To the root of it.

Emotions. 

That word has been motoring around in my mind for weeks on end. I've been asking myself questions like, if choices lead and feelings follow what is the role of emotions? Why do some people have such 'big feelings'? Were the people who have made snarky comments to me about me being such an emotional being over the years right all along? What about the people who have told me my emotions are my 'superpower'? 

Then, while working with a group of teachers talking about Greek and Latin roots, my questions about the purpose of emotions began to be answered in the words morphology. 

The word emotions is broken down as follows:

E- the prefix means out + MO- the root that comes of the derivative of move+ TION- the suffix means the process of =  the process of moving out 

The Two Guys and a Truck of the soul, the part that moves things out.

But out of where and to where?  I wonder if it is what thoughts and will hitch onto to move between the spiritual realm and the physical. Maybe that's why it is so imperative to make the decisions ahead of time about what one will believe and how one will act in spite of things that come our way.  If not, those tricky emotions can move us out into the wrong direction.  However, if we decide added of time that they are not going to be in control, then we can rest easy and let them carry between the spirit and the body. They can serve as a spiritual thermometer to help us figure out how to pray. 

I know to some this sounds completely ludicrous and to some it makes sense. For me, I was named after a feeling for goodness sake... well kind of... Misty.  I've been Misty most of my life.  I can testify that following my emotions have lead me to ignore the prompts of the Spirit and have gotten me into a heap of heartbreak. I can attest to relationships that have been damaged because of this juxtaposition. I can clearly point to chaos and confusion time and time again because feelings were inadvertently given the place of God in my life. Choices lead. Feelings follow. Not the other way around.  

A House by Any Other Name is Just a House

    

Not the actual house or property

In Central Indiana, in the center of a cornfield sits a house.  I remember so clearly driving up to it with my sweetheart to meet the realtor; a whopping 5.1 miles from my home and 1.5 miles from my work. 

My own house, which I bought alone, had been home for me and my daughter for years now.  I loved the idea of marrying this man, but the one thing I hated was the idea of leaving my home. It meant/means the world to me and to my girl.  My little cinder block house of 1830 square feet is in the middle of town  It has a white vinyl picket fence, a giant deck out back, and two front doors with wooden screen doors.  The doors bang when someone enters or exits and is music to my ears; transporting me to a simpler time. 

We talked about him moving in here once we married, but then there was his stuff. A motorcycle, car, truck, side by side, and tools out the wazoo. As much as I hated to admit it, it wouldn't work for us.   

We looked at several houses together.  One didn't have enough space for all his stuff, another had plenty of space with a giant pole barn, but I vetoed the house because it was tight inside and I had no idea where I would put my grandmother's china cabinet.  He sure had fun telling my son I wouldn't let him get a house with a giant pole barn in jest. 

Then we found "it!" 

A white quintessential farmhouse with black shutters.  There was a giant garage for his stuff and was located on an acre of land where he would add his own building for the rest of his gear he needed for work.  My friend's family even owned the surrounding farmland! 

It had a cedar fence and a swing in a tree in the front yard for all of our grandkids. It met his qualifications.  Me, I loved the giant front porch and 3 front doors.   That's right- 3; even though the one in the living room didn't really open because of the carpet. The doors, especially the one that entered the kitchen/dining room area even banged when it closed. Music to my ear.  I'm pretty sure I squealed when I heard the bang.  He just smiled. 

Inside there was character everywhere. I like old houses because of their charm and their quirks are part of what draw me; they make it real and a home. Just like a person's quirks makes them endearing. There was a kitchen I was pretty sure would require step stools for the rest of my life.  I wasn't a giant fan of how high up the cabinets or even the fact there wasn't a ton of cabinet and counter space, but I could handle it.  There was a rectangular hole in the wall between the dining room/ kitchen area and the living room.  He joked it was for me to throw him biscuits.  We stood there and talked about where the office would be and where we would put my grandmother's china cabinet  

The house had strange floors. Down a step into the bedroom. Up a step from the bedroom to the bathroom. Up a step into the laundry room. Up another one into the kitchen.  Not a step really; just different floor levels.  Character I thought; although it didn't feel like character when I missed a level and sprawled onto the floor like a baseball player sliding into home.  

Upstairs were two bedrooms and a 'bonus room'.  Tall windows everywhere with innate wooden trim.  A cellar basement that had the same old musty smell of my grandparents. We had found it. A place that worked for both of us. 

"Sarah can pick out whichever room she wants to be her room.  She gets first pick; besides the master of course." he said.

He put in an offer, but to our dismay it wasn't accepted.  I was a little bummed since it seemed 'perfect', but trusted that there must be something better.  

A few weeks later we were driving home from a vacation together in New Orleans when the phone rang and it was the realtor. The people who had gotten the house had backed out and there was a decision to be made. It didn't take long before he was giving instructions to the realtor to put together another deal; we got it; he got it. This was going to be our first home as a married couple. 

Before moving day, we brought my daughter over to the house and he had her pick out her bedroom.  She chose the room with the largest closet right over the kitchen of course. Really she would have most of the upstairs.  While she despised the idea of leaving our home she rolled with the punches and gave him a Happy Meal toy as a joke housewarming gift.  He proudly displayed it in the windowsill in the kitchen.  They really loved one another. I think of everything that I fell in love with in him that was what I loved the most; the way the two of them loved each other.  

We were set. He had the carpets shampooed and we chose the office space downstairs.  I claimed the closet in the office as a prayer closet. He put a chair in there for me and a beautiful scripture that was perfect and personal on the wall as the start to my prayer closet.  I ordered the cutest address stamp from Etsy with only his last name on it.  I didn't include a first name because it was to be the address of both our names with the shared last name. 

The next few months meant a lot of memories. He kept encouraging me to decorate as I wanted.  I told him I would when I moved in.  I needed to immerse myself in a place before decorating.  I did, however, change the bathroom mirror to a white one I liked better and I already had at my house, changed the bathroom fixtures to the farmhouse white and galvanized, added a new shower curtain, and brought over some of my collector coffee cups to display on the odd shelves in the kitchen/dining area.We picked out the hot tub and silly him and had me choose the lid color.  Little things.  

I had visions for the big things.  The shutters being painted IU Crimson Red instead of black and a porch swing on the front porch.  Not yet I told myself.  

Instead, I gave him a sign I had bought for my porch but couldn't figure out how to hang it on my cinder blocks that said 'Welcome to Our Porch' and a gorgeous wind chime for his birthday with a message scrawled inside it about listening to the sound of the chimes on our porch as we grew old(er) together.  It's the best I could do. I was struggling inside with leaving my home and I wasn't ready to pour into this one.   Silly. I know. 

A few months later, Sept. 2, 2022 to be exact, I left work on a Friday afternoon and went over to 'the house' and everything changed.  There was a blue truck leaving the driveway when I was going to pull into it.  In fact, I had to wait for her to turn left before I could turn left myself.  I knew who it was. 

"Was that (fill in ex wife's name)?" I asked.  

"Yes," he replied with a slight catch in his voice.  "She called and wanted to talk. She wanted to apologize for things. There wasn't any hanky-panky or anything like that going on. I had her come here because I knew anyone could drive by. You could come by."

It was a 1-2 sucker punch. My trauma went back to when my ex had his girlfriend in our house and acted like it was nothing. The scab of that wound ripped open and acid poured into it.  It's happening again! 

Breathe, Misty I told myself.  Don't run. You love this man. Listen. 

But the walls came crumbling down! 

A little over a week later he went away to figure out his brain and his confusion.  When he returned still confused and having emailed me, that's right emailed me that he couldn't marry me in this state of mind, I insisted he take the ring off my finger. He had met with her again behind my back.

"You put it on. You take it off." I told him.  

I loved this man though, even if it was over. I begged him to take his time and please don't move her into the house right away.  

"It's just a house," he replied.  Just a house.  

Just.  There was that word again.

A cutting word often wielded like a sword disguised a a butter knife. Justifying disregard for another.  Attempting to give justification and absolution to the perpetrator for the wounds of the victim. 

Just a house. A house that in about 78 days was going to be our marital home. The house where I had told him I wanted to spend our wedding night there before we jetted off to Puerto Rico for our honeymoon the next day. I wanted our marriage to start here in this house. The house we chose together.  

The very next day day; that house, the quintessential farmhouse became her address.  She was the one using the address stamp for her mail, not me. 

I wish I had the restraint to not care about it and take alternative routes so I never saw it, but I don't, at least not yet.  I still  torture myself.  I don't mean to and I sure as heck wish I didn't, but I do. Ten months later and they are still there. Engaged now. It still hurts. 

There is a flagpole in the front yard that wasn't there before.  It was in the plans for us.  He even commented he was going to fly a Navy flag for me too since I am a Navy Veteran.  No Navy flag flies.  

Instead, there are cute little yellow and aqua flower pots out front by the 'orchard'. I like her color choices.  I still would have gone with IU red through. There is a red, white, and blue bunting on the front fence and a sign draped along that says Trump 2020.  

I remember the first time I saw the Trump 2020 flag displayed.  I wanted to scream out the window; get a calendar. It's 2023.  I could get Trump 2024 if that is your choice, but 2020. That was 3 freaking years ago. It's almost time for another election. Stop living in the past. Damn it.  

There it was. 

The message  in the freaking Trump flag.  

Same verse I have on my phone when my ex husband calls. 

Isaiah 43:18-19

"Forget the former things; do not dwell in the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

I'm trying to forget former things. I'm trying to leave behind memories from playing with the grands to ones too personal for publication from this house in the middle of the cornfield that has become my  haunted house.

  I think so often we read forget the former things as forget the bad, but for me it isn't the bad that has me stuck. The betrayal is real and the anger goes from mild to cataclysmic and I'm not going to deny that, but it's the good ones that makes the snot roll down my face.  

  Forget the former things, Mis... do not dwell in the past.  

I understand how they arrived where 'they' did even though I wish they would have figured it out before a dear man she was dating and myself became collateral damage. They couldn't, or at least didn't, forget the former things and not dwell in the past.  I even learned she announced to a family member she was going to get him back before she drove up to the farmhouse on that September day. Living right in the middle of the past! 

Staying in the past keeps a person from seeing the beauty in front of them.  It glamorizes the things that need to be gone.  It makes us think things were better in Egypt and makes us want to be like the dog that returns to its vomit.  There is a reason it is in the past; good and bad. Looking in the past can make us see mirages we see as desert oasis too; painting a picture that doesn't exist while we die from heat exhaustion.  The present and future; that is where there are streams in the wasteland.  I'm trying to be gentle with myself and I am so grateful for those who have stuck by me.  They are streams in the wasteland.  People who love me; even people who were brought into my life through this dark time. Real streams, not mirages.

Get a damn calendar Misty. I remind myself.  It's not 2020 anymore and it isn't 2022 either.  

Forget the former things, do not dwell in the past.  See, GOD IS doing a new thing.  Now it springs up.  Do you not perceive it? HE is making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.  God is JUST.  He's got you! 

There is that word again. 

JUST. 

This time a healing word. 

A balm to the wounds carelessly inflicted by others. 

I exhale and try to rest assured knowing God is JUST and needs no justification. 

Justice has a name; ELOHIM

The very healing water himself. The stream.  

And I rip off the proverbial calendar for today's date and look forward. Thanking God for July 6, 2023. 

  

Hiking In Zion... Beautiful, Beautiful Zion

It's easy to lose one's footing on the pathway of life.  One misstep and we can find ourselves plummeting into the ravines of  despair, anger, addiction, or a number or.other possibilities. 

But God, He always makes a way. 

A few months ago I found myself hiking in Zion National Park.   The trail to Emerald Pools seemed rather crowded, but people were moving at a steady pace.  Suddenly, the trail came to a deadlock and fell silent.  That's when I saw them; a couple mule deer crossing the path and headed up the side of the mountain this  mere human wouldn't dare tread.  Then in the silence, I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit speak. 

Pay attention dear daughter.  Watch how the deer step.  They walk in faith, not fear knowing I have made their footing sure. 

Looking at the deer I couldn't help but breathe a prayer of gratitude for God's provision.  The previous month I sure had lost my footing, but I didn't plummet.  Like the hiking poles that kept me stable on the trails, God used numerous supports to help me not only stand, but continue to walk.  He used people galore; friends, family, the body of Christ (which is a very special family), coworkers, and even strangers. He used nature to speak when the words of others didn't seem to carry a message that could reach my aching heart. He used random messages, memes, posts by others, and of course His Word.

 

Just a Little Misty Eyed

I woke up this morning just a little Misty eyed. Tears.  I've shed a lot in my life.  I most certainly have done my fair share of crying since the engagement wasn't the only thing broken in September. Tears of sorrow. Heartache. Grief. Anger. Gratitude.  Yep, I said it, tears of gratitude. To understand that statement, I need to go back in time a little.

'He' and I started dating and I fell hard.  I wasn't alone. He bought my engagement ring a short 4 months after we started dating even though he didn't officially propose for several months after that.  Ironically, he proposed on what was my anniversary with my ex-husband.  He didn't know it, so don't be thinking what a douche.  Me, I took it as a smile from heaven; a sort of redemption of a day that once meant so much and then brought so much hurt.  Now, I jokingly call it diamond day.  Anyway, I digress.  

We started dating and man I was all in, but I wasn't without my own share of trepidation.  In May, I took a trip to my favorite place on the planet and spent 3 days alone with God.  I was fasting, praying, unplugged, hiking, and crying.  Crying out to God to be more exact.   

I recall the prayer like none other.  With each step my barefoot hugged the earth to get 'grounded', my cries went to heaven to really 'ground me'.  'Put us in the fire Lord. Burn out whatever needs to come out of use before we get married.' Not just once, but a cadence of that prayer over and over again.  Surrender.  And boy did He answer. It got hot, and 'we' didn't survive the purification, and the tears; more of them fell than could be captured at Niagara. 

Back to this morning.  I woke and had those all familiar tears in my eyes, but these accompanied a smile. It's so humbling to think of how God answered that prayer and put us in the fire.  It's even more humbling to think of how He was in the fire too.   Not just in that moment, but every single step along the way.  Holding me. Protecting me. Loving me, not just in some pie in the sky tell myself to make me feel better way, but really present. Immanuel. Wrapped up in the skin of others. 

Of course, one expects your nearest and dearest to walk through the deepest valleys with you, and praise God they did/do. But God... He showed up in others like: 

• the friend who took the ring and the wedding dress out of the house until I was ready to deal with it
• the friend who is like a mama to me in so many ways and took pills out of the house to protect me and held me as I fell apart
• the friend who has been more of an acquaintance for so many years since our girls were in school together, but checked/checks on my multiple times a week because she has been there too
• the family member of the now 'ex-finance' who checks in on me to make sure I'm healing and has ever since this happened; cheering me on as a fellow woman and sister in Christ
• the bosses who gave me grace beyond measure
• the coworkers who check on me even the ones from other buildings
• on an on and on.... 

It was the coworkers that brought the tears of this morning. 

This week an email was sent about an encouragement opportunity coming up in our building where we get a secret person to encourage for a while. We filled out bios at the beginning of the year about ourselves that the person would reference to encourage.  I remembered filling mine out.

Mine said I was about to marry the love of my life. It was riddled with 'us' right there in my work bio. Crap.  What if someone got that who didn't know my story and they picked that scab. Cue tears, so I walked down to the office and asked the keeper of the bios... "Will you help me get rid of the Crowder crap from my bio?"  Her words.  We already did.  Two ladies who are precious sisters in Christ in the front office were going through the bios and when they read mine, they took care of me.  Rather, He took care of me through them.  How can I not cry tears of gratitude? 

It's for those tears He died.  

Thank you Jesus for all the love you have shown me in my life.  Not just in this season, but through my entire life.  You promise you are near to the brokenhearted, a water to the fatherless, and will never leave nor forsake me.  You are a keeper of your promises and you never cease to surprise me.  Thank you for the beautiful hands and feet you use in this world to wipe my tears and the tears of others.  Let my hands be your hands.  

Amen

In the beginning....

The ripping of the wrapping paper has given way to the ripping of the calendar to show a new month, a new day, and a new year.  With a new year, people often have resolutions, a word of the year, goals, habit trackers, and new planners.  The churches and gyms are more crowded and for many there is a feeling of change, anticipation, hope that lingers, but not for everyone.

Last year was a quite a year.  I traveled, hiked, watched my daughter graduate, dropped her off at college, celebrated grand babies birthdays, got engaged, and had my heart broken into more pieces than I can ever remember when the engagement and relationship ended.  It was a year full of beginnings and endings. 

This morning, as I was going back to the beginning of the Bible, the first few verses spoke to me with a fresh message.

 "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. "

Genesis 1:1-2 NIV

I felt drawn to the description of the earth in these verses.  Formless. Empty.  Darkness over the deep.  It feels like the way I have felt a lot the last few months. It feels like what someone would paint if they painted sadness, depression, and grief. It is the picture I see when I think about finding the energy to take a shower, or make my bed, or even brush my teeth.  It's the gloom of thinking it takes too much energy to put on shoes or clothes and go to the store or visit family. An abyss. A black hole. 

 But there is such a beauty there in the same description of the darkness.  The word says, "the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters." 

Hovering. What a beautiful word to describe God just waiting to begin His rescue story. Even in the darkness, he was present. God didn't just stay in hover mode though; he spoke and light appeared!

"And God said, Let there be light and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness."

Genesis 1:3 

 This year, if you are starting the year with an ending from last year that leaves you feeling more like the formless, empty, and darkness of the deep, I encourage you, and me, to try to focus on verse 3.  

God speaks into the darkness and brings light and He called it good. Even if the light feels dim, find any you can. If your resolutions begin with brush your teeth every day then amen. Brush those babies and when you are ready add in make your bed. Don't let the new beginning of the year cover you with shame for hurting. Embrace whatever process God uses in your life, but never quit listening for His voice to speak and looking for the light. After all, God didn't create everything in a day, so why act as if the calendar change erases the hurts He is still healing in you.  

May 2023 be a year where you see the Spirit of God.