Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Vodka with My Coffee

The last few days have been a little stressful.  I've been thinking maybe I should pour a little vodka in my morning coffee.  ;-)


I've been needing to get my car looked at it, either a brakes or tire issue.  Stressful new thing that no one helps with now, car maintenance.  Hmm.  How do I handle that?  


Then Sunday morning I woke up to a broken washing machine.  Completely broken.  Not flooding the floor but big holes in the rubber gasket and parts where they clearly shouldn't be and very dirty laundry in the already having been run washing machine.  SHIT!  Do you have any idea how much laundry three children produce?  It's a lot.  I've learned that you generally discover broken washers after you haven't done laundry in a week.  


The laundry is mostly done now.  Thankfully local family members have washers and dryers.  But every time I walk past that machine I wonder when it's going to be fixed and what I will owe when it is?


Today I take my vehicle in, on my own and take my chances with car mechanics.   I have no idea how I will know if they are taking advantage of me.  No clue.  But here goes nothing.  I will have a little trouble being forgiving and gracious toward someone if they hand me a bill that is outrageous, but perhaps I'll just make him pay it.  Hahahahaha, not gonna happen.  


And there's the real issue that nagging in the back of my brain.  One week from today exactly, I will be sitting in a courtroom and someone will be telling me how often I will have my children and how often he will.  And if I don't like it, I will have to fight, for my children.  The ones who exited my body and who I carried for nine months. I didn't just donate sperm and stand back and watch it all happen.  I threw up 20 times a day for five to seven months.  I went through labor and pre-eclampsia and only being able to eat crap. I gained and lost weight, more gaining than losing.  I have the stretch marks and the abused body to prove it.  And the hormones, ohhh the hormones.  Those children... that I went through all of that for.  Some custody officer will tell me when I have to give them to someone who disregarded their lives so completely.  


I often say they're not mine, that they're on loan, they're really God's.  But as far as the court is concerned I think everyone should know they're mine.  And I shouldn't have to give them to anyone who disregarded their and mine existence so pervasively.  I shouldn't have to give them to anyone for any reason ever.


How do we get to this place?  How do we get to the place where fathers and husbands or mothers and wives can destroy their families and still maintain their rights to the members therein?  How exactly does that work?  This is in the court's mind about rights.  In my mind this is about respect, humanity and love.  When you treat others with apathy, as if they are not human, you should relinquish your rights to them.  For you have already abandoned your responsibilities to them, why should you maintain your privileges?  People, little and big ones, should not be forced by the courts to spend time with anyone who has knowingly played Russian Roulette with their lives.  


I grieve and pray.  I ask God for the strength to do this thing.  To place my children in God's hands instead of my own every time I give them to Jonathan.  After all, they are much safer in His Hands then in mine.  I try to trust that God does love them more than me, despite the nagging in the back of my brain that reminds me how many of my loved ones have buried their children.  I know those children are with God and I know they are better there than they would be here but I have watched those parents suffer.  I would not ever willingly walk into that suffering.  


Yes, this is dramatic.  




Are my children going to die on Jonathan's watch?  






Probably not.  




But my heart doesn't play the lottery, especially not with the health and well being of my kiddos.  My heart can't translate statistics.  My heart just knows that next Tuesday someone will telling me that I am giving them up to some extent.  And my heart grieves, disregarding all logic.  And I cry, big fat alligator tears of grief.  Lord, I know you will keep them when they go.  But can you keep me as well?  Hold me together.  Sew up all my loose ends, prevent me from fraying.  I don't want to idolize my children, help me to want You even more than I want them.  Reaffirm your place as the first love of my life.  

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