They probably barely weighed more than the huge court file I had flung over my shoulder. 3 tiny women standing on the other side of a metal detector. Strong and silent and meaning more to me than even I knew at the time. I had finally asked for what I should have a long time ago and opened up the raw mess of this emotional turmoil of divorce and admitted it was too much for me. Maybe it was a blessing to be pushed past the point of tolerance, to attack the only piece of this that I give any real importance to which is my girls, because it then became too big for just me to fight for. But I had no idea how much having this backing in my corner would mean. These were women who had taken care of me my entire life, played with me, laughed with me and been right where I needed them when I needed them countless times before. And now they stood here, behind me once again. Not worried about the cost or the inconvenience or even the fear and ugliness that can come from being in court. I had asked and they were there. And then they picked up the fight for me. They wanted to stand where they were, they wanted those who were coming to know what they were doing. This was not some game that was to be played behind closed doors and in moody text messages. They were affecting lives and now they would have to answer for it. Cowards do things in secret, and we weren't playing that game anymore. In a last ditch effort to bully their way through this they pulled me into a room to "talk." They had slithered and sidled through the crowd that had ridden up in the elevator with them, my sister, more aunts, grandma, parents and others. It was a scene that I will certainly never forget. Once in the room they again offered nothing. No solutions, it was just contempt. After it became quickly evident that they had nothing to actually say, and were just trying to intimidate a coercion out of me, I again didn't have to fight alone. Two of the men who have done more for me in my life were there, pushed past their own point of tolerance. My dad has seen me go through all of my ups and downs in life. He personally witnessed and experienced so much of the sabotage and destruction my x caused. He spent so many hours talking, listening, crying and taking care of so much I needed. He has never asked for recognition or reward in any of it. He is the reason why I knew men should be better. And the other man is better than I could have ever thought. And he is who I will look for and lean on for the rest of forever. He wasn't going to allow that to happen that day, and called out the lawyer trying to take advantage of someone she had been able to push around before. I am endlessly grateful for him. We listened in the courtroom to two cases before us. It is all the same, "I want more stuff, I want more money, I want to punish you because that will somehow make me feel better about my mistakes and the lacking I feel in my own life." It won't. And they know that, but since they won't admit it ti themselves we go back again and again and again. They say there is no victimless sin and it is a shame that he can do this over and over. Every time he gets mad, or bored, or questioned on his own behavior he can turn it around and pull my family and our world down into his mess. But that day as we took our seats at the two tables, with the dusty microphone and water rings from the leaking plastic pitcher, I was fine. I calmly spread out my papers, knowing that it is easy to defend an honest life, lived with good intentions. I know I'm not the best mom in the world. I wasn't even close to being the tenth best mom in that room. But because of the women who were there, I knew the power that a righteous mother could command. And I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that when I needed to ask for it that God would defend that role when it is questioned. I didn't have to frantically shuffle my papers that day, I didn't have to question what I had written, I didn't have to try and remember what lies I had told, or what defense I had to spin for myself. I just told about my life, because this is simply who I am and what I do. Every minute of every day, I am a mom. It is so easy to be strong when you are defending your most important treasures. I had gone into that day knowing that I would refuse to be dismissed. My value as a mother was in question and the consequences were too important to have that degraded. I would not shrink in my duties just because some small minded brat was not getting his way on his demands. What I was doing had so much more meaning and the time had come to stand up for that. But I didn't have to do much. There were good people there, who care about children, and since that was what I was defending it felt very good to be backed up in that. The endless list that he and his mother had written was dismissed as the immature drivel that it was. They stammered and stumbled, attempting to vilify me. The solutions I had provided in an attempt to improve our situation were brought into play and each time someone tried to use my kids as pawns or move another person's role as more valuable than that of a parent, it was quickly stopped. The x and those who manipulate were told to stop playing games and to begin acting like adults, to face the reality of being a divorced family and handle the consequences maturely. They are not above the rules, just like everybody else they would be required to play along.
I have always struggled with the feelings being around lawyers and in the courtroom bring to me. I didn't understand why I couldn't control the physical pains of discomfort that came when I was in that environment. But as I sat in my place of refuge, as far removed from the world as I can get, a few days earlier I realized it was because I had tried to move myself and my life as far from the yuckiness of the world as we could get it. I don't want to be anywhere that is so easily influenced by the adversary. And that is why these places are such a source of discomfort to me. But the room that day was different. Each of those people in my life had prepared themselves so faithfully to stand behind me and the girls and were so filled with the spirit that it literally changed that room. I had been there many times before and that day it was a different place. And that change permeated so deeply that I know it affected the events of that day. There were too many small things that happened to deny that it was absolutely under the control of God's hand. I only glanced over my shoulder to the side of the room once. I don't think I could have handled myself if I had turned all the way around. There is power in a faithful person. There is strength in a righteous family. That room was filled with people I could see and more that I can't wait to see again. My burden was made lighter that day by sharing my yoke with so many who were more than willing to bear up my struggling and walk with me when I needed them.
I was on a pioneer trek a few years ago. I was barely older than most of the kids I had been given charge of. My daughters on that trip were young and small. They had struggled with so many different things that week and then we were asked to pull our handcart up a hill, in sand a foot deep by ourselves. I was terrified, again I was surrounded by skinny women being asked to accomplish insurmountable tasks. But they were willing so we sang a chorus of "Carry on my wayward son..." and we pulled as hard as we could and they were adamant about not having help in their task. My heart broke as I watched my little girl next to me struggle with each step as she gave absolutely everything she had to barely move our wagon inches. I didn't even know I was silently crying until I saw the trail of mud the drips had left on my forearms. I knew I had to give more than I felt I could if we were going to keep going at all. I don't know how long we pushed or how far we actually traveled. I knew that I wasn't going to make it much further when I felt a very sudden and abrupt lurch forward. My handle fell slack as my efforts no longer kept up with the push from behind the cart. The boys from our family had stood on the hill and watched with difficulty as we went by. When they couldn't stand it any longer they had broke through the crowd and without permission caught up to us, put their heads down and pushed with all their might as soon as they could reach us. They took the weight and they took it on themselves, I learned that day what it means to really need the help of others. I cried harder as my oldest son pried my stuck fingers off the handle and said, "Let me take this Ma, you take a rest."
There were no tears as I happily walked out of that room, hugs and relief were everywhere. Finally some peace, even though it lasted a short moment, it was such a blessing that I can't even start to express the gratitude I felt that day.
That night as we sat on the floor of our living room and enjoyed the the safety and security that comes when all of our family is in one room, without the gloom of court and custody hanging imminent as it had for weeks before, I was deeply moved as I began to picture each of the individuals who had prayed and fasted and expressed their love for us. It is true. Each of these people had knelt in prayer, believing that they were personally asking God to show His hand in my life. They believed this. It is true. It is how we can survive these trials we are asked to endure. It gives meaning to the hard and and to the menial tasks we have to accomplish. Many people actually expressed thanks for the chance to go through this with me as their own faith grew because they were willing to act on their beliefs. This is what it is about. It is about using these experiences to connect with God, to come closer to Christ and to learn to succor one another as He did, for that is how we will live when we are with Him again. Each soul is of such infinite worth and I am so grateful that mine is valued by this army of people who matter to me. I didn't know people cared. I thought it was better to try and handle it by myself, it is embarrassing and degrading, it is painful and it isn't something I wanted to put out as part of my life to people. But what I didn't know was how that didn't matter to any of them. They loved me for my bumps and bruises and scuffs and shortcomings. My Grandma said it simply when she just said, everybody has scars. And sometimes we need to share them with others to truly begin to heal. After the previous week I felt so battered and bent but I had been lifted up, not just because of the court hearing, but because of the blessing of knowing I was cared about. My dad had found his faith in dirt that week, and he knew that if God cared about something as simple as topsoil then he certainly cared about his son and daughters. He found God hand in his life and it helped to know He was always in mine.