Moving Marbles

Over the past two years, I have learned so much...one of the greatest lessons that I have learned is that there is no such thing as "living the perfect life". I thought, for a long time, that there were a lot of perfect people out there, with their perfect families, and their perfect marriages, their perfect kids, their perfect dogs, and even their perfect picket fences that border their perfect homes.

Let's take perfect homes as an example. My boss lives in a beautiful butter-creme colored 1915 bungalow with a white picket fence and a beautiful, mature, flowering garden. It's in the heart of the city, close to schools, and surrounded by other beautiful, quaint homes. Everything about it is just, well, perfect. I used to drive past that house and say, "Ah, that's the life. What a beautiful home! I want to live there. My life would be just perfect." And even now, I can see it out of my window at the office (she lives just 1 block from work, which makes it even more prefect, right?) and I admire it every day. And my boss loves her house. She loves everything about it. Well, actually not everything. Attached to any 1915 bungalow comes a myriad of headaches...During a storm, her storm windows rattle. And in the summer, she has no screen windows...her husband threw them out on a whim. Her floors creak. What 100 year old floors don't? Her bathroom faucet had a terrible leak which hiked up her water bill. And her cute little perfect dog is a double threat: she pees all over the carpet and hardwood floors if you pet her AND she tore a hole in the back screen door, creating her own, dog-made doggie door. So, the perfect little bungalow isn't so perfect after all. But it sure looks good from the outside and from a distance.

This is just a house. What about people? What about me? If you have been following this blog at all, you know that my life isn't perfect. But if you see me on the street, check out my facebook page, or have a conversation with me at church, you could, perhaps, think I have the good life. I own a home. I have a nice garden. I compost. I recycle. I like spending time with my husband and daughter. I don't do drugs. I sing on the worship team at church. But the truth is, I am just a recovering train wreck and I can put on a good show. I fight with my husband, I have used the "D" word before. I have yelled at my kid (this morning, in fact!), I have lied, cheated, hurt people. I make bad decisions daily, and sometimes I just want to quit. Quit being married, quit being a mother, quit living in this hick town, quit work. quit it all. My husband and I have been to marriage counseling...twice, and still don't have it all together. I am estranged from a member of my family and I know that I am part of the problem. In all honesty though, don't we all have these problems? The past two years have shown me that we are all train wrecks. We are could be heading for a train wreck, are currently in one, or are recovering from one. We all have battle wounds. We all have trauma. We all have those secrets we hope no one else finds about, and often times, we think we are the only ones that have it bad. I am not sure if I blogged about this before, but I remember when my husband was in jail, and I thought that my life was over. Then, I heard of of a friend who, after going in for an emergency C-section, went into cardiac arrest, and went into a coma. No one knew if she was going to live, and if she did, there was concern that she wouldn't be the same. Ah, I think I would rather have a husband in jail that was going to come home than have a wife in a coma, not knowing if she was going to live or not. I don't mean to be trite and simply say, "There's always someone who has it worse than I do." Really, I'm not. But what I am saying is that, with a little perspective, you begin to understand that there are others out there who are hurting too, and that it's okay to not be "perfect".

And you may not believe me, but there will come a day when God's purpose in your pain is revealed. He will use your pain and hurt for His glory. He will use you to help someone else. It's hard to believe, and I once didn't believe it either, but I am living proof that it's true. I am no superstar when it comes to helping those who hurt, but I am there to talk and help give perspective and direction. I am convinced that God puts all the puzzle pieces together. And I am confident that if you let Him into your life and your pain, he will back it with purpose...eventually...and make sense of it all.

I recently took part in a book review program that sends you free books if you promise to do a review on them on your blog. So, here is my review on the book, "Helping Those Who Hurt" by Barbara Roberts.

Book Review

Helping Those Who Hurt, by Barbara Roberts

 As soon as I had this book in hand, it instantly reminded me of another book by NavPress called, “When I Lay My Isaac Down” by Carol Kent. So I got that book out, and compared the covers…and I am pretty sure that Kent’s book cover inspired Roberts’. The torn pages, the two drie d flowers, the block and script lettering. They are nearly identical. Then I looked at the publisher to find that Kent’s book was also NavPress. I found that quite interesting knowing that both books would be used to encourage the hurting. And while they do just that, they are quite different in their approach.

 While Kent’s story is her personal story of anguish and what God taught her through it, Roberts’ books is a practical handbook to helping hurting people. It is most certainly not a read-through book, as it is filled with nearly 100 to-do lists for helping those who hurt. But, if your ministry is helping hurting people, it is a very good resource.

 The book is separated into different chapters and sections, depending on the type of hurt you are working with. From grief and loss to domestic violence, there is practical information to help any situation. After reading it, there were numerous things I wished I had done differently when ministering to grieving friends of my own.

 What I liked most about this book is Roberts’ suggestions to not use “pad answers” and “power scriptures” in times of great emotional pain. She suggests that what they really need is someone to walk their painful journey with them. She says, “Don’t offer any comfort with the words, ‘Well, at least…’ Anything that follows those words serves only one purpose: minimizing their pain.” While we often times try to help with our words, we don’t know the pain we are inflicting on the hurting souls we speak them to.

 If you regularly minister to those who are hurting, this is a great book. It is very practical, and obviously rooted in years of experience.

When your husband is a convicted felon who spent time in jail for teenage crimes, you don't really get to live a normal life. I remember talking to friends while he was still in jail saying, "We are going to get back to normal life again. But it will be a new normal."

A new normal...group counseling sessions, parole meetings, park restrictions, getting pulled over more often than before, and then getting patted down on a regular basis from a cop. A new normal...where "signing contracts" comes up in dinner conversation, where polygraph test costs are in the budget, and where friends with kids need to arrange childcare just to come over and have dinner.

A new normal...where my husband and I jump for joy over the fact that he has his unsupervised visitation privileges back...(as of this past Tuesday).

What dad is not legally allowed to watch their baby while his wife goes to the grocery store? What dad is not allowed to change a diaper until his daughter is almost two years old? My daughter's Dad, that's who.

This ride has been anything but normal, but what I have learned is that God does not call someone to do something that they are prepared for. He calls us and then he equips us. If you are a prison wife, you know exactly what I mean. If you have had cancer or watched a spouse die of a brain tumor, you know. If you have gone down to your "pit of despair" and are emerging, you are beginning to understand. There is life after prison. There is hope in the Hands of God and in His grace. And there is comfort in knowing that God's watchful eye is ever over you, ensuring that you are cared for.

I used to pay a wicked fun card game with friends called "Mao". Ever hear of it? It is a game where, the leader of the game knows all the rules of the game, and no one else does. The way you learn how to play the game is through making mistakes that you didn't know were mistakes and then getting punished for them. I used to laugh hysterically when I got to "punish" people for making mistakes, by giving them more cards in their hand, thus making it harder to win the game. Once you learn the rules from making all the mistakes, you have a much better chance of winning the game.

Last night, I feel like my family transitioned from being the leader of the game to being an ignorant measly player of the game. My husband came home from his group counseling in tears because he got his unsupervised visitation with our daughter taken away. He didn't do anything to her or any other child. He didn't act out in any way. He simply didn't know a rule that he was supposed to follow and he got punished for it. He didn't call his parole officer about something. Something, that he was concerned about, but after discussing it with me, we decided that it was alright. Sorry, I am being a bit vague, out of respect for my husband. Regardless, we feel like we have been punished for something we didn't know was even a rule. The result was that my husband isn't able to bring our daughter home from child care after he gets done with work and be unsupervised with her for about 4 hours each afternoon. The ripple effect of this is: we spend an additional $100 on childcare expenses each month, I no longer can sing on the worship team at church unless I find a baby sitter for my daughter during practices, and my husband feels like he has lost EVERYTHING. To have been given such a freedom and privilege of unsupervised visits, all to be taken away is both difficult for my husband AND my daughter. She loves her afternoons at home with Daddy. He is such a good dad, playing with her, focusing his attention on her and her needs. I have no reservations about my husband being alone with my daughter, and it has been taken away.

Last night, he went to bed, but couldn't sleep. As I was in the living room, I heard a loud pounding coming from the bedroom. I went in and found my husband, lying on the floor beside our bed, crying. He has been purposefully banging his head against our log bed frame, imposing some sort of punishment on himself for what had happened. FOR NOT CALLING HIS PAROLE OFFICER. Are you serious?

What is happening to my husband as he is going through his treatment? I know that there is a LOT of good going on in there. He is being forced to take a look at himself and do some tremendous growing...but when he comes home after being called a liar and a fake, I start getting concerned. Why can't the men in his group believe that we have a quite normal life? Why can't they believe him when he says he is not interested in fantasizing about other women (or men) like they are? Why does he have to have immoral thoughts like they do just to be normal? Why can't be just be "on cloud 9" for the first days that he was given unsupervised time with our daughter? To be called a fake or a liar, just because his life is different from theirs (I think he is the only one in his group that is actually allowed to have sex...GASP!) is quite frustration. He has tried, but for some reason, can't get into the "inner circle" with these guys. He doesn't trust them. They don't care about him. Yet, they hold the power to his future. So if they have a personal vendetta against him, they can use it in deciding his privileges.

We are meeting with his counselor tomorrow night (another $100 I wasn't planning on spending) to see where this is going to go. This could be for a few days, a few weeks, a few months...we have no idea. I am upset and I plan to tell his counselor how I am feeling. After engaging in the program for this long, seeing my husband labor over and wrestle with his daily homework and the thoughts in his head...after just two weeks ago when his counselor says to another in the group, "This guy (my husband) is stepping up...taking a stand, doing what's right," to have this happen is very difficult to deal with.

So here you go. I am human. Very imperfect. I am upset and I am venting.

The days and months after my husband went to jail, I questioned, "Can I do this? Can I be the wife of a sex offender? Can I raise our baby girl like I was a single mom? What will my friends think?" I cried at the drop of a hat. Anywhere and everywhere. In the grocery store, on my couch, watching a commercial about family. I questioned my decision to marry my husband. I questioned my faithfulness as a believer in Jesus Christ. I questioned God: How could you let this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? Will my life ever be the same?

For years, I hid behind a mask of living the perfect life...both of us were serving Jesus in full time ministry. We had a black lab, a quaint cottage in a cozy little coastal town, a great church, friends all over the country. We made sure our house was nice and tidy any time friends came over. We were "perfect" to the outside world. Often, I was asked, "How do you do it all?" But what people didn't know, and maybe I didn't realize myself, was that our family's time bomb was about to go off. An explosion of accusation, revealed truth, a trial, handcuffs, orange jumpsuits, and visits through thick glass was just on the horizon. Once it all exploded, I had nothing to hide behind anymore. I couldn't lie about where my husband was. I gave birth and started raising our daughter as if I was a single mom. I lost more than half of our income. I had to get on food stamps and state assistance. I had friends and family for support, but I felt completely alone...

This story is what I thought of when I heard Sunday's sermon. In the sermon, the pastor talks about the common phrase, "God won't give us more than we can handle." People say it all the time. Maybe you have had a friend going through a hard time and you have said this. And then, things get way too hard, and they cave in. Maybe you cave in when things get too hard. God won't give us more than we can handle? Really? When this sentence is used in the Bible, it actually talks about temptation. God will not allow us to be TEMPTED more than we can handle. Think eating chocolate. Think having an affair. Think committing sin. This has nothing to do with the circumstances that are thrown at us.

God will constantly allow or give us things that we can't handle! Think about it. If we had the choice to allow or not allow circumstances into our lives, would we choose the hardships we have already experiences? Or maybe the hardships our friends have experiences? Uh, yeah, God, I would like to order 2 years of a cheating husband, a side order of depression, and a 16oz cup of wayward children to wash it down. We would never do this. Why would a loving God give us more than we can handle? Why would he allow such tragedy to enter our lives? So that we realize that we cannot deal with it on our own, forcing us to fall at his feet and ask for help. He does it so that we realize that HE is our only source of peace, our only source of help, our only source of solace in the storm of life.

Giving birth alone was more than I could handle. Raising a newborn alone while my husband was in jail was definitely more than I could handle. Living an imperfect life to the outside world was unthinkable. But because of Jesus, and the fact that He was carrying me through the storm, I was able to survive the wreckage. Now, more than a year after my husband was released from jail, I am able to say that our life is FULL. PEACEFUL. STABLE. Better than it has ever been. My husband and I have both matured individually and that has strengthened our marriage. We are better parents. We are able to empathize with other people's pain. We have been there. Because we were able to hang onto Him in the storm, He is blessing us beyond what we ever thought was imaginable.

Today, I talked to an old friend who is in the aftermath of his own storm. I asked him how he was, and he responded, "I am waiting for a miracle." Knowing my life story and what we have gone through, he asked me how I was, and I told him that I was walking in a miracle. I think that this gave him hope that there is a miracle from God that is waiting for him too. Most often, the miracle takes longer than what we would prefer. But one thing I know is that God is never too late or too early. His timing is perfect and he knows and understands each and every hurt you have in your heart. He has a plan for you and he wants His very best for your life.

Here is the link to the sermon if you want to listen to it:

http://www.calvarycrookcounty.com/media/teachings/

Well, I suppose I can't exactly say I was alone, Diane* and Kelly* were with me. But I felt like I was. My husband was finishing month two of his 9 month sentence and I was in labor. Our first born. He was supposed to hold my hand and count for me. He was supposed to cut the cord. He was supposed to call our parents. He was... he was...

Well, he wasn't able to. It was something I had to come to grips with. Something I needed to accept. Throughout this entire process, the Serenity Prayer became my peace.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

So, on Friday afternoon at work, a week before my due date, I started feeling very mild contractions. I gave my friend, Diane call. She had walked through the entire trial, sentencing, jail, pregnancy etc thing with me. Not only was she my Bible Study leader...she was committed to being my labor coach. When I called, Diane said, "I am glad you called. I was planning on packing my bags and staying the night at your house. I just had a feeling." She came over with pizza and grapes (what was I thinking when I requested that?) and we talked, watched TV and lost track of the timing of contractions. They just weren't that painful. At that point, I said, "Maybe we should stop timing for right now. They don't even hurt." Literally 5 seconds later I had my first REAL contraction. It completely took my breath away. Within 30 minutes, they were 5 minutes apart and we were on our way to the hospital. We arrived, I checked in, I puked up the pizza and grapes, and my water broke all in the matter of about 1 hour. I called the jail and asked them to tell my husband that I was in labor. I told them that I had called ahead of time and they had approved me calling to notify them of this. Total lie. God forgive me. The staff sargeant had actually requested that I NOT notify him of labor, just of the birth. He said, "We just don't know how a prisoner will react when they hear news of their wife going into labor. They may freak out and do something stupid." Well, let's just say that that staff sargeant never told his receptionist this policy and as soon as I called, she made sure to get the news to my husband. I love it when there is a break in the chain of communication, don't you?

As soon as my husband was able, he called me and talked me through a contraction. Here I was, in wretched pain, listening to a recording saying, "... is in jail. You will not be charged for this call. If you want to accept this call, please press zero." I accept the call and we get to talk for our standard 15 minutes, in which he is nervously and like a total novice, helping me through the contractions. I can't even imagine what that must have looked like inside he cell. What a scene, I am sure. In the process of labor, I think he called about 4 times and at 4:09 our first born was here. Because of some complications during labor, the doctor immediately cut the cord and whisked her off to be checked. It wasn't until she had been cleaned off and wrapped that I was able to hold her. And then, less than 30 seconds later, they had to take her again because she wasn't breathing well.

I was informed that they would need to Life Flight her to a larger hospital because she was under respiratory distress. I didn't know any better, so I agreed. I asked, "Will I be able to go with her?" They informed me that the helicopter was too small for both of us to go. So about an hour later, I said goodbye to my new little girl, as she was flown to a nearby NIC-U for further treatment. Without a husband and a baby, I spent a lot of time by myself and visiting with friends. People would come hoping to see the babe...but she wasn't there. No kiddo. No husband. Quite ackward.

A week later, my mother-in-law and I packed up what seemed to be everything that I owned baby-wise, and traveled 5 hours to present our new baby to her daddy. There was a thick piece of glass between us and he didn't get to hold her at all, but he got to see her...part him, part me. A perfect little baby. One that, thankfully, would never remember the fact that the first time she saw him was through a piece of glass in a jail.

Here's some random thoughts that, in my typing, I couldn't find a place to add them into the story:

1. When we arrived at the hospital, the nurse asked, "Is dad going to be here?" I reluctantly said, "No, he's not going to be able to make it." I eventually explained to her the situation, the fact that he was in jail, and what for, and she said, "Don't worry, I won't report anything." Report what? My husband was already in jail silly lady.

2. Diane was an amazing labor coach. She did so much for me. She counted. She held my "focus picture" and redirected me when I was distracted. She saved her labor horror stories for someone else. She saved her moments where she was about to gag for outside my room. She, in a very forceful tone, told the nurse or other medical personnel that they better let me see my baby before they Life Flighted her away. There is a bond between Diane and I now that I don't believe will ever be broken. Diane was my rock in very difficult times, and I feel as though I could never pay her back for the love she has given, and continues to give to this day. Thank you Diane.

3. Kelly, previously mentioned, was taking pictures and video throughout the entire thing. She and her husband were new on staff at our church, and as soon as they heard our story, they immediately felt connected to us. Kelly was a photographer, and I asked if she would be willing to come and take pictures and video so my husband wouldn't miss anything. She offered herself, her flexibility, and her professional skills. I don't know how someone can make labor look all that beautiful, but somehow she did it. When I showed my husband the video she put together of the birth, he couldn't stop crying. Thank you Kelly.

4. My daughter was perfectly fine. After just 1 1/2 days in the NIC-U, I was able to take her home.

After nearly 2 years of my husband not feeling like a "full-time dad", he now has the awesome privilege of picking up our daughter from daycare. This may not sound like much, but it is a HUGE step forward in the restoration process. Just a short recap: 2 years ago, my 33 year old husband was convicted of a sex offense that happened when he was 15 years old. He went to jail for a few months and then was placed into a required treatment program for sex offenders. His parental rights were stripped away, and he was only allowed supervised visits with our daughter. This left my husband feeling incomplete, untrusted, and very unhappy. Through a lot of patience and a lot of growth in his treatment program, he was given permission to have FULL CONTACT with our daughter. To us, tangibly, this means that he can pick her up from daycare and take her home (saving us $100 a month in daycare costs), I can go grocery shopping without toting our kiddo around, and I can spend time with friends without having to find a babysitter. Emotionally, it means that my husband feels WHOLE, a real full-time daddy. Trusted.

So after his group meeting last night, he came home and immediately installed the carseat in his truck. He is so excited...and nervous at the same time. He just called me at work and asked, "Is it okay if I pick her up before 1pm?" I said, "Of course. She is probably eating right now, but it should be just fine." So, she is probably all strapped into her carseat as I type, journeying home with her daddy, pointing out the "E-E-E's" (horses) and the "Mooo's" (cows) in the fields.

I am so excited for my husband to have some Daddy/Kiddo time with her...he has only known spending time with her as someone else watched over his shoulder. I am also excited to have some much needed free time for myself. I hope that doesn't sound selfish. But when you aren't able to "go out with the girls" or have to plan on your mother in law coming for a weekend so you can get out, it wears on you. So today is a good good good day!

Interesting enough, as I was typing this article, my husband and my little girl came to visit me at the office. Just shy of 2 years, "the Bug" came in holding two gerber daisies in her little fists. I was informed that one was from her and one was from daddy. The feelings of pure delight warmed my heart as I saw them together. They came, she ate some of my grapes from my lunch, and then left, just like most dads and daughters would. But for us, it was a historic day...the day that daddy and daughter got to hang out with no one watching.

Last week, I was having lunch with my friend. We will call her Claire. We have been friends for about 7 years and she is truly my closest friend in town. We both have babies, run triathalons, and spend a lot of time together. I was updating her on my husband's progress in his treatment program, and I said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you that by next week Tuesday, "my husband" is going to have full contact with "our daughter".

Her soup spoon fell into her soup as her jaw dropped open. And then her face scrunched up and she began to cry. She got up from her chair, walked around the dining room table and just hugged me. Of course, I start crying too, and when I let go, she is STILL holding onto me. She was crying tears of joy, knowing two things: that my husband was going to be a "full time daddy", and that I was going to have a little freedom in my life. No more dragging the kiddo along while I go grocery shopping. I can go to Bible Study at church. I can go have coffee with Claire.

I don't think I can even describe the emotion that Claire communicated to me through her tears, but her tears showed me her committment to our family and to walking with me (and us) through the entire process.

I had the same experience with another friend this weekend. We shared the same news with our friends that came to visit for the weekend. And the wife's response, after just saying she was so happy for us, was "Dana, I am most happy for you." She meant, she was happy for the freedom that I was about to experience...what a normal mother takes for granted.

I don't know what it is like to have these "freedoms" in motherhood. It has been the way it's been since our daughter was born. But starting Wednesday, my husband has the honor of picking up her daughter from daycare, and spending each afternoon with her. Just her and Daddy. Something that most people take for granted, and often times cringe over. My husband sees it differently.

If you are the wife of an inmate, you have undoubtedly had this question come up. The answer depended on the person asking the question. If it was a trusted friend who was just not in the loop, I felt comfortable saying, "Um, he is spending some time in jail for something he did when he was 15 years old." Their jaw would drop in bewilderment, but they were able to understand (after consoling me for a few minutes). If a stranger asked, "Where is your husband?" or "What does your husband do?", I would say, "He is out of town," or "He is spending some time in his hometown." Regarding his employment, I would mention a past field of work, like construction or driving truck. These answers usually were sufficient, but there were always lingering questions like, "Is she telling the truth?"

I remember clearly the first time this happened to me. I was 7 1/2 months pregnant, and my husband had just gone to jail. A friend of mine knew what was going on (he was a manager at my place of employment) and invited me to come out to dinner with some friends. He thought it would help get my mind of things. We went to Happy Hour at a local restaurant, and some friends that I hadn't been in touch with for a while joined us. After dinner, one girl, Laura, asked, "So where's Jeff? I heard he might be (back east)?" Immediately, my entire body felt like it was on fire. Did she know? Who had she heard from? Why was she asking? This was my first confrontation with the question, "Who do I tell?" Deep down in my gut, I didn't feel like I could trust her with this information, and I said that he was working in his hometown for a few months. Awkward. And I am sure she thought, "Hmmm. Awkward. Are they having marriage problems? What husband leaves his wife nearly 8 months pregnant to work somewhere else?" Thankfully, she stopped asking questions. After leaving the restaurant, we went back over to my friend's house, and one of the other guys there, a pastor, asked, "So how's your husband doing?" There was something different about this friend, something that I knew I could trust in him. He was the first person I shared my story with. I was amazed at the results. He responded with grace, compassion, and understanding. He said, "You know, we have a few guys at our church who came from prison and are sex offenders. They are great guys." Of course, I knew that my husband was a great guy, but it was a whole different thing when someone else, who didn't have to sympathize with me, did just that. I wasn't "kicked out of the friend club". I wasn't set aside and made fun of for my situation.

How do you protect this deeply emotional wound from being completely torn open? Who do you share with and who do you skirt the issue with? How do you know that you won't be completely hurt by your vulnerability? These are all good questions. I would suggest that you evaluate your friendships and find a select few friends and family who you can trust with your story. For me, talking about my situation was very helpful. I needed a few friends who would allow me to emotionally "BARF" on them, ones that knew both me and my husband and were committed to our friendship regardless of how ugly it had become.

And quite honestly, it's nearly impossible to find someone who really understands what you are going through. When the hardest thing someone else had experienced is a loss of a job or something, or even it they have experienced tragedy, how can they really understand and offer any comfort? I wish I had known about Prison Place when my husband was in jail. I had so much to say, so much to process through. It is only now that I feel that the time has been right to do anything about all the thoughts in my head. I have journals, letters, thoughts and emotions to share. What do I do with all of this? I need to get it out, and this is a great way to do just that.

Now, when someone asks, "Where's your husband" I can answer, "He's at the grocery store," and not be lying. I am so grateful.

For the past 14 months, my husband has been attending parole mandated sex offender therapeutic treatment. It started out as one on one meetings with a therapist, and has since then, transitioned into weekly group treatment. This treatment program is quite strict, and if you don't follow the rules, you could find yourself back in jail or prison. My husband first gained permission to have SUPERVISED visitation with our daughter after writing out a contract with rules, presenting it to his group, and then having the group approved of the request. Over time, he was given open ended supervised visits with her, as well as isolated visits with his extended family and their children. About 5 months ago, his counselor informed him that he was "requesting too much" and "not being patient with the process". He asked my husband to cease and desist in requests  until he showed some signs of change.

At the same time, my husband and I were not doing very well relationally. Always looking for a fight, our relationship was in serious trouble. We sought the advice from our pastor, as he listened to our situation and encouraged us. During our first meeting with our pastor, I completely unloaded all of my frustration on my husband. I was tired of living with someone who used his "depression" as a crutch and refused to choose everyday to live with a positive attitude. His depression was debilitating, but not only to himself. It was hurting our marriage. He wasn't prepared to hear what came out of my mouth, but he didn't blow up in anger either. I was not innocent in all of this myself. Instead of living equally with my husband for 6 years, I was "parenting" him because I didn't think he could make good decisions. It was like I was trying to raise 2 children instead of one. My issues of control were masked in my "organization", "efficiency", and "ability to make good decisions." I was enabling him to stay a child, and not allowing him to grow up.

A week later, we were at church, and after the sermon, my husband asked to pray with someone. He asked God to release him from the spirit of depression, and give him strength to be a different person. He had prayed prayers like this before, but for some reason, this time, he was ready to really make the change. After that, I began noticing that he was making wise decisions, asking for advice and feedback, wanting responsibility, and resolving conflict appropriately. I am confident that God enabled the change and my husband willed for a better life.

About a month ago, at his weekly treatment group, he was sharing his work done on a 30-day sexual thinking log. A group member commented, "You think about your wife too much!" My husband asked him if he thought of his wife often, and the man said that he didn't nearly as much as my husband did. That night, he told me about the conversation and his frustrations. He decided that he was going to do something about it an defend himself at the next meeting.

A week passed, and at his next meeting, my husband took a stand. He said it was completely appropriate to think about me more than other women, and that what he reported in the log was accurate. No one challenged him on this after he said what he said.

So fast forward, 3 weeks to last night. My husband and I went to a required couple session with his counselor. We immediately began talking about how our marriage was doing much better (the last time we met with him, we reported that things weren't going well), and what changes we were seeing in our own lives. I told the counselor how proud I was of my husband and the ways he was changing. He was really working on himself and trying to make his life better. I remember saying, "He is owning his crap, and I am so proud of him." His counselor asked my husband, "When do you think you made this change?" And we both answered that visiting with our pastor and Jeff praying at church was a huge turning point for him. The counselor then gave his opinion. He said that when my husband stood up for himself a few weeks earlier was when he knew that my husband had turned the corner, grown up, and became a man. He saw the difference in my husband too, and he was very proud of the work he had done. He said that that was what he was waiting for. Before this, his counselor saw my husband as a push over, one who wouldn't stand up for what he thought was right. Then his counselor said, "I think you are ready to have full UNSUPERVISED contact with your daughter." Our jaws dropped open and immediately, my husband began crying. Not just crying, but nearly bawling. To have full unsupervised contact meant that my husband was REALLY A FULL TIME DADDY. He was being trusted with our daughter without my "supervising" eye. And we didn't even ask for it.

So within two weeks (he has to present this request to his group and they have to vote on it), Lord willing, my husband will be a full time daddy with the opportunity to pick up our child at daycare and do "daddy-daughter" dates. I will be able to leave the house without my child to go grocery shopping, visit a friend, or ride my bike. The freedom of being able to do that is what most parents take for granted. And why wouldn't they? But for us, this is a "rite of passage" in parenthood; a monumental chapter in our book called life. We are so grateful, and I am so very proud of my husband.

When the judge read, "we, the jury find the defendant GUILTY as CHARGED", my head and heart dropped. What? What about the statue of limitations? What about his character? What about our baby in my womb? What about...? I thought that my life was over. Here was my husband, a hard-working, wonderful man charged with a crime that happened 18 years ago when he was a teenage boy. Our life would never be the same. He turned around, with tears falling down his cheeks and cried to me, "I'm going to jail, baby." I tried to be brave and told him to turn around and be strong. I regret that to my very core. The moment where my husband needed me the most and I told him, "Turn around!" What was I thinking?

After the judge finished, I was able to hold onto my husband for the last time in a long while. We were both a total mess...not just tears, but an emotional and physical upheaval that caused both of our bodies to shudder. I had no idea how long the sentence was going to be...the DA said he was going to ask for 6 years. 6 years? What? Two months earlier, he was willing to give us a deal with no jail or prison time. I took his wedding ring, his beaded necklace and his wallet, as the police office handcuffed him. Fear gripped my husband, as the last time he was cuffed (when he was arrested), they were too tight and hurt his wrists. I begged the cop to be gentle with him, and then they took him away.

I was standing in a circle with my lawyer, my mother in law, and a few friends, but I was completely alone. I didn't know what to do. I walked out of the court room, and then proceeded to run down the stone stairs of the historic courthouse. What was once a beautiful icon to me in this town was now the place of my worst nightmare. My friend, Jerry, more like a spiritual father, grabbed me and held me so close. I went limp in the knees and just let him hold me as I sobbed. "What do you want me to do?" He asked. I had no clue what I wanted, let alone needed. "Take me to Tom's," I said. Tom was another "spiritual father" friend of mine in town that had been great support for me. We left, leaving my emotionally wounded mother in law to fend for herself, and took off for Tom's. The thoughts in my mind were so tangled with confusion and pain that I can't even sort through them to this day. By the time we got to Tom's house, I was thinking, "Why did we come here? What good is it going to do?" So after a quick drink of water given to me by Tom's wonderful wife, Eileen, we hopped back into the car, found my mother in law, and went back t the rental house we were staying in.

It's funny. That morning, Jerry and my husband and I went for a walk. We were talking about what the outcome of the trial would be. Our lawyer didn't think that he would be forced to serve any time in jail due to the old nature of the crime. So in our heads, we are thinking..."Hmmm, if we win, we will celebrate over dinner on the town." If we lose, we'll just stay home and eat leftovers from the Chinese place." It sounded so simple. Win or lose, we would be together that night and be okay. What "justice planet" were we from?!?!??!?!?!

Losing did not mean that we were eating leftovers together from the Chinese place. Losing meant that my husband was in jail, cold and scared, and I, 7 months pregnant, had COMPLETELY lost my appetite. Food made me sick. Looking at it or smelling it made me want to vomit. We returned to the home we were staying in, and no one knew what to say. I was surrounded by people that cared, and they encouraged me to be calm. I was freezing. I decided to take a shower. Showers and baths are the way I relax and contemplate things. I take a shower, get out and find that I have a voicemail on my phone. I could not believe what I heard on the recording:

"Hey Dana! This is Sarah*, Kelly*, and Maggie* on vacation in Alabama celebrating our "Dirty Thirty". We were calling our favorite friends and you were on the list! What's up? We hear you are having a baby! We want to hear about it and see what's going on in your life! Call us back!"

Sarah*, Kelly* and Maggie* were my long-lost friends from high school that I hadn't talked to, simply in years. They were probably drunk when they called. The night my husband is locked up in jail, my old high school friends call and ask me about my life? I dropped the phone, dropped to my knees and started bawling.

After time, I got dressed and went back downstairs to be with my my mother in law and Jerry. A short period passed and my phone rings. I race to the phone to find that there is a collect call from my husband. "Yes! Yes!" I scream into the automated voice. "Yes, I want the call!" And there is my husbands voice, quiet and scared on the other side. "I am so sorry, baby. I am so sorry," he said, and through tears, I say, "It's okay, we are going to make it through this. Concerned about his physical safety, I asked a few questions like, "Are you hurt? Are you alone? Are you warm enough?" He says he is okay, but scared. We talk for a short while, though I can't remember if this was one of those "15 minute calls" I was going to center my next year around, and he asks me, "Will you sing to me?"

Over the past few months, before the trial, when Jeff would get scared about the future, he would ask me to sing him to sleep. Very childlike, yes, but comforting none the less. I would sing songs like, "Amazing Grace" or "I Love you Lord" over and over until he was calm and ready to sleep. So I walked up the stairs, and began singing for him. I can't even remember what song it was...but at the end, he whispered, "Thank you. I love you." "I love you too darling. Good night."

Jerry later said that that was the greatest example of God's grace that he had witnessed in a long while.

Here is a disclaimer...I am probably not in the same situation that many of you are in...my husband went to jail for 5.5 months. That's it. And, now he is out and we are living a fairly normal life. So, you may think..."There is nothing that she can say that is going to help me out. My husband is in prison for 20 years!" But, in my opinion, PAIN is PAIN. I may not be able to relate exactly to your situation, but maybe there is something little, like being the wife of a sex offender, or your faith that I can relate to. So, I hope that even if our lives don't align exactly, we can be mutually encouraging and informational to one another.

Today is my husband's maintenance polygraph. It is required for parole that every 6 months, he take a polygraph to ensure that he is not being sexually out of agreement concerning his parole restrictions. Jeff and I live a happily married life and he is not currently committing any crimes...but you still wonder. "What if they find something? What if he gets too nervous and the test says he did something? What if he abused my child?" (*Jeff's crimes were from his teenage years, and he has not abused our daughter). So, I asked him last night, "How do you feel about your polygraph tomorrow?" He simply and confidentially said, "Feel good. I have nothing to hide. If i had something to hide, I would be nervous about it." Of course, this warms my heart. I have full confidence in him that he is doing well, and has nothing to hide. I am thankful that my husband is taking all steps to make changes in his life, and that he is taking his parole requirements seriously. So, even if I have to pay $175 to prove to the county that he is no violating parole, it is worth it.

I think about parole requirements...weekly group meetings at $50 a pop, quarterly couple meetings $100 each, monthly supervision fees at $30, and time missed with the family. It can seem like a burden, but if it helps and works, it is invaluable. I have to say, I don't really feel like my husband needed a swift kick in the butt to stop committing crimes (his crime was 18 years old), but he needed a wake-up call to heal the deep wounds of his past, and see why he was the way he was. He has learned how to resolve conflict effectively, he has learned to communicate his feelings and needs, he sees when he manipulates or minimizes situations. He would rather think about me than another woman. Really, can men do that? He is healing from the inside out, and even though it's spendy and time consuming, I am thankful for his parole officer and his treatment provider.

A friend sent me this verse from the Bible today, and said that it was written for us:

You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." Genesis 50:20.

Even if you are not a Christian, you can find hope in this verse. God can work miracles and turn your lives around. He can take what was once bad, and give it purpose, both for you and for other people. Even though I wish my husband wasn't labeled as a sex offender for the rest of his life, I wouldn't trade the life and marriage changes for anything in the world. It's worth the label and the price.

I am the wife of a convicted sex offender. I love my husband, and am proud of who he is today. My husband committed his crime when he was 15 years old, and was convicted when he was 33. He spent 5.5 months in jail and is now out, and living with our family. He is currently in treatment and is doing amazing therapeutic work on his past and his issues. Our marriage is stronger now than ever before, but there was a time...

I walked into the grocery store. While I used to purchase food for two (and a little bit extra for me and the babe inside me), I was now faced with the fact that I was only shopping for one. 3 days earlier, my husband was incarcerated. Incarcerated? What? How could I have a convict husband? We were CHRISTIANS, good, church-going, friendly people with a decent marriage and a kiddo on the way.  And then his teenage past caught up with him and our entire world was shattered. A 9 month sentence seemed like an eternity, especially with a babe on the way. My husband wasn't going to be there to see his firstborn delivered. How was I going to pay for the car? What did the future look like? How can I go on being MARRIED to a SEX OFFENDER?

So as I shopped, i found myself at the TV dinner section...and I completely broke down in tears. Crying over food? No, crying over the fact that my life was over and I could not go on.

That's how I felt when I looked at the entirety of the situation. An entire life ahead of me was far too much to look at. 9 months from now seemed impossible to comprehend. A month didn't make sense. That's when I decided to take the addict's advice and live "one day at a time". It was all I could do. I started keeping track of the days. I had two canning jars, one contained with the number of marbles equalling the number of days of his sentence. Each day, I moved one marble over. One marble was all I could move. One stinking marble.

Once our daughter was born and I was on maternity leave, I moved to where he was, so I could visit three times a week. Toting a newborn in a carsear in and out of a jail was ackward and embarrassing, but it was my life. My husband watched our daughter grow through a piece of glass. One time, the corrections officer forgot to close the mail slot in the visiting room (that lawyers could pass documents to the inmates through), and we were able to touch for the first time in months. Our hearts wildly beat like two teenagers in love and we felt a new glimpse of hope. That was a great marble.

In October 2007, my husband was released from jail, but was still a prisoner. Registering as a sex offender, and not able to live with us because we had a child, he was forced to find a job and a place to live, while I moved back to our home and started work again. We lived apart for another 6 months, having to ask permission and sign contracts to see one another. And in April of 2008, we were given the green light to live together again. While the marbles stopped moving by then, that was a great day in our life.

Now, we look like a typical 3 person family that lives in the country and works hard. We go to church, we visit with friends, we are enriching our marriage. We are BOTH better people...and we have learned that the past is part of the past and that it doesn't define who we are today. There is hope in the end. There will come a time when you won't cry each and every day. There is a time when you will joke about "when you were in jail." Just take it one day at a time...and journal through your journey.

There is so much more to write, and so many little stories within the journey, but it will have to wait for another post.