of the window while I try to absorb sunlight and dream of outdoors.

Damaged?

I met with a man last week who was interested in what I am working on. He wanted to know if his wife could use it to minister to women. So my husband and I met with him.

Five minutes into the conversation, I walked away angry. I hid it well. Even my own husband did not know I was angry.

I paced the washroom with steam coming from my ears. It took a few minutes before I could rejoin them at the table.

Why?

One of the things I am working on is aimed at women - primarily women who are hurting.

This man sat down across the table from me and talked about how his wife has begun volunteering at a shelter for battered women. Good. Then he went on, "There are a lot of women helping there, but my wife is the only one there who can really do any good. You see, she is the only one there who is not damaged so can really minister to women. The other women who try to help are all abused themselves and are damaged, so I don't know how good they are - they won't be able to bring any real hope to these women because they are too messed up themselves." So, he went on, as if that was not bad enough, "I told my wife not to be ashamed to tell everyone that she has never been abused by her father, her brother or her husband, and eventually, all the women will come to you to see what you have because they will want it."

Steam rose from my ears, and I excused myself. It is not a culture where it is appropriate for me to bite off his head... but, I was tempted.

I eventually came back, but did not pick up the conversation again.

Ah, but that hurt. I was deeply hurt. To be called damaged again, once again.

And I was angry. Very, very angry. What is it with this requirement to be perfect to minister? So what good news do we really have then? "God can save you, but you will always be a second class citizen"? Not a "good person".

Damaged?

I still have steam rising from my head. I left angry. Hurt. Deeply, deeply angry. Deeply hurt. Feeling small, worthless, looked down on. Hurt. And very angry. As I drove home, I cried again to God... why? Why do people see us like this? Will I be forever "damaged". I looked up at Him and said, "here is Your damaged daughter crying to You again." And He answered and said, "And here is your scarred Savior answering." Then, then I took a deep breath, and cried.

But, as far as ministering.... I think being perfect should be a criteria for disqualification for ministry. In reality, we are all damaged. Sin damages - all of us. Some it damages in ways that men think are important, and other times it damages in ways that men think are unimportant, but we are all damaged by sin. I think the only one who is disqualified to minister is the one who has not yet seen his own damage. Hope is often best given by people who can say, "I know my God... He can..." better than the people who say, "I've heard my God can...." I don't think living and not being abused disqualifies you, only in not realizing that you are also damaged by sin. We are all damaged.

Only During Service - How to Split a Penny

The kids are supposed to bring their money for offering. Where they get money from always puzzles me since they really do not get an official allowance, but always seem to have coins. I suspect they raid Daddy's bedside table!

If they forget, I scrounge the bottom of my purse for any change. Today, I had three pennies for #3 and my daughter to share. There was a hurried discussion about how to do it fairly. Fair being a huge thing at this age.

Finally, they got it. Each would get one penny to put in, and the third penny, they would put in together. There is barely room on a penny for two sets of fingers to hold, but they managed. Very, very carefully, when the offering plate was passed, two kids put in one penny!

It was fair.

Glasses Times Two

Well, the inevitable has arrived. My kids need glasses.

#2 and #3 need them. They were convinced that the end of the world had arrived when they heard the news. Sure that everyone would tease them. This, despite the fact that #2's best friend wears glasses.

The next day in school, two girls from his class came to ask me, "#1 said #2 needs glasses, is that true?" I told them it was, but that he was really depressed about it. He was worried kids would tease him. One of the girls wears them herself, so she understood. Actually, that little exchange comforted me. #2 is often convinced that no one in his class likes him. Two mean boys are responsible for that. I saw these girl's concern and empathy for my son's feelings, and I was relieved. They do like him. In fact... there are two girls who have been hanging around him and his best friend recently... they wanted to come to his birthday party... hmm...

Well, junglewife recently had on her blog a website about cheap glasses. I thought I'd check it out. Wow! Good kid's glasses anywhere from $8 for basic to $25 for titanium bendable frames. Lots of choices. So, I'm ordering off of them, and will let you all know what they are like! See zennioptical.com. One of the boys wants the glasses in this picture, but in blue or black, or course! They are $19. But we haven't made out final decisions yet.

Thanks junglewife!