Who We Are

Church leadership advises or asks us to not attend services at the campus we led; they do offer, in a conciliatory way, to attend services at another campus. This proposition is not readily accepted by Kevin or I, as he can barely hold his head above water when around others. Friends ask if we want Harper and Elijah to attend the kid’s program, the same program they had both been attending since birth. The same children’s ministry I had covered when we were down on volunteers, even though, I for the most part, had really never enjoyed being around children. I decline, as my realization of how to move forward in this impossible situation is murky, and I have to plug the hemmorrhage of suffering and confusion for the kids. A voice of reason is in me, but the roof is only over the kids and Kevin. All I do is cry. Then sob. I try to ask questions, to myself, and then to Kevin, but we are both caged animals, trapped under a magnifying lens, beaming a consistent concentration of immeasurable...

Six years ago, I listened to a doctor tell me my baby had hydrops. But, I didn’t know what that meant really.   It meant that a writhing 48 hours later we would lose our little girl. I was seven months pregnant.  My niece and I were one week apart with our babies. I had friends who were pregnant with me.  It was my first pregnancy, and I had no idea what was happening.  So, when there were problems or differences, I just thought, I will deal with it and fix them, like I always do. There was no fixing her. The onset of knowledge of the additional fluid and the loss of Camille was ten days apart. Ten days of tragic loss, coupled with a rebounding life, when we thought she just had Down Syndrome. She would be fine and we would love her and help her live her best life.  God had other plans. She would have struggled; requiring two surgeries immediately after birth. Her tummy and her heart. I had to beg a specialist doctor to see me and ...

All of the layers begin to unfold as we trudge on, after leaving the stage, we walk 20 feet over to our house, I don’t remember what we did. Many of our close friends come to us offering love and support. They come over and over again. The church would hold a healing service later on that evening that Kevin and I have no clue about, even though we are the reason for it. We are not invited to participate, and only find out later through friends saying how much meaning and comfort it brought them. I smile and nod, distancing myself emotionally from the absolute uprooted nature of my relationship with the church. How strange, to be a central part of something, and then not, and then be shut out of a process of healing. I stand outside of this process, intentionally or not, and feel very still. This stillness is not peace or understanding but a universal effort to keep both feet on the ground as the world has in no way stopped to accommodate me.  Everything in our lives to...

The most still spaces in a mind and heart often seem the most threatening; the threat of valuing hope, in spite of failure, the threat of remaining still, and at the same time, draped in vulnerability to a past that continues to knock at our door, unravels and unsettles. Yet, the still remains, inviting us to move forward, despite an overabundance of feeling like we are rather unqualified to enter that said race onward.  I sit there, in the wooden pew, allowing the hardness of the room to enter my body. I am visiting Michigan, for the first time, as Kevin has decided to take on a Youth Pastor position in Flint. We have not yet married, but we are engaged, I am in between spaces in my mind but the physical presence of the church sanctuary wallops over me with dated artifacts. Someone had invited me to sit in the front row of these impossibly wooden pews, I smile, nod and decline. I am in no way someone special, and would feel quite disingenuous if I inclined. I fold int...

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. ...