the rose of kiev

When I got married, I said the same vows with the same good intentions that everyone else does.  I was in love and I meant it when I said "for better or worse" and "until death do us part".  I looked into the intelligent hazel eyes of my new husband, and I was ready to work to build a strong stone home with him.  We were going to show the world how it was done; we were going to overcome the legacy of my parents' divorce, of our grandparents' unhappy marriages.   We had dreamed of crafting our marriage into a comfortable home; resilient - with carefully masoned stone blocks; stable - on a meticulously laid foundation. And we had talked about how to maintain it together: stay ahead of the leaks, repair the cracks, update the windows, build future additions.  He is an engineer and craftsman, I am an artist, and I could only imagine us building something beautiful, efficient and comfortable.  I was excited to build that home, that future, with him.   ...

I always seem to come back here, to this place of writing and sharing.  It feels like a boulder on the shore - I may wash away in the tide for a while, but somehow I always end up washed back here. It's now been nearly twelve years since my first post here.  I was 18 when I started this blog for my Freshman English class; two months from now, I'll be 30 and freshly divorced. There is much, of course, that I cannot and will not write about that last detail; I am not here to tattle or list grievances.  Here is the short story: we were together for nearly 12 years, and now we are working on paperwork for our dissolution.  No, there was no infidelity on either side.  And no, I was the one who initiated both the separation and the dissolution.  Yes, it was - and is - very painful.  And yes, I do hope he quickly finds happiness after we part ways, even if it sounds trite. And here I am, back here on this seaside boulder, washed ashore like a ...

Leaving a church you love is difficult. What a small word, "difficult".  Nine letters, three syllables, a small vague word full of heartbreak. It is October now.  And in October of last year, I left a church I loved. It was the right decision.  But it was "difficult". Dave and I left at the end of October.  At this time last year, we were in the final throes, and I was thrashing, in agony, miserable.  The church I loved and the people I loved were hurting me.  And worse, the wounds were inflicted with imperfect judgement and the best intentions. Some mornings, I still wake up angry thinking about it.  Misguided love is a dangerous thing. For some reason, it helps to know that it hurts so much because I loved them, that church, so much.  My heart was there, had grown vessels and nerves, was pumping blood, deep-set in the chest of that church.  And then when we left, I had to cut it out. I sometimes wonder if my heart wi...