Christmas Eve 2011--It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. (Part 2)

So there I was, sitting across from my ex husband's family that I had not seen nor spoken to in nearly a year in a new little church on Christmas Eve. I kept thinking...what are the odds? For anyone who is divorced, running into the ex's family is a bit awkward LET ALONE given our particular history.

I remember jokingly asking Sophia if she thought I should take advantage of the situation. It had come to my attention earlier in the year that there were two stories circulating about my divorce. I like to say one version was a story and one was the truth. I can't prove anything to you, Dear Reader, though. I don't have to. You might logically assume that my version could just as well be as fictional as the other version. You can say that logically if you like. I don't care. And if you know me and how I operate and who I am, you will be able to decipher the truth easily. If you don't, then why should I waste my time caring what you think? (tirade over).

Back to what I was saying, I remember wondering if I should take my opportunity to drag them all out into the parking lot and scream the truth at them. I was well aware of their source of information and well aware that it was completely untrue. I was well aware of what that meant they would think of me. I remember laughing almost sadistically wondering how often fate allowed an ex this type of opportunity--to tell the whole freaking group off at once without the other ex there? How perfectly delicious, my evil self laughed aloud. So I was wondering if I should approach.

I remember sort of stepping out of the moment mentally and seeing my loving family slightly behind them, seeing my sweet Sophia sweetly clutching my arm. She was laughing and she knew I was, too. But it was as if she would laugh and then second guess herself about my mental state and peer at me out of the corner of her eye. I remember keeping my eyes reserved to my music pamphlet during the service, which I can hardly remember. But I remember taking great courage in the words spoken during that service. I couldn't tell you what any of those words were now. But they gave me hope.

I admit that I was afraid and I was stressed at first, smiling through my teeth as memories and rage bubbled up  beneath all the lovely sequins on my cream blouse. I was keenly aware that I was still bitter (wrongfully so--I want to be clear on this). I even began to feel so many of the old insecurities that were so common of me when I was around these people. I began to remember tears and fights and arguments and pain associated with the situation, with actions, with feelings tied to it. I began to feel enraged inside.

And then something hit me.

When I walked off the plane in Bangkok, my mind raced as it struggled to keep up with the sights I was seeing, the scents I was smelling, the voices and noises I was hearing.  I was aware of one thing and one thing only.

It was all foreign. 


At some point during that Christmas Eve, I realized that all that was battling inside me was foreign. I hadn't had to deal with any of it in months. Was that my choice? NO! But it was part of the broken deal, a piece of the broken vow. You see?  This idea still captivates me--that part of any broken sacred vow could be a blessing, could be right, could be peaceful. But you know what? It is. I like to say that I was willing to fight that battle to the death (and came dangerously close to that). I was willing to fight until I was hurt and had killed and hurt others and could not fight any longer. But I like to say I was rescued from that. Sure, I didn't have someone who was willing to make the choice to go through that battle with me, as flawed and imperfect as I am. But part of the pain of being abandoned is the peace of letting everything else associated with that abandonment go. I had no choice. I was no longer attached to his immediate family. I had to throw in the towel. The towel was thrown in for me. I couldn't keep the towel if I freaking wanted to.


Part of the loss of battle was rescue.

Do you see? With great pain and sadness comes amazing growth and beauty.

(and no, that is not supposed to be remotely related to 'with great power comes great responsibility)

And I was suddenly aware that all of those painful feelings and emotions and insecurities were foreign. I wasn't used to feeling them anymore! It was the same feeling I had when I read a sentence in Thailand that I had no way of sounding out. I wasn't used to it. I didn't know what to do with it.

So as I sat there, next to my dear friends and across from my sweet family, so loved and protected and so looked after... somehow I realized that I no longer had to focus on letting go. It had been let go for me...and now after the fallout and in the midst of the debris and aftermath, I could bask in the peace. I hate to sound cliche, but somehow during that Christmas Eve snowfall, something magic happened.

I realized I had nothing to prove, nothing to say, nothing to argue. Another piece was let go.

So I chose to say nothing, to spend time with my friends, to say hi and give hugs to old friends who I hadn't seen in forever. I was only a few feet away from all of them all evening and I just stood there. I laughed. I beamed. I spoke loudly (as always, let's face it). My parents and sisters were all at my side right after service was over. I felt like I sort of had this army of body guards at the ready. How special is that?

 I felt as if God was like...'Here, see if you can deal with this,' and just poured in love from all sides--like throwing a bucket of red paint on a dark canvas just for the sake of contrast. Highlights? I ran into an old acquaintance who gave me the biggest hug. I got a bear hug from an old friend I'd lost contact with and an awesome conversation that was long overdue. I ran into one of my sweet little darling friends--a charming little girl who remembered me from a long time ago and wanted desperately to choke me with her grip around my neck. She was quickly joined by her little brother, who couldn't wait to get his turn to hug me as well. These two were joined by another little one who also only had sweet words and hugs for me. I was smiling so big I nearly cried as I held them tightly--all some of my ex's extended family that I had not seen or spoken to in almost a year. The little ones don't understand you know? They were just happy to see me and I couldn't have been more thrilled. They made my night. In fact, I got lots of hugs from unexpected old friends--people I hadn't seen or spoken to in forever. I felt surrounded, overwhelmed, drowned in love from all sides. It was humbling. My family and two close friends who had gone through the year with me and people I hadn't seen in years who were throwing hugs around like pieces of candy. There was laughter and more laughter and the hugs from the three sweet little ones were like magic. Pure magic I say...:)

And at the end of the evening, some of my ex's family were speaking to some of my friends and I was awkwardly too close for comfort. But I did not feel awkward. I stood there, silently. I had nothing to say. I made eye contact at one point, still said nothing.

For once in my life, I turned around and walked out, silently.

I walked out and went home exuberant, thrilled, lighter somehow. I called my bff, who didn't answer her phone immediately and I proceeded to verbally vomit the story of the evening to her, without focus on the negative, but on what I had realized. She was very proud of my silence but I was probably talking too fast for her to understand.

I also realized later that as I was sitting there thinking of some of the experiences I'd endured that involved these people and of the pain involved, I received a text from one of my dearest friends, a very special lady in my life during service, probably around the same time I was dealing with all this that was so ironic. I'll share it with you all sometime, I promise. But I left church and read the text and thought....'Wow...I'm so blessed and so loved and everything is new--better than new."

And so I made it home (after picking up Grandma, of course). My two friends from WSU arrived shortly after. It was all on Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen--and much more Christmas spirit that night! Lots of games and good food and for pete's sake, we kept Grandma up till nearly midnight! At one point, my sisters and I were laughing so hard, we couldn't even move! My parents were so happy to have everyone home and they could see something in my spirit was permanently lifted. They could see evidence of another battle won.

And I remember the snow...the soft falling snow...

I think it interesting that snow began softly falling when George Bailey awoke from his vision that fateful Christmas Eve, remember? Once he said his prayer and came back to reality, the key to the viewer that we were no longer in a fictional scenario were Zuzu's petals and the softly falling snow...