A Joy Walk

Summer of secrets - 5 years later

2024-07-02T13:29:00.000-05:00

I woke up at 3am, and my mind drifted as I tossed and turned. Five years since the summer of secrets, which began that mid-May when he came home from a Christian men’s retreat and said he was done, our marriage was over. For the first time he said he was gay.

It hadn’t begun there of course. Years before, (seven, ten? It’s all a blur,) he cheated and then cheated more, most of it unknown to me. He confessed the safest, most sane sounding sins but the most dangerous he kept to himself. He confessed just enough so I would trust him again.

There were the seasons he attended a gay father’s group in Minneapolis for “research” purposes, where he asked men who had left their families if it was worth it. We thought he was probably bi-sexual as that seemed to fit our situation. But he turned off his tracking, told half truths and in my gut I knew something was really wrong.

I lived with an underlying fear that he would leave everything we had created together. I felt powerless and panicked in those seasons. I lived in a mental fog of what ifs and what thens. I leaned on my faith and my friends, though I only barely hinted at what loomed right under the surface of my smile.

Up until that May his question went unanswered. Cycle after yearly cycle, he chose me. He chose our rhythms and our family. He chose the best trauma therapy and a masters program and we dreamed together about walking with others through the same questions. I felt relieved and hopeful.

And then at that men’s retreat he met two male couples who told him leaving everything was worth it. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know me. They only knew their own stories, but it was what he’d been waiting to hear and when he came home he said we were done. He spoke the words, claimed the label, and the summer of secrets began.

We pretended all was fine, but something had shifted. His eyes were darker when he looked at me. Our kids could sense the tension. Mostly, he was just gone.

I gathered my prayer warriors near and far, and honestly that’s probably how I survived. I no longer prayed to save my marriage. I prayed to survive the end of it. I prayed God wouldn’t waste my pain. I prayed he would make it worth it.

I used that summer to make plans and crunch numbers. The more I did the math, the better I felt. I even dared to dream of the future and imagine what kind of good life God could possibly have for me even as all my past dreams dissipated around me.

I kept his secret through the finish of his summer internship at a Christian counseling center so he could graduate from Liberty with a masters in marriage and family therapy. I kept his secret for the weekend celebrating my parents 50th wedding anniversary at a lake resort with my whole family. I kept his secret for the last weekend family church camp at Big Sandy with my sister, parents and even our kids’ significant others.

Our kids went off to summer camps and conferences and we didn’t know when or how to tell them. Before? After? I began redecorating our bedroom just for me, and questions arose, which I deflected. I sold all of his hobby stuff so he’d have money to leave. For his sake, I kept the secret.

We finally told the kids at the beginning of August. He was leaving and moving to Arizona in one month. Megan moved to Duluth for her freshman year, Mitchell moved to Mankato for his second year, and on Labor Day, when all our kids were home for the holiday weekend, he hugged everyone goodbye, gave one last emotional “I love you all,” and waved at the neighbor. His upgraded pipes roared to life and announced his exit from our lives.

Robb rode off on his motorcycle with only his saddle bags packed.

As we watched from the window, the air left the room. I don’t know how else to describe it. Those of us left, looked at each other in stunned silence.

Except for holidays, it was now just Madison and I left in the house. A family of five down to two. The summer of secrets was over.

There was grief, but my fear was gone. My greatest fear had come to pass and I felt relief.

It’s 3am and the memories rolled with me as I turned in bed and closed the distance between myself and Randy. I clung to him and tears formed in my eyes. He rolled toward me a bit, “bad dreams?” he asked.

“No, bad memories.”

“I was dreaming about something in Barbados,” he mumbled. I laughed, sleepily.

“Of course you did.” King of nonsensical dreams, he is.

But even he couldn’t have dreamed US up, this very real dream we live. He held me for a long time and I fell back to sleep.

Memories live in ones body, the body keeps the score, they say, and sometimes I still feel them and I can’t believe I survived the enormous weight of their reality.

But the fear is long gone. My body literally feels the relief.

I survived my greatest fear.

I’m safe.

Not just safe,

immensely loved.

And there are no more secrets.

Three and a tree

2022-12-05T08:37:00.000-06:00

I was at a gas station on the way to a weekend with my girls when the text came through.

Megan was with me and I hadn’t even remembered the date. The picture sent was myself and two friends posed in front of a Christmas tree at Bachmans, hours after they showed up for me on the court date of my divorce. I would have been alone, Robb’s presence in court wasn’t necessary, and he lived out of state, so they came. The most painful days had come before and we had planned a fun day, a celebration of legal closure and all my memories of that day are warm.

3years. Short and long. It’s feels so long ago we both exclaim our surprise that the date would have passed us by, and a flurry of texts between my kids comes though.

“Three years ago our parents got divorced. 😚✌️

Happy divorce day mom xx

Happy divorce day!!”

We laugh at our forgetfulness and the mock congratulations and continue our journey, but our weekend of processing begins.

I’m not sure when it will end really…

Our past informs our present and our future, but we get to decide what we learn from it.

“If you are not anchored in the goodness of God you will lower your theology to match your pain. The goodness of God will never be subjected to my pain. In fact, the only way to heal from pain is to subject my pain to the goodness of God.”

-Christa Black Gifford

We tell our stories, ask our questions, ponder our shared life, memories and pain. Time has faded some hurts and brought new ones, but we press on, so very thankful to have each other, here, present.

I have no answers, know nothing, but the goodness of God.

Now our present joyful realities inform our past, and each year brings new awareness of memories and stories, sheds new light and understanding on our family story. We each add our perspectives to the narrative in the passing of time.

Three years later and three different women pose in front of a Christmas tree. This three used to share a last name but now, all are different. We are different and yet the same. We each have a new future before us, each exactly where we want to be, and we are family.

3 days

2021-05-28T21:16:00.001-05:00

The sun streams in, bright and overwhelming in my front living room. I’ve sipped countless morning mochas here. The furniture has changed but the view remains the same: the neighbors’ immaculate lawns, Gus the golden doodle resting on his driveway. The morning neighborhood traffic of a couple daycares and a few dozen homes. That one Tesla and the all junkers on their way to the last few days of high school.

Twenty twenty one has been a whirlwind. From first quarantine date on the last day of 2020 to quick engagement a month later, selling his townhome and then gradually combining households and completing one big renovation project and a handful of minor updates, daily Amazon packages, furniture shopping and photo shoots, vaccines, illnesses, tears but more laughter, spending time with each other’s family and friends, rides on motorcycle and mustang depending on the weather, countless donations trips to goodwill, celebrating milestones, walks in his new town and my childhood one, both of us losing clients and gaining new ones, creating spreadsheets, financial plans and budgets, numerous meals out, purging his parents home of 48 years, medical scares on both sides of the family that resolved quickly, watching the world warm and open.

We’ve crammed a lot of life together in a few short months. I’ve been surprised at how easy it’s been. Except for a couple days we’ve spent 8+ hours a day together since we met.

Spring is now in full swing, gardens and flower pots planted and summer plans scheduled.

I’m getting married in 3 days. Again. Already.

We’re ready.

He and I never thought we’d get married a second time to different people, that wasn’t in the plan or part of the dream. But life takes unexpected turns and even God promises trouble to those who love him.

We talked the other day about if knowing a beautiful future was ahead would have lessened the pain of loss. Probably not we decided. Loss requires grieving no matter the promises of a God who overcomes the world and makes all things work together for good.

Trusting the goodness of a good God in the midst of pain, however, does give one true hope and saves us from being swallowed up completely by the dark pit of self pity and anger. We each responded differently to loss. We each asked our whys. And yet we’ve landed here together in this place of joy and hope and a future. We are dreaming new dreams. The question isn’t why but Who. No matter the circumstances God is either good or He is good.

The sun streams in, bright and overwhelming on our new beginning. I sip my mocha, savoring the foam and the sun on my face. Just a few more days. We are giddy and impatient, and so very thankful. Weeping endured for a night. But joy came. Morning dawned.

And we will sing of the goodness of God.

Unexpected : A Love Story

2021-02-07T07:17:00.004-06:00

I glance down at my left hand, noticing the familiar feeling of my ring finger encircled once again. I’m not sure when I’ll stop being caught off guard by the glitter and glamour of new love.

I didn’t expect this at all. My plan was slow and steady and defined, cautious and safe.

I didn’t know relationships don’t always take years of work to reach understanding and decades to develop depth.

In December I had resigned myself to online dating and decided to give it a year. I’d get to know a bunch of people, go on lots of fun dates and figure out what I wanted.

But I already knew what I wanted: a best friend and partner in life. Some of what I had and some of what I had always wanted. I thought about my own personal convictions and beliefs about biblical divorce, my minimal dating history and felt the type of person I wanted and needed would be a unicorn. Rare and impossible to find. Non-existent.

I texted my friend how impossible this seemed. Her response: “With God, nothing is impossible.”

I had spent the year preparing myself and my life to be ready for the kind of person I wanted and deserved. I didn’t know how long I’d be single, and I felt an urgency to do “my work” quickly. I met with my counselor. I surrounded myself with solid Christian women who would encourage and call me out when needed. I tried new things. I worked hard to pay off debt, take care of my house, diversify income sources. I rested. I studied. I grieved my losses. I prayed.

I dreamed about my future.

I gave God lots of ideas of how he could fulfill my dreams. I asked for a widower. First he had to love Jesus. That goes without saying. Committed to the body of believers. Someone who hadn’t dated much. A man who was married long and well. Affectionate. Fun. Someone I could tease and make fun of who wouldn’t get offended. I told God I’d like to be financially free, not independently wealthy per se, but able to at least afford a yearly vacation and have plans for retirement. Those things represented the kind of stability I craved. I didn’t demand anything of God, but dreamed with him about what kind of good life he had in store for me.

While I waited and dreamed, I took all the steps to make my present life happy and fulfilled.

Late on Christmas Day I made a profile on eHarmony. I was thorough and complete and didn’t pretend to be anything I am not. I made my faith in Jesus obvious. I set my filters and proceeded to look for anyone that was upfront about their faith as well. If they didn’t make their faith in Jesus clear, I assumed they didn’t share mine at all.

I talked to a couple men online. I wept, overwhelmed. How does one begin to built trust with a complete stranger after betrayal? I grieved the need to start all over, begin from scratch, and I bemoaned the time that would be necessary to reach the comfort of a long and hard earned double decade marriage.

A few days in and I was already frustrated. I had chatted with a couple people, but the pool of men in my age group with no kids at home was small. On a whim, I raised the age filter to 53 to see what happened.

My friend Sue again reassured me, “Nothing is impossible with God.”

A match popped up and as I glanced at the photo I thought, “I could trust that face.” He was exactly 53. He had a great smile and looked slightly familiar. I read his complete profile but couldn’t place him. He lived nearby and attended a local church and I figured I’d seen him before, somewhere. I liked what he said about what he wanted. He was a widower who had been happily married to his best friend for 28 years. Two grown and married daughters. One tiny grandson. His paragraph about how he envisioned married life was beautiful and brought tears to my eyes. I sent him a message.

He responded immediately. He had seen my profile the day before but wasn’t sure I’d be ok with our age difference of 8 years. He had only been on eHarmony and other dating apps for only two weeks.

We started chatting and didn’t stop all day. He asked me out two hours in. He hadn’t been a date in 30 years and I hadn’t been on a date in 23, so we figured we’d get the first date “over with.” We were on even ground figuring out how to date as middle aged adults.

He wasn’t on Facebook so I couldn’t vet his identity using that method before our first date so he sent me to his wife’s caring bridge, and his business website. From there I found his wife Angie’s memorial page on FB and was delighted to see we had mutual friends!

Dan and Betsie had been in college choir with me, we had toured Europe together with choir and they sang at my wedding. This was too good a connection! The guys had worked together in youth ministry during Dan’s early years as a pastor. I messaged Betsie and she was so excited Randy and I had found each other. I was amazed. Randy was no longer a random stranger. In that moment he immediately became a trusted friend of friends.

We continued to chat, finding more and more commonality, bantering and teasing. We kept checking boxes on our relationship wish lists and practical lifestyle needs lists, one by one.

I texted my family that I had a date in a couple days, and they asked for a name and a picture. My sister thought he looked vaguely familiar too, like someone she’d seen at a youth pastors’ conference once or something. We laughed it off. Until Sara joined the chat with this comment.

“Is he related to the Northern Pine’s Kallmans?!”

In an instant we all realized why Randy looked familiar! He and his family directed the Christian family conference our entire extended family had attended on and off for 40 years! He wasn’t just a friend of a friend! His family was embedded in a whole community my entire family knew!

When I told Randy of my connection to NP, he was shocked.

Neither of us make a habit of swearing but this moment deserved a swear, so we did.

And then we laughed. Because somehow we knew.

God did this.

For us.

For love.

For healing.

For hope and a future.

My ring sparkles. The ring is more than I could have dreamed, a perfect symbol of our relationship. Our love is brand new, but it’s already bigger and better than I expected, and experience has taught me, with investment, love grows greater, deeper, wider.

Love came fast and furious and easy. He’s all I prayed for and everything I didn’t know I needed.

I didn’t know it was possible.

But my friend’s message from Scripture is truth:

With God, nothing is impossible.

Marked Moments

2020-08-22T20:04:00.000-05:00

Second basement bed staged for AirBnB

Mitchell packed up his duffel bags and computer tower last night at midnight, loaded up his golden Grand Marquis and moved himself back to his college apartment.

I asked him to clean and vacuum his room before he left, but I still found three bags of garbage and an assortment of dishes left behind. He was anxious to join his three new roommates, his old friends who are already all moved in. I don’t blame him at all, and just laughed as I took the first load upstairs.

These moments often catch us by surprise, an inevitable and looked forward to reality, and then departure comes and regret sets in. Maybe there should have been more acknowledgment of the moment, more celebration, some thought that this could be the pivotal goodbye and hello to adulthood.

He turned 21 not quite two months ago, but it’s difficult to pinpoint independence. He’ll probably come home again for his extended holiday because I buy the groceries here and he has free reign of the fridge. But nothing is for sure and we just don’t know. His independence is there and the free food is here and sometimes adults still want their mom.

I was teary when I caught him downstairs mid packing. He asked if I was ok. I said simply I didn’t want to miss marking an important moment and we hugged. He’s not been a hugger but he held me for a long time.

I told his neck I’m glad he’s leaving and happy with where he’s going and we’ll all be ok. I’m letting go and celebrating my free reign of the basement. We each win our own freedom in his leaving. He wipes a few tears too and then I grabbed a couple dishes and headed upstairs. I’ve got guests booked for the space and preparations to complete but the empty feeling in the house will linger for a while.

Story Arc

2020-07-03T13:18:00.004-05:00

My house got a facelift!

When I was a child our family read missionary biography after Christian hero biography after epic faith story. Each was a true tale of faith giants choosing hard paths, forgiving the unforgivable, and walking with integrity the road of an extreme love for the gospel of Jesus and the work of Christ.

I was drawn to these stories and soon began to realize I could respond to life’s trials like they did before me, with a faith that moved the mountains of fear, resentment and selfish safety.

My life seemed mundane but I was being tried in the fires of motherhood, marriage and church community. It was good and it was hard, and I did nothing well except persevere.

Inevitably, I soon faced the larger questions of who I was, and who I was going to be. I walk this road of life with friends and counselors by my side, faithful and Spirit filled women, with knowledge of boundaries to help keep me safe and a heart planted in Matthew 5 and Luke 6.

Do not resist an evil person, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you, pray for those who persecute you. Then your reward will be great and you will be children of the MostHigh, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful just as your Father is merciful.

There are a lot of scriptures that could guide my way these days but I’ve landed here for years. I consider the body of scripture, Old and New, all the stories of a God who pursues relationship with a repeatedly forgetful and rebellious people.

Hosea comes to mind, and David refusing to exact revenge, leaving his enemies alive to pursue him in the caves and wilderness another day. Jesus ate with sinners and rebuked the rule following Pharisees, washed Judas’ feet. He saw past behaviors to hearts. His purposes extended past perceptions. This is the love of Christ that compels me and the heart posture that guides me.

The fruit of harsh judgements, angry limitations, hard hearts and resentful posturing only ever leads to withering branches drying on the vine. I have never seen this response bring about the fruit of the Holy Spirit in either the exactor of the judgement or in the life of the judged. I trust God to do his work of righting wrongs, bringing justice, inviting repentance.

When I read the New Testament I cast off old tendencies toward Pharisee-ism and hear the heart of Jesus encourage me to chose a bigger storyline, absent of penal justifications, but full of ridiculous grace and love.

How often do we as the people of God forget our primary calling to love? It sounds so elementary as to be diminished and mocked by some camps. Love is not enough. It’s too easy.

But no.

It’s not easy.

Not the kind of spirit led, self sacrificing, enemy-loving LOVE.

I hope someday it is said about me that I threw caution to the wind, but the wind was the Holy Spirit and He carried me.

That is the BIG epic story I want my life to emulate. A heart that remains soft to both those who have hurt me and to my God. That is the faith that moves my mountains and the story arc I want to be written someday for others to read.

Morning Light

2020-05-20T12:50:00.000-05:00

Morning light. I miss having coffee here every morning with my best friend. Today marks one year since he came home from a Christian men’s retreat where he asked a question and got the answer he’d been waiting to hear. Some brand new friends told him him it would be worth it, so he came home and told me our marriage was over.

Of course it’s not as simple as that, and the journey was long to that point, but after all we’d worked through, it still came out of nowhere. We had hopes and dreams together that we had worked toward for 20 years. I thought we had enough love and friendship and commitment that we would be “together forever.” Today marks the day we began unraveling our cord of three strands.

One year is long and it is short. I don’t wish to go back and I’m glad I never have to relive a summer of keeping secrets in my own house, weeping in the shower, in the bed still next to him or fearing the impending exit of my life partner.

Technically all wasn’t final for 7 months but he was gone in 3.

I’ve learned a lot this year.

Divorce is stupid.

But I learned I’m strong enough to endure and thrive through my biggest fears. My faith stands because my God is faithful.

I cannot take credit for the joy that endures. It comes natural to my personality type. I am a relentless optimist and stubborn in hope. The Word has not only been planted in me to save me (James 1), but has taken root so that my views of the world and my God and myself are not swayed by pain or discomfort or the unfairness of life.

It’s been a year. And though we don’t share coffee daily, and there were weeks and months of tense communication, we’ve settled into a new normal of acceptance. We talked last night for an hour about my house projects and our kids. I’m getting my house painted and his work history includes painting and managing a paint store so I ran the bids by him and got his advice. He was helpful and I was happy to have his help.

We may be divorced and our lives disconnected in a growing number of ways, but I suppose it is true in some sense that we will always be linked “together forever”. Divorce does not erase history or memories and our kids are the tie that keep us connected.

The next step in my house painting project includes choosing a paint color. I lay the color fan out on the coffee table in the light and think about what a fresh coat of color will do to my home. The home I am making my own day by day and repair project by project. I take care of myself while I take care of my home.

The light changes as the sun rises, my mocha mug is empty, and a new day has begun.

After a quiet winter

2020-04-26T11:30:00.000-05:00

The spring sun warms as birds chirp and the hum of a vacuum faintly disturbs the sounds of nature around me. An early lawnmower from a nearby neighbor adds to the soundtrack of spring.

I’m content in my favorite season.

I hired a carpet cleaner today, ordered a few things on Amazon and should have packages arriving a few days this week. Some would call this retail therapy, in a season when other forms of shopping and social joy have been removed, but for me, this shopping is different.

In the past I lived with a scarcity mentality. I differentiate between a love of thrifting and hunting for treasures and the feeling of hesitation at ordering things I need or want to live comfortably. These are two different things.

With a comfortable savings growing, I am beginning to allow myself the freedom to buy what I want, to live guilt free, as I find financial freedom. This is both the freedom to save and the freedom to spend. There is a supreme contentedness in the feeling of being able to provide for my own needs and the needs of my kids, to thrive at supporting a rather large home and multiple businesses.

I have never been independent in this way, and find it intriguing that I have less fear, more confidence, more trust in a God who delights in taking good care of me.

I do not embrace a prosperity gospel, but I do believe God places and removes blessing and I can’t help but feel this season of stability in the midst of a world crisis is a purposeful gift to me.

I feel like He’s saying,

“Girl, I see you. I have counted your tears this year, I have seen your trauma and you get to sit this one out.”

I work hard to be sure. Projects are a joy and when there’s a need for masks I make them and earn a bit more. I spend a little more on Fair trade and take-out to support those who need. I give a little extra because I can.

I don’t pretend to know why some struggle and some are shielded from it. No doubt we all take turns in the valley and mountain top.

Both have their gifts for us. The view is fantastic from the top. But the running water and the wildlife are found in the valley.

I can still hear the birds causing a ruckus from my perch on my deck. The vacuum has stilled and my carpets are clean. I order one more thing before paying the carpet cleaner. A comfy new outdoor couch for my whole family to enjoy.

Spring is here and I want to be ready to live in the sun.

Community

2019-12-09T14:31:00.001-06:00

I scrounge the fridge for leftovers and manage to compile a tidy treasure of goodies: stuffed dates from the show choir party the night before, a handful of my signature scones from the Divorce Care party a couple nights before that. A bag of salad that I top with nuts and fruit and cheese. I pull out the bag of frozen wild rice and start the roux for the Byerlys’ wild rice soup recipe. That will be a win for me with my kids and my guests.

I tidy the house a little but I don’t stress anymore. I leave a couple piles of stuff on the stairs so no one mistakes me for a perfect housekeeper. The kitchen floor remains daycare dirty because honestly? That’s a fight I can never win. My theory is, if my house is cute, maybe no one will notice it’s a tad dirty. So far, it’s a deception working well for me.

Four women will arrive soon, most of them relatively new friends. We bond over similar life struggles and experiences and we value openness and vulnerability. These women have become treasured friends. We share triggers and traumas but we are each overcoming our own messy crap. We cuss and cry, celebrate and sympathize. We all remind each other we are doing the best we can.

We are enough and we are OK.

Community.

I’ve got it in spades. Book club, Bible study, my church ministry team gals, Divorce Care groupies. The small band of women who will sit around my dining room table. I think FB fans count too! Daily I am encouraged by you, by her, by them. Whether through a screen or face to face, past or present friend, each relationship is impactful and insightful, and we speak truth to each other.

My community didn’t just happen accidentally. I built it on purpose. Volunteering, sharing my heart, showing up, reaching out. This is how community is built.

My friends arrive with chocolate and wine, shrimp and meatballs. We lay out a feast and dig in, to both the food and the events of the week.

Our bellies are filled and our healing hearts are too.

First Holiday

2019-12-07T11:30:00.004-06:00

The afternoon was quiet, the fire in the freestanding brick fireplace crackled, eagles soared out the bank of windows from a living room situated almost precariously on a hill overlooking the lake.

The holiday meal at my parents house had been simple. Only a half dozen of us this year but we held to tradition and ate turkey breast and mashed potatoes, boxed stuffing, because that’s what we like, and jello. We say the jello is for the kids but it’s really a nod to tradition and my grandma who always made it, molded, with fruit and whipped topping.

This was a different year, absent one, but we felt close and the chatter rose and fell, the youngest generation spilling over their plans and dreams and ideas. It was a pleasant day and we all enjoyed one another.

Change has come in waves and ripples. This day the ripples were smooth and slow and almost imperceptible. There were only thoughts of what we had and the present fellowship of the day and what was missing and changed disappeared like a shadow when the sun comes out.

The rest of the weekend held plenty of fun. Two hair appointments in an empty salon made for a fun mother daughter date. Bowling for a birthday in which we all took turns scoring poorly. Except Megan. She surprised us by being fairly good. We laughed and we should have taken pictures of each reaction for a fun montage. Ah well. Some of my best ideas come too late.

Another day we decorated for Christmas together, fluffing tree branches, wrapping string upon string of lights. It’s a tedious ancient tree and it requires a specific procedure to assemble and light, but I can’t seem to part with it. Two years ago I cut the bottom pole shorter to fit my house better and finally this year I fixed it so it wasn’t wobbly. By some miracle all the strings of lights worked and the two unopened light boxes remain for next year’s potential Christmas decor emergency. We sang with Michael Bublé and reminisced at each time honored ornament.

It so happened by a second unexpected miracle that all six of the kids I claim as my own were available for dinner one evening so I threw together a table of cloth napkins, goblets and centerpiece, a simple Amish chicken meal and we visited around a fancy table in our loungewear. There was laughter and fun and compliments to the cook and they stayed at the table far past the clean plates.

This is family. Changing and growing. Adjusting and thriving.

It was the first year my expectations for these moments were met. The weekend left me feeling supremely content.

My home is now festive with twinkles and trees and the sounds of the returned basement occupant’s bass booming or the occasional victorious gaming shout fill the house with life.

Our first holiday separated is a memory and soon everyone will be home for Christmas.

This is me

2019-12-03T23:19:00.000-06:00

I’m sitting in a Caribou, eating a mushroom soufflé with a fork and knife, savoring each bite. I’ve already had a peppermint mocha this morning before my divorce hearing so I just have a brewed coffee in hand. The sun streams in from the winter wonderland outside.

I don’t know what I expected for this day, but the day came and I woke to thoughts of a Christmas decor project at church and not anything sad or grievous.

I feel settled and at rest. This is acceptance.

A friend asked me this week if I was more terrified of the future or more excited.

Honestly it’s not even a hard question to answer. I have not experienced fear. There has been peace that passes understanding. I eagerly await the future while remaining present in each new day. The only explanation I have for this calm is that I simply believe God’s promises. I believe his promises about my past. My present. My future.

What is faith without hope? Without actual belief that God is good no matter what?

I cannot deny that this transition has been smoother than I ever would have expected and that God has given me not only what I need, but also what I want. He’s given me specific things that are meaningful to me personally, and make me feel loved specifically.

Today is just another day. A chapter has closed but I’m nowhere near the end of the book.

A couple friends interrupt my solitary reflection and merriment arrives. A mug is presented bringing a sassy proclamation and I laugh loudly.

The day promises delightful companionship, delicious food and diverting destinations.

There is much joy to be had.

“I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have. I had help every step of the way...Find yourself faith. It helps...No. It’s everything.”

- Princess Alice, The Crown

My name is Kristina Joy.

Follower of Christ.

Joyful one.

No longer we.

This is me.

Good, pleasing and perfect

2019-11-11T14:06:00.001-06:00

A new profile pops up on my FB feed with his picture and a new name. I’m a hopeless FB sleuth so I follow it and find things that make me wonder and ponder. Maybe it’s not wise but I’m a curious mind about many things and many people and it’s not unusual for me to try to figure out what makes a person tick even if it’s a stranger.

He’s becoming a stranger.

It bewilders and baffles me. But it no longer hurts me. I don’t take it personal. My life is now my own.

I see the scales of his life before on one side and the life after this decision with all the new realities on the other. I see the weight of the internal battle before, that once removed, favors the side of the scale where the after and all the new challenges lie.

It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.

I want to do this whole thing well, but I’m saying this right here, admitting I’m not perfect. I will probably ask my therapist to yell at me for digging into a life that is no longer my responsibility, and I’ll fess up to obsessing for a bit. But that’s not until Wednesday so I text a friend or two or three so I can remember my boundaries and do my own work. That’s all there is left to do. I have no business in his work anymore.

He’s moving on but I know I have much work to do before I’m ready for that. Maybe I’ll make a list of what I want and who I am to get started.

My Divorce Care leader quoted Romans 12:2 last week and I saw it in a new light. I have always known God’s will is good, pleasing and perfect, but I had never thought to use that verse as a gauge to discern his will. I had put heavy emphasis on the first part of the verse about not conforming to the world and having a transformed mind, but glazed over that last bit. It was right there in the verse the whole time.

That is what I want for my future, whenever it’s time to move on.

I want good.

I want pleasing.

I want God's perfect will.

I’m going to do the work so I’m ready for it.

Smoke lingers

2019-11-03T22:59:00.002-06:00

Driving through the country past fields and farms it was the kind of still and early fall night where the sun shines dim and weak and the smoke from so many fall cleanup fires hangs heavy near the ground and lingers in the woods.

The leaves have all fallen now, and I didn’t have to rake a one. I’m grateful to have a lawn service to do that for me, though it was always a chore I enjoyed. The crisp fall air invigorates and prepares my lungs for winter. The work outside provided the

contrasting freezing hot when fingers freeze but the body sweats from labor.

Life is full of contrasts. I’m grateful and grieving. This week was hard. Communication was down because of travel - Robb moved to Ohio. I have worked to actively let go, but this week proved I have a desire to be kept updated on at least big events in his life. To be honest I don’t know what is the appropriate boundary. I had expectations that weren’t met that felt punishing. I don’t know the right and wrong of it, I just know the hurt that the change brings.

I busy myself with preparations and projects and the two of us at home work to create new routines and new traditions. We have fits and starts and it’s hard and good. Sometimes the tears come and my daughter reminds me of truths I already know because she learned well from me.

Things are backwards and upside down and the smoke lingers. The sun shines dim but I busy myself preparing for winter.

I take the seasons as they come, for what they are, thankful for the change and that no season lasts forever.

Renovation

2019-10-03T14:39:00.000-05:00

I sprawl on the sofa, now facing the TV and take in the new order of the room. It’s a visually satisfying arrangement, symmetrical and simplified. Matching chairs, throws and pillows on each side of the fireplace I stenciled the very weekend Robb decided he was done here.

The order in front of me belies the piles I’ve stashed out of sight in the front room behind me. Piles to be sorted and things that now need new homes.

Such is my life. It’s simpler to make decisions alone, the need to consult with a partner gone. I choose my own shows, make plans with friends and find freedom in my saving and spending and giving.

Some of these things I like very much. I try to sit and savor these new feelings, but the cost remains: discarded hopes and dreams need emotional sorting and all the spackled nail holes need a new coat of paint.

I’m in the messy stage of this life renovation, and though there are rooms that show potential, I’ve got a dumpster, a screwdriver and a paintbrush and a whole lot of work that needs to be done.

Still, some days, I just lie here and watch my choice of show.

The Lamp

2019-09-30T23:37:00.000-05:00

Another storm is blowing in so I turn off all the lights in my bedroom and open the drapes. The fan hums on low, a sleep habit I learned from Robb, but I can still hear an occasional rumble. The sky is dimly lit behind the row of pine trees on the neighbor’s property line. Sky lightening flashes and I think of all the times we used to watch the storms roll in together. That’s one of the things I loved about this house when we bought it. It backs up to a park, so there’s enough open space toward the west we see a fare bit of sky. I mull over thoughts of the week in the flashing dark.

I haven’t heard his voice in nine days. I didn’t even realize it’s been that long, I’ve been productive and busy and happy. Madison had friends over, we picked apples, made apple crisp. Megan came home for the weekend, the fall weather was beautiful and we did fun things. We wandered to local art studios, took in the beauty of the arboretum, played Dutch Blitz.

I’m slowing becoming accustomed to being alone in decisions and duties and life and yet it seems strange that we haven’t spoken in over a week. It wasn’t on purpose and I don’t know what that means.

I text him and we decide to catch up. We talk for an hour and a half.

There’s no right or wrong in how we should or shouldn’t communicate, no guidebook for how this is done.

I honor my pain but I don’t let it boss me.

We walk an unknown path and peer into the dark. When the storm lights flash dimly, His Word, the Lamp, lights the way, steady and unfailing.

“Live in harmony...do not repay.”

“Bless and do not curse.”

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”*

Step.

*Romans 12. The whole dang chapter.❤️

Counting losses

2019-09-28T22:39:00.001-05:00

Summer lingers on, an Indian summer they used to call it, with a hot and humid, sometimes stormy September. The sump pump still runs regularly and the backyard is squishy. But my two little backyard maples burn full orange and betray the season. A part of me wishes the weather told the truth and would bring our summer family back together. When there were five and not two.

I scroll Facebook and browse photos of fall vacations, and family events and happy families. I know it's just a highlight reel and I don't envy anyone else's hidden story.

I know everyone has a story.

But I make a list
and my feed reminds me photo after photo what I have lost.

Hot tub dates
Riding in the car instead of driving
Night walks
Looking forward to him coming home every night
Morning coffee together
Hosting together
Dinners out
Companionship and presence

My Divorce Care class was on anger this week. I don't tend to get angry. My experience with anger is that it is not profitable and often just a cover for pain we are afraid to feel. I'd rather just cry.

I read my list and let the tears come. I count and grieve my losses to heal. One cannot heal without naming each one.

The math says five minus three is two, but God has different rules and multiplies loaves and fish and families. I welcome others in who are counting losses and my family of friends multiplies. My home and heart are full. I make a list.

Wine and hot tub with my girlfriends
Apple picking with Madison and friends
Riding again, now with Madison driving
Basement workouts to Psych
Hosting teens
Planned healthy menus and dinners in
Friends and friendship

This first month seems to have gone neither fast nor slow, but a steady pace toward a new normal. We settle in to new routines as the weather cools, the sump pump stills and time meanders on toward healing.

Me not We

2019-09-13T13:06:00.001-05:00

I wake up to thunder again, but the room is still and quiet. Empty. The other side of the bed remains made, pretty pillow shams still on, still arranged, same as I left them yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that. I don't sprawl in my sleep, even though I could.

It's an unexpected kind of peaceful. I'm surprisingly not anxious, and I do not awake wishing to go back to sleep and escape it all. Instead, I think of the next project I'd like to complete in my room. I have a dream and I am awake for it.

I've never had a singular identity. I'm not really sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it is a true thing. I moved from a bedroom I shared with my twin sister to a bed shared with my husband. I have never made an adult decision on my own, and I have always used the pronoun "we."

I remember discovering this truth when I was in Russia without my twin for three months in 1993. I found myself making new friends and when referring to life at home, I used the plural pronouns. I think someone actually asked me directly, "Who is 'we?' "

The first independent decision I made was to set up automatic giving to my church. I wanted to tangibly act in faith, believing God would fulfill his promise to provide for my needs now and in the future. The second was to begin redecorating my bedroom. A visible reminder every day I wake up to new life. A new beginning.

A fresh start as me.

Not we.

Some changes are cliche, like the highlights I put in my hair, and the nose piercing I'm planning. Because why ever the heck not?

But these changes are just external expressions of the emotional separation and healing that must take place. I think these changes often get mislabeled identity crises. Or maybe it's just my preconceived negative notion that an identity crisis is self-driven. I react to words like "reinventing" or "rediscovering." But this IS a crisis of identity.

Even if I never lost myself.

I gave of myself. Willingly. Biblically. Sacrificially sometimes. The two became one, and when they separate, it's not a clean break. It's a tearing and a ripping, and those jagged edges need binding up and tending.

I tend to my bed, pull my side of the covers up, put my two pillows in their shams, and the bed is made.

My life will not be so easy. But I will tend to my heart and my home and find what it means to be me. Not we.

Yin and yang

2019-09-09T13:52:00.001-05:00

It's a gloomy Monday that matches my mood. Fall colors are teasing on the treetops, but the drizzle camouflages the promise of their coming show.

My heart is heavy as the rain soaked deck cushions.

I push through the household chores and planning and bill paying. I opened my own bank account on Saturday morning, but it doesn't show up on my mobile account yet. It annoys me. I don't need access for anything pressing, but I'm impatient.

In ran out of Synthroid while waiting for my new medical card to come. I took my last one this morning and called the clinic to set up lab-work. They don't schedule past 4:45pm even though the clinic is open until 5:30. I work until 5pm and have no backup to leave early. They accommodate me, but I feel embarrassed that I'm going to need to show up late.

I've always appreciated being a part of a marital team. We'd settled into a nice routine of give and take, yin and yang, over the course of twenty years and I'm grieving the loss of it. I know I'm capable of taking care of all the things, but I've always looked forward to the relief of my husband's return, when we settle back into our normal patterns and I can breathe easier knowing I'm not alone.

The tears fall realizing there will be no return. No expected relief. The thunder rolls unexpectedly giving voice to my internal protest. It's not fair.

The sun will come out, because it always does. The trees will fully display their fall glory and someday my life will feel right again.

But for now, I give my tears their moment, I savor the rain and the gloom.

A friend texts a song.

Another checks in to see how my weekend was.

Yet another brings me coffee.

And then there's the acquaintance inquiring on the divorce class I attended last week. She's in the same storm.

I am given both support and opportunity to support. I give even as I receive. A new yin and yang.

The promise of a beautiful show of color after the rain passes.

Child's Pose

2019-09-06T10:09:00.001-05:00

Some days after finishing serving breakfast and wiping yogurt off chairs and faces and floor, I let the kids play, and I lay on the floor in shavasana and let the tension ease out of my back and shoulders even while the baby's socked feet kick my shins. A toddler bangs the upside down metal bin that toys have been dumped from and the normal morning clatter continues around me.

I let the tension and noise fall away.

The fog of this season was brief this go around and I've felt comparatively emotionally stable. The tears come, but they've not lasted all night or felt uncontrollable. It's a mercy. Still, our bodies carry stress no matter how well we handle our grief. There is no avoiding the physical effect of trauma. My shoulders carry the weight of the burden, even when my heart is at peace.

I attended my first Divorce Care class last night. It was good in the hard kind of way. I listened to others stories and was thankful for my own. There is grace written all over my story. Providential preparation, community building. I could not have known where I would land, and did everything in my power to keep from ending up here, but God knew. He knew all along.

I do not for a minute think he planned this ending or stamped his approval on this draft version of my life, but I do know he is present and he makes all things work together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose. I can confidently say I fit in that category!

I switch to child's pose, body folded over my split knees, arms stretched forward. I position my heart and my body in surrender, secure in the knowledge that my Father is good and can be trusted even when my world is full of change.

Not Alone

2019-09-04T14:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my first official day alone as an adult. I mean Robb's been gone on trips and vacations and conferences, last year he was actually away for a total of 7 weeks, but of course this day felt different.

I woke up with a headache. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine with friends the night before or maybe the tension I've lived with for three months finally caught up to me. It had been a sleepless night. During this whole limbo season, I have actually slept fine, which was an amazing gift, but I suppose one should expect the first night after your husband leaves to be fitful at best.

I had considered taking the first day off when Robb decided this would be the day. But I've worked through many difficult emotional days over the last number of years, and I figured routine would be good for me.

I was right.

I did let Madison stay home from school. She deserved a day for self care if she thought that's what was needed.

It was just another normal day. Except it wasn't because everything had shifted. Between changing diapers and feeding many small mouths, and a visit to the park, I read and responded to messages. The words brought me so much life.

The doorknob broke during daycare pickup and one of the moms had to walk around to the front door. Seriously. On the first day, something had to break! lol Something always breaks when Robb is gone. His last trip, the car battery died. Except this isn't just a trip. Everything is on me now and I don't have backup.

But I'm not one who waits around for someone else to do something that I can figure out, so I went to the hardware and bought a $12 door knob. I did text my dad to see if he was available because it was pretty jammed, but quickly realized I'd probably have the thing unjammed and the new one installed quicker than he could drive the 1.3 miles to my house. Ha!

I did.

I took my ring to the jeweler today. I'm having the band separated from the engagement ring. I want to wear something, because I'm just not available. Wearing a sparkly band will be ambiguous, which is perfect for this healing season.

Sometimes I get a smidge of overwhelm at the thought of doing this life alone. Then I remind myself I'm a state licensed business owner (with all the paperwork that goes with it!) who takes care of 8 children under the age of 4 every single weekday. It takes a lot to overwhelm me!

And then my community shows up with flower and mocha deliveries and hugs and wine and chocolate. They sit with me and listen and cry. They remind me of who I am and who my God is and it is all so very good in the midst of the very hard. I feel so very loved.

I am not alone.

Our Story

2019-09-03T23:14:00.000-05:00

I just logged in to my blog after a year and a half of silence. Once you quit for a while its difficult to sit back down and start writing lines. I always feel as though I need to fill all the blank screens I never filled for the time I missed. It paralyzes me in a way I suppose, but I'm pushing past that starting today.

I re-read my last post. It's ironic really. Because here I sit, the first day of the rest of my life. Without Robb.

Yesterday I posted this to Facebook:

Today Robb began his move to Arizona by himself. Our marriage is over. I know this news will shock many. I understand this doesn’t make sense at all unless I trust you with our story.

(Vulnerable post and trigger warning. I share this with permission from Robb and our kids. I have carefully considered what I have written below for three months, but if you tend to be offended by oversharing, consider scrolling past now.)

I married my gay best friend 21 years ago. We wouldn’t have said so back then, filled with the idealism and innocence of mutual virginity, but looking back, that is one way to say what happened. Gay is not a perfect label, with its cultural expectations and definitions, and sexuality is so much more nuanced than any textbook scale. We have wrestled with what it means and what it doesn’t and how it applies to our situation. It’s not a perfect descriptor, but at present it’s a label most easily understood.

Our Biblical narrative influenced our perceptions and interpretations of the chemistry of our marriage. No marriage is perfect but we felt like we were doing a pretty dang good job at it. If you thought, like our own kids, that we were #relationshipgoals, that is not untrue. We ARE happy together. We have inside jokes, family traditions, shared beliefs, favorite recipes and 22 years of history and memories.

Our story is just that. Our story. Highs and lows and kids and houses and jobs and faith and ministry. Best friends. Both twins. Probably codependent, but each happily so. Even amidst the challenges of life, our love grew deeper each year.

The first ten years we were too busy and distracted with businesses and children and church that we hardly noticed the hidden battle. The second ten began with infidelity and hiding. The last five have been an all out battle with sex addiction, sexual sobriety, honesty about same sex attraction and seeking answers. With sobriety, forgiveness, healing and recovery came confidence that Robb could enter a graduate program, become a counselor and reach others with his new found freedom. But sexual addiction was just one piece of this recovery puzzle and graduate school was no joke. We are tired. We are tired of hiding.

Even with this painful part of our history, this isn’t how I expected our story to continue. I believed God was going to do something different. But this is my reality and I have no reason to be ashamed of it, nor do I wish to hide it.

The foundation of our relationship has been deep friendship, and though I am heartbroken to lose my life partner, our friendship remains. I desire to divorce well, to grieve well and to adjust to a new way of being a family.

God has prepared and equipped me to provide for myself. I’m thankful to have wonderful support. There will be a season of grief and loneliness, but God is faithful and unchanging and will not abandon me. Even amidst many tears, I have great hope for the future.

Our family cherishes your prayers.

More to come.

Things I'll need to remember while my husband is gone

2018-01-13T22:20:00.000-06:00

My google maps is set, my phone is synced, it takes a bit of rummaging to turn off the hazard lights, but I pull out into the blackness of the early winter evening and I know I'll be fine. I've already blinked back the two tears that threatened to spill over and swallowed the tight throat away and I remind myself, "I am a strong, capable woman!"

I was. I am. After all, I change all the lightbulbs and spackle the holes and have a fondness for all things Home Depot, even if I do ask for help. I run my own business, create my own spreadsheets, fear no small noises in the middle of the night. I am the major contributor to our family income while my husband gets his masters, for crying out loud. But twenty years of marriage has worn comfortable patterns in the carpet of my life and even a two week stint apart from my husband disturbs the roles to which I've become accustomed.

I try to remember the things I'll need to remember.

Don't stay up past 10 to watch chick flicks to avoid the inevitable: a king bed half of which will remain cold.
Lock all the doors before bed.
Set out trash on Tuesday mornings.
Turn the fan on BEFORE crawling into bed, getting all comfy and realizing it’s quieter than normal.
Ask teens for work schedules to determine who can give the youngest rides home from play practice instead of winging it.
Change alarm to be later than normal because there will be no one to share coffee with, but early enough to make myself coffee.
Make a list of books to finish to help avoid the black hole of Netflix.
Treat the hot tub.
Call girlfriends for coffee and crafts and hot tub nights.
Buy wine.
Make an appointment for a massage to use up the gift card from last Christmas.
Buy milk. Always need more milk for daycare.
Make appt. for nails. It's been three weeks girl. Your fill is soon to turn into a full set.
Make a menu plan so I can lose 10lbs before he gets back.
Just kidding on that last one. Sorta.

I'm home from the airport, and after a two hour delay and multiple phone calls to me while he waited on the tarmac, he's finally on his way to a warmer climate, and some manual labor his dad can't do after recent surgery. He's going to have some fun and so am I.

But I still hope these two weeks fly by. Life's just not the way I want it when he's not here.

Renting, Contentment and Brass Hardware

2014-01-08T11:59:00.000-06:00

We rented for about 7 years before we moved into this "new" rental in town, following 7 years of home-ownership. (We sold right before the big housing crash.) It was never our plan to rent, but then we found that farm, and fell in love. I prided myself in my contentment even though we didn't own and I couldn't change and paint and be as creative decorating as maybe I would have liked.

Meanwhile I enjoyed waving fields of corn, long walks down the driveway and views out every single brand new Anderson window. The carpet was also brand new, as well as everything else in that house, save the charming old woodwork.

The winter was another story, but I was cozy and warm, and I loved seeing the wind drift and dapple the snow in waves. The country was second best, coming from a childhood of growing up on a lake.

Yes, I was spiritual all right, "suffering" in my rental home and learning through the lack of a mortgage tying us down, that "this world is not my home."

Then we moved to town and I found out I had not really learned that lesson in contentment.

This house has acoustical ceiling tile in the bathroom, painted over wallpaper paste, and dark low pile Berber in two bedrooms. Oh yes, and peeling kitchen cabinets with brass hardware. Did I tell you Mitchell shares a room with my office? He's glad to have the computer so close, but the poor kid (ahem, teen) has no privacy as his room opens directly to the living room, and kitchen.

It's cozy and the utilities are cheap, the kitchen is massive and the garage is so heavily insulted it stayed a balmy 20* inside even when the temperatures dropped to a wind chill of -40*, but it has definite quirks.

And they irk me.

We have goals that we are making progress toward, but I'm ready to be in a house with quirks that I can do something about!

Yesterday my issue of Martha Stewart Living came and was a bit astonished to see this page spread on brass.

My kitchen with brass hardware (and cute little girl in tutu.)

I know it's not the same, and I can't paint my cabinets grey or replace my woodgrain laminate with white silestone, but my hardware is on trend!

We are where we need to be, and if I can't be content with all the little annoyances of a house-not-my-own, at least I can be content with that.

And with my brass kitchen hardware.

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:11-12

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm and my as-good-as Burt's Bees Recipe

2013-12-30T22:21:00.000-06:00

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm

True confession time: I have an addiction to Burt's Bees lip balm. Who doesn't, right? It's minty goodness soothes the chappest of dry Minnesota lips. And dry Minnesota lips are, unfortunately, easy to come by around here.

Last year I ran across a recipe for a Burt's Bees copycat lip balm on Pinterest, and I was soon ordering lip balm tubes on Amazon and gathering the ingredients to make my own lip bliss. That first recipe was ok, but it disappointed in texture and stay-ability. Other recipes included many more ingredients which was not cost effective to me. I wanted a simple, natural recipe.

After a little playing around with ingredients and amounts, I am finally satisfied! My {So}Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm (available for sale in my Etsy shop) has the perfect amount of spicy, tingly mint and great weather protection stay-ability.

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm and my as-good-as Burt's Bees Recipe:

2 oz. beeswax
3 oz. coconut oil
1 Tbsp. pure lanolin
1 tsp. vitamin E oil
25-35 drops of peppermint oil

25 empty lip balm tubes

Melt beeswax in saucepan on low.
Add coconut oil, lanolin, vitamin E oil and melt.
Add peppermint.
Carefully fill tubes. Reheat as necessary to keep mixture liquid.
Cool.
Cap.
Enjoy!

Roundabouts and Riches

2013-12-16T07:00:00.000-06:00

Buy here

They say life is a journey but in certain areas sometimes I feel like we're stuck on a roundabout. Around and around we go, seeing the same exits, the same road marks, and knowing the way, but never getting off. Maybe this time around, we'll get off, but around we go again.

We are trying to be honest with ourselves about where we are and what our goals are and sticking to them, but it's hard.

You know that because you've been there too.

We're grown ups, but if we're honest, there are parts of us that don't want to be and we whine like our own kids: why is life so difficult? We're bookends to 40, after all. Shouldn't we have this figured out by now?

But no. We don't. And if we think we do, we are lying. Sorry, but there it is. There's only One who really knows and has it all figured out, and we trust Him and seek Him and try to take the next step .

Follow His steps.

But gosh darn. It's hard.

It's so much easier to pretend and not look at the budget or whatever that THING is that is hard at the moment, but it is necessary and God's got it anyhow.

And then two days after my friends prayed for my tears and the day after I created this lovely printable wall art to remind myself truth, He showed us up.

He does that, you know. He shows up and He shows off.

He's got your back, and He goes before you and though it may seem He runs late, He is with you. You can trust Him.

Life IS a journey - a beautiful one - so let's not get stuck on the roundabouts. Let's get out on the open road and enjoy the scenery of a God at work!

The above art is for sale as a download in my etsy shop. The purchased version will be watermark free, of course. :)