Living Happily Ever After
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The Speech Continued: ‘V’ is for View

Date: March 13, 2014  Author: Andrea Merriman

V: View Your Blessings

Count them. Find something to be grateful for each day. Even if it’s just one thing! Some days, honestly, the only things I counted as my blessing was that I was still breathing or that I hadn’t had a heart attack from the stress.

And believe it or not, there came a time when I looked at where I’d been, all that I’d gone through, everything I’d learned, and everything I’d become as a result of my nightmare and I actually had the thought, “Wow. That was terrible to go through, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I would go through everything again to be where I’m at now and to learn the things I’ve learned.”

And eventually you may even get to the point where you’re grateful for your challenge, because you see that your challenge, or some part of it, in the end, saves you.

I remember reading about Corrie Ten Boom and her sister who were imprisoned in a WWII concentration camp. In her book “The Hiding Place,” she said the housing provided them was swarming with fleas. They found comfort in the Bible, they said it seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck concentration camp: “Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances…”

Her sister said, “Give thanks in all circumstances! That’s what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!” Corrie stared at her sister and asked, “Such as?”

“Thank you,” her sister Betsy went on serenely, “for the fleas. ‘Give thanks in all circumstances,’ she quoted. “It doesn’t say ‘in pleasant circumstances.’ Fleas are a part of this place.”

To they were thankful for fleas, although Corrie was sure her sister was wrong about them. And then one day they discovered the reason they enjoyed as much freedom from concentration camp guard harassment was become of the fleas–the guard wouldn’t enter their barracks because of the fleas!

Find SOMETHING, ONE THING, each day to be grateful for. Even if it’s that you’re still breathing. Even if it’s fleas.

“But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?” (William Butler Yeats)

I think there should have been.

Loss

Date: May 18, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“And yet, I suppose you mourn the loss or the death of what you thought your life was, even if you find your life is better after. You mourn the future that you thought you’d planned.”  (Lynn Redgrave)

It has been two years since my unexpected life began. I haven’t been haunted by the events that led to it for quite some time and then out of the blue, unexpectedly, I dreamed of a moment connected to it (not one of my favorite moments, by the way) and I could not shake the memory of it when I awoke.

The experience I dreamed of occurred a few weeks after certain events ended my life as I knew it. One ramification of the unexpected situation was that I was released from serving as president of the women’s organization of my church congregation. Another ramification of it was that due to the public nature of my former husband’s crimes and positions of leadership he had held within our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, local church leadership determined it was necessary to publicly address some of it to congregations our family had been closely associated with. My church leaders were very kind about it all; they told me it was necessary and explained why; they told me the day they were going to do it so I could be prepared (and probably, if I were smarter and raised by different parents, so that I could be absent from those meetings that day.) But unfortunately, I had been taught differently than that–taught to face what needs to be faced and that trials and tragedy don’t change what is right or what is expected of us.

It was a poignant lesson I learned in 1986 when my dad unexpectedly died in a plane crash. I was a teenager and dreaded going to church that Sunday after he died. He had been a leader in our congregation and I didn’t want to face people (even people I loved or people who loved me and my family) and I had a sneaking suspicion my mom was planning that our family would attend church. Late Saturday night I asked, “We don’t have to go to church tomorrow, do we?”

My mom was firm in her resolve and her answer. “Of course we do! Just because your dad isn’t here doesn’t mean the rest of us can stop living and it certainly doesn’t change what is right. We believe in going to church on Sunday, that is what we have always done and that is what we will continue to do.” She was a strong woman in a gentle kind of way (I don’t want to make her sound harsh–she was anything but that.) She took our family to church despite the loss we’d experienced just two days previously (although she relented a little bit and let us arrive 5 minutes late so we wouldn’t have to talk to anyone before the meeting.)

Interestingly, when our unexpected life began, one of my children asked me a question very similar to the one I’d asked my own mother 23 years before, “Mom, we don’t have to go to church this Sunday, do we?” and I gave an answer very similar to the one my mom had given me and we went to church and continued to attend each Sunday, regardless of some uncomfortable moments.

Like the Sunday I dreamed of recently. The Sunday I had to sit and endure public comments about my personal situation that was so public– comment about my former spouse’s crimes and the situation he created as a result. It was also the day the new presidency of the women’s organization of our congregation publicly recognized me, gave me a bouquet of flowers and thanked me for my service; and then after that, the leader of our cluster of congregations (known as a stake president) stood and addressed the issues that needed to be publicly discussed. I don’t remember a lot about that day, I mostly remember sitting in the back of the room, tears of grief, shame, humiliation, sorrow (and a host of other feelings and emotions) streaming down my cheeks as I stared at the beautiful flowers in my lap and endured what was being said to the women around me. I do remember a woman sitting by me on the back row, patting my arm or giving my shoulder a squeeze, through the whole thing. I can’t remember who she was, but how much I appreciated her kindness to me at that time! She helped me feel slightly less alone and helped me get through a very difficult moment.

That was a tough experience but I got through it and it’s now a part of my past. I honestly haven’t let myself think too much about it, or look back on it, until that recent morning when I woke up, tears streaming down my face. And #5 was asleep next to me in bed!

I was shocked. It has been two years! I am living a new life, remarried to a wonderful man, and I wake up crying over something that happened two years ago? I felt a little bit crazy. I didn’t want #5 to see, or know, he was married to such a wacky wife that dreamed about the past and woke up crying! I confess, I even felt a little bit guilty as I am the recipient of many miracles and kindness and have much to be thankful for; I have the great blessing to be remarried and am truly happy again–I can’t (or shouldn’t) be crying about the past (even if it was unintentional–something I woke up doing in a dream!)

I quickly got up to hide my insanity, pulled myself together and went on about my day. Except that I couldn’t quite shake the feelings that dream left me with. I felt slightly emotionally “off.” And that was just the start of the day.

“Going back to Ireland involves at least six to seven emotional breakdowns for me per day.” (Anjelica Huston)

Stay tuned. More emotional breakdowns to come.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Date: January 28, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

I remember when I thought I knew it all. It was also around the time I first used the word “mature.”

I was a teenager who thought she knew almost everything. If I remember right, I was trying to persuade my mom using the best verbal arguments I could muster, that that was indeed the case. So I threw that word out there: mature.

I pronounced it, “mah-chure.”

That was my first mistake. My former schoolteacher mother caught it right away. “You mean, ‘mah-tour,’” she corrected. “And you probably shouldn’t use the word if you aren’t mature enough to know how to say mature.”

She had a point.

It has been almost 30 years since that conversation.  My parents are both gone. I’ve learned, experienced and matured in ways I never expected. I thought it might finally be time to evaluate my maturity. (Hopefully with better results, this time!)

“Maturity: Be able to stick with a job until it is finished. Be able to bear an injustice without having to get even. Be able to carry money without spending it. Do your duty without being supervised.” (Ann Landers)

Check. Check. Check. And check. I guess I have finally developed the proper maturity. And as usual, I owe it all to my unexpected life.

Don’t we all?

So thanks, my unexpected life. Maturity is yet one more thing I never expected from you.

“I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.”  (William Shakespeare)

The unexpected life.

The gift that keeps on giving.

Bounty

Date: November 24, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Remember God’s bounty in the year. String the pearls of His favor. Hide the dark parts, except so far as they are breaking out in the light! Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude!” (Henry Ward Beecher)

Last year, at this time, I felt so alone. I tried not to, but there was no disguising the emptiness attendant with the shock of being thrust into a life you don’t feel prepared for.

Last Thanksgiving, the first of my unexpected life, made me apprehensive. It was our first–in our new home, in a new state, we didn’t know many people yet, we were still reeling from the shock of so much change that had taken place so quickly, it was my first as a single mother and…it was the year all of my siblings were scheduled to spend the holiday with their in-laws.

A good friend (“family,” to me and my children) invited us to share the day with her family in Utah. They could not have been more gracious to us. They all made us feel so welcome, we didn’t even feel like guests! And instead of the hard day I’d feared (we had a lot of those back then) my children ended the day saying it was their best Thanksgiving ever.

What a difference one year makes. This year, I couldn’t feel less alone.

I will be sharing the day with my siblings and their families in the little town of our heritage, Ephraim, Utah. Bachelor #5, his family and his mom will be joining us. My birth mom also invited us to have dinner with her. If you’d have told me last year, at this time, that in just one year’s time I’d have more family and loved ones to celebrate with than I could work into one day, I’d have laughed in your face. Yet here I am–juggling time with many loved ones!

I would have to write a novel if I tried to record the bounty in this year; or string the pearls of the many blessings I’ve received in 2010. There haven’t been many dark days, just a whole lot of light! How grateful I am to give this day to thanks, joy and gratitude of which I have much. What a relief!

So if you happen to be in the throes of your unexpected life, if this day is one of your “firsts,” know that you are going to make it and that next year, there will be even more to be thankful for. I guarantee it.

You may even be amazed, as I have been, at the bounty that can come out of such devastation, destruction, grief and challenge.

That pretty much sums up my unexpected life…today. It says it all.

Oh wait. One more thing.

“Thanksgiving, man. Not a good day to be my pants.” (Kevin James)

The Cure for Insomnia

Date: November 14, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” (Ernest Hemingway)

Not too long ago, a blog reader said she noticed I do my posts in the wee hours; she wondered if I had trouble sleeping.

I thought it was interesting that she had noticed that. But I’ve noticed it too. It seems like such a little thing, yet it is one of a few big changes brought on by the unexpected life.

Insomnia.

I remember the good old days, pre the unexpected life, when I could sleep at night, as well as the last night I slept: March 17, 2009. It was the morning after that night, when I woke up and my life fell apart.

Since that time, I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights. I don’t know the sole cause for my insomnia, but it probably had something to do with shock, trauma, grief, stress, strain, worry, fear, financial devastation, life loss, divorce, sleeping alone for the first time in 20 years, and feeling so alone. At first, I couldn’t help but count my troubles like I had once counted sheep. However, that type of score keeping is not sleep inducing. In fact, it is not conducive to anything.

Life’s too short to engage in unproductive activities or behaviors. Time is too precious. So I had to let that go.

Now, instead of counting my worries before I attempt to rest, I count my blessings. I keep a little notebook by the side of my bed and try to take a few minutes at the end of each day to write something I’m grateful for. Every day there is something. You just have to look, and let your eyes see what is right in front of them.

For example, “When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas time.  Why are we not grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs?” (G.K. Chesterton)

Most days, I have to stop myself because my hand gets tired from writing so much, or because my eyes begin to blur or because I’ve fallen asleep for a few minutes with the pen in my hand.

And now you have it.

My cure for insomnia, developed under the tutelage of the unexpected life.

Gratitude.

“Develop an attitude of gratitude, and give thanks for everything that happens to you, knowing that every step forward is a step toward achieving something bigger and better than your current situation.” (Brian Tracy)

At The Church Building

Date: March 30, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Prior to March 18, 2009, it had been my privilege to love and serve 225 women as president of the women’s organization of my church congregation.  A few days after He revealed His crimes to me, I received word that our pastor wanted to meet with me.

The pastor had been a good friend AND a business partner of my spouse in a construction project.  He, more than anyone else in the world, knew exactly how innocent I was of any crime or wrongdoing because he had been deceived as completely as I had. We both knew the extent of the other’s innocence and betrayal.  I will never forget that moment of seeing him for the first time after everything was out in the open.

He stood, at the far end of his office, with tears streaming down his face.  I stood there crying, too.  He said he was sorry; I said, “Me too.” And we talked about our shock, grief, the betrayal, my children, his problems, and a host of other things.  Then he mentioned my service to the women, told me he felt I should be released, he apologized that it would make me look guilty to some but that releasing me sooner, rather than later, would be best for the women of the congregation.  However, he told me if I wanted him to wait a week or two, they would consider it.

For the first time in my life, I felt I was in no position to serve anyone else.  And the damage to my reputation was done–guilt by association in the eyes of some, but those who knew me, who really mattered, knew the truth about me.  I, frankly, couldn’t afford the mental energy to worry or care for too long what anyone else thought of me.  I had enough problems of my own to solve. I told our pastor I had no objection to taking care of my release as quickly as possible. And that was that.

I drove away from the church building, shaking my head, and thought, “That certainly wasn’t how I envisioned my service ending! Cut short due to the criminal activity of another, the timing making me appear guilty of something, and not  a thanks for your service, good job, or even a thank you for trying!”

I laughed outloud as I drove down the road toward what had once felt like home.

Life is full of unexpected experiences.

I had never lived my life, or served in my church, to be praised by others OR to be thanked.  It didn’t matter.  And my poor pastor had other huge personal concerns.  I am sure what he thought he said sounded better than what actually came out of his mouth. No worries.

But Sunday, that first week after my spouse revealed His crimes, was a worry.

Church.

I knew I belonged in church. I knew I needed to be in church, for me and for my children. But I can’t tell you how I dreaded it that first Sunday.  My former spouse had served as a pastor of our congregation for five years and the news about him was out.  I had served and been active in our congregation, as well, and didn’t look forward to facing everything and everyone in church as my own ponzi-victim version of a “fallen woman” or an “outcast.”

But as I’ve said before, you can’t go over it or around it, you have to go through it.

One of my kids asked, ‘We don’t have to go to church this week, do we?”  I answered, “Of course we do!  That is what we do on Sunday.  We don’t stop doing what we should do just because life gets hard.  We need to be there! We believe in choosing the right! ”

So we went to church.

We pulled into the parking lot and I forced myself to get out of the car.  As I headed toward the building, I saw HER across the parking lot. A member of the congregation and a victim of my spouse. She saw me, changed course, and headed right for me. Her steps were quick and determined. All in my direction.

My heart sank.  I fought panic and fear.  My kids were with me, I was feeling pretty fragile, I had already been verbally assaulted by a few victims and I wasn’t sure I was up for another confrontation. My mind raced as I thought, “What am I going to say? What am I going to do? How am I going to do this?”

I should have given HER more credit.

She came toward me…and embraced me.  I was so overwhelmed by fear, by her charity, by my sorrow for her loss, by my sorrow for my loss, by her love and compassion for me in spite of what my spouse had done to her all I could do was sob as we stood in the parking lot.  I will never forget her character in that moment (and in the many moments since that day.)

“I’m so sorry!” I cried.

She stood back, grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and asked, “What are YOU sorry about?  YOU did nothing!  YOU don’t have to apologize to anyone for anything.” And she hugged me again. I don’t know everything about her life, but I know, like all of us, she has had challenges and hardships she has worked diligently to overcome. But that moment has to be one of the finest of her entire life–past, present, or future. I will never forget it.

It gave me added strength to continue toward the building and enter the chapel. I was there to be released from my service to the women of the congregation and to be an example to my children of carrying on in the face of adversity.  I sat on the bench, tried not to cry, and was completely unsuccessful.  I felt like all eyes were on me.  In many ways, I think they were. But every time I dared look up, or mustered the courage to look someone in the eye, they looked back at me with tears in their own eyes and smiled encouragement.  Some passed me quickly jotted notes on scraps of paper, writing words of support and love and gratitude for something I had taught them.

But my children were another story.

My daughter sat through church perfect, silent, closed, and angry.  She didn’t shed a tear.

My oldest son sat through church with tears streaming down his cheeks the entire meeting.

My youngest, too little to understand but able to sense trauma, clung to me and cried.

And although the reactions of my grief-stricken children trying to get through their first Sunday after life as we knew it had ended broke my heart, my middle son shattered it.  He sat next to me and wrote his thoughts on a piece of paper, “My dad is going to prison.  I can’t believe our dad tore our family apart for money.” And, the one I haven’t been able to forget, “There is a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.”

Nine years old.  With a huge, gaping hole where his heart used to be.