The Big D and Don't Mean Dallas

Divorce. Youch. It's a word that keeps me up. Keeps me talking. And keeps me. Yeah. It keeps me. Or atleast it has for a big part of my life. It's such a touchy subject, especially if you come from a broken home. I never liked the sound of "broken home". I think you hear that term mostly in church and you atomatically think--dirty van kids. Well I was neither. I wore sponge rollers and big bows. I didn't ever feel like I fit the mold of a child from a broken home, but I think I was right where most every one finds themselves--the, it doesn't happen to people like me kind of mentality. My relationship with divorce is something I haven't talked about much to anyone other than my precious, amazing husband, (whom neither of us have that word in our marriage vocabulary, thank you Jesus!) and the ocassional nose dive of a counselor. Any way, I think for the past 19 years, I've been either too embarassed to speak of it, too afraid to hurt feelings, or too ashamed to be 25 years old, a wife, a mother of almost two, and still be carrying around baggage not my own. I think, at this point, it's more for my children that I just get it out there to whomever and be an example for them, in that it's OK to not be OK with something you had no control over and that it's OK to mourn, no matter how much time has passed and it's OK to feel no excuse is good enough. Though I feel I will never have every questioned answered. And though I feel I will always wonder what might have been. I think, for the first time that I'm really OK. I remember sitting in Tim's room, giddy with love, as we talked about wanting to get married and truely knowing in my soul that our marriage would be the beginning of a new and beautiful legacy for our children to grow in. I truely think that the greatest gift you can give your children is to love, honor, and cherish their father, their mother. Every time I look into Tim's eyes, I feel safe and secure in our love and it is the sweetest feeling.