Who We Are

Standing next to Kevin as he told the entire congregation he was resigning from the church, because of an extramarital affair, turned the dagger in my heart clockwise. The layered nature of this entire event seems supernatural. No one had any idea what was happening beforehand, members and friends eagerly met us, as they did every Sunday morning, eager and energized to worship. Maintaining my composure as I put one foot in front of the other is not for me, or my friends, or the strangers in the sanctuary. I only hold my entire self together for Kevin. To be so broken, to fail as deep as all the oceans combined, and then walk through all of the shattered glass, to start over, with integrity, is an action I am still very much in awe of.    In the moment, I could only feel the shock in the room; I kept my eyes on Kevin the entire time. I, in no way, wanted the memory of everyone’s face to have a permanent fixture in my mind or memory.  Standing up in front of the church mean...

I am so brave as I sit in front of the camera crew; about to describe a sexual assault that happened to me, at the hands of Grant Pankratz, almost twenty years ago.  Leaning on my years of dance and theater training I feel no shyness as the cameraman adjusts my microphone and when the journalist asks me how I feel, I can honestly answer that I feel just fine. How bizarre it is to finally be speaking about something that is still so visceral. I can take my mind back, easily, to the exact moment it happened and replay it like a favorite television show and yet is so secret I have never even told my husband. I get through the interview easily with little emotion and do not feel at all overwhelmed; even after everyone at the filming tells me I absolutely must file a police report, before the story airs the next evening on the ten o’ clock news.                      As I drive away from the filming location I realize what ...

Five years ago today I woke with the unsettled feeling in my stomach that there was no way to turn back, that I had passed some finite invisible line and was now stuck. I washed my face, looked at the dark circles under my eyes, ready to face the most diplomatic day of my life. We assembled promptly at the Civic Center at 8:00 am, nine hours before I was to be wed. I had curated this day for months, pouring myself like water into a vessel, into this empty event. A facade I had been building for months, was cracking like some 19th century romantic tragedy. I am every flawed protagonist wrapped in veils of sadness, floating around on my own wisps of lies.  These carefully arranged moments of deception, are meticulously hidden by a glowing bride to be. Dozens of fragrances linger in the air, warm and inviting. Guest tables line the Hall, complimented by the Art Nouveau architecture and baubles. Smells waft from the kitchen, suggesting a hearty meal, and the guests begin ...

  Kevin and I define only a portion of a bigger picture. Church leadership had been informed by the individual Kevin was with, when he left the house that first night he had been confronted by members of the staff. Their position had always been for Kevin to resign, making a firm line he maintain no real role of leadership within the church. We meet with church board members; defiantly asking for Kevin to remain in his role. This defiance is not rooted in worth or duty but in the absolute largest margin of how greatly we cared for our congregation and surrounding community. As Kevin begins to speak to the small group of members he comes off as untouchable, like a stone, only breaking composure when he states “I have no more tears left in my body” then convulses and sobs.    We all watch, almost like we are flies on a wall intruding in a space we were never invited in to. Memory does not clarify if I reach for Kevin, or if I remain in my own space of misery. I propose, alo...

After failing my written Learner's Permit test, sadly, three times I was finally granted an official driver's license. I was not over the moon or patting myself on the back for reaching any sort of finish line. I was much higher on the eye roll vibe than any sort of grateful attitude for meeting this moment. My Father is an over-the-road truck driver at this time; I had been driving their stick shift Honda Accord since I was eight. Learning to navigate this said stick shift started as many others had done, on a dirt road in Dover, Oklahoma. On the North side of Route One my Grandma Ruth's house had played host to many before me, cutting their teeth driving, while at the same time waving "Hi" to fellow country dwellers as paths crossed. My understanding of myself then, much as it is now, is tough. I did not give much attention to the Permit test, as I had been driving for years. Only nervous as I backed out of her driveway, as it was bookended with two ditches, and...

Kevin leaves the house exasperated, rubbing his hair and face dramatically, stating he would be out dealing with something. I nod my head and continue reading to Harper and Elijah. Time passes. I start looking for open positions in the Oklahoma City area, my hometown, as I feel like normal people do not live like this. I can no longer sit, waiting, on my hands for this life to change. And I am very tired of not being normal. This is the first time I have cracked in five years under the mantle of ministry and the mantle of Kevin's depression. The most core portion of my heart speaks to my brain.   If I can change our circumstances our lives will be more normal; I affirm this vision with further Google searches. I accept my broken position of failure to achieve many of the goals I have wholeheartedly clung to, knowing all my efforts have meant nothing in the context of my survival inside of a rather large vacuum. I start framing how I will tell this to Kevin. ...