Category: authenticity

We Have a Referral and I’m learning peace

Deana4 Comments

I can be a bit controlling, especially when I’m scared. My husband will laugh when he reads that and add a “you think?”

I know that control is never a solution to fear, especially not on this side of the Resurrection. But knowing and doing don’t always mesh in my world. We are working on it.

I’ve had three days of phone calls, not only for myself but for my son with epilepsy. I’ve learned through his disorder how to be assertive with doctors and when to follow-up and when to call. D needed a script refilled and for whatever reason, I was the hand holder between the pharmacy and the pediatrician. I’m glad I called it in three days early. It took the full three days to get it refilled. It never takes that long.

My doctor issue really frustrated me. I got frustrated because they were not giving me correct answers. I followed up on Monday like the hospital told me too, and received a call back stating that my referral was being processed and that I should receive a phone call later that day. No phone call came.

Tues: I called back and left a message for the gal in charge. The gal up front read the notes on my file and assured me everything was being processed. No return call came.

Wed: (Today) I called the processing gal directly and was saddened — and slightly angered — to discover she had no clue who I was, and had received no such paper work nor a message that I had called on Tuesday. The gals in the front office did not lie to me — there were notes on my page that indicated a referral was being processed. Sadly it turned out the referral was for the wrong patient. My gal promised to get to work on it right away. True to her word, she did. It took three hours, but I have my referral as promised.

I had a lot of choices this morning. I did succeed in the choice not to lose my temper, and yet still communicate I was angry. I chose to ask to leave a message for my doctor and when I was told that won’t be necessary, I could choose to call the office administrator and speak with them — once my referral was complete. I chose to say a silent prayer rather than speak out what was in my heart at the moment.

Lots of choices. Right now.. I can choose to be happy I have my referral completed. I see a specialist on April 14 at 10 am. I have instructions to call every morning between now and then to see if they have a cancellation.

I know that God does not make bad things happen to people. Things happen because we live in a sinful and fallen world. God is the ultimate hand holder. He holds me in his every day.

I know that he still has plans for me and the phone call from Thelma on monday was all part of that. I talked to her (via email yesterday) and she had no idea I was going through something. We aren’t friends, even though we’ve met. (I hostessed her a couple of years ago) I am however part of You Go Girl. Thelma is someone I intentionally put myself at the feet of to learn. 

The phone call is part of something new she is doing with her You Go Girl mentoring network. It just so happened the devotion on her heart for this month was Jeremiah 29:11. And so together we got to thank God for doctors, modern medicine, and telephones of all things.

So now, I wait some more and know the his plans for me include a future and a hope. And I can rest in that.  And finish my laundry.  It’s kind of piling up.

Let’s talk about plans.  Will you share with all of us a time when your plans and God’s didn’t totally mesh, but his turned out so much better?

Hell in the Hallway

Deana7 Comments

I’ve heard it said that when God closes one door, He always opens another; but it’s hell in the hallway.

I’m in a hallway. A waiting room between finding something inside my body that does not belong, and finding answers. My doctor’s are working on a referral, the referral is working on insurance approval, and I am stuck waiting.

I don’t wait well.

I worry.

I google.

That makes me worry more.

Obsessive/compulsive types who are prone to worry — aka, people like me — should not be allowed to Google. Seriously. There are nasty things on google. Things that talk about survival rates, and stages, and symptoms and …

Oh how I hate the hallway.

This was Jeff’s first Easter without his Mom — he misses her and I worry that I ruined Easter for everyone by going to the hospital.

He had no one to call. And I worry about him.

I’ve decided it’s just a fibroid. A very big fibroid. And I’ve decided that since my white blood count was good, I must be right. Still. I have something that does not belong and I want it to go away.

So, since I have this thing growing inside of me, I decided to name it.

That only seems right. I named it Fred.

Jeff doesn’t like the name Fred and suggested we name it Georgetta.

Should I be worried about that? Laughter.

I told him I was thinking about making a sock puppet named Georgetta.

He didn’t laugh.

Now it’s HIS turn to worry about my coping skills.

I’m coping just fine. I just like it when he raises his right eyebrow up really high and rubs his beard.

THAT is funny!

I hate the hallway.

What do you guys do in the hallway? How do you keep from worrying when you can’t control the situation?

Conversation With my 15 Year Old Self

Deana8 Comments
Susan Sarandon and Goldie Hawn in The Banger Sisters

Call me Susan and color me beige. My 15-year-old self showed up this week, and she has a bone to pick with me. It seems I’d kept her locked away in a tattered old box in the bottom of my closet and she isn’t happy about it.

How come you never told anyone about me?

What are you talking about, lot’s of people know about you.

Really. Do they know we were in Sweden?

Sorta, yeah. They know we were in Sweden. But that was 30 years ago. A lot’s changed since then. I have a life. I have a husband and kids and responsibilities.

What about your husband and sons, do they know about me?

Are you kidding. No.

WHAT?

Oh don’t get all hurt. They know I went to Sweden when I was in high school, but that’s all they know.

Did you tell them about Grimslov?

Not exactly.

The hockey players from Yale?

Dear God no.

Why not?

I was 15. I made a complete and total blithering idiot out of myself. No one needs to know about that. It was pathetic.

No it wasn’t. It was sweet. See I have pictures.

I’d glare at her, but she’s too busy digging through our box of stuff she found buried in my closet. She is right about the hockey players though. They changed the dynamic of Grimslov when they showed up. Everyone looked up to them. They were college men afterall, with nice cologne (Polo), cigars, and brandy. I thought they were the coolest thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I had a huge crush on one of them and went out of my way to get him to notice me. He handled it very well and was really sweet about it. I just wish I’d remembered that before I found him on facebook. Now, I’m just embarassed.

What about this? Remember the castle at Malmo and that statue of Michelangelo’s David?

Give me that! No one needs to see a photo of me and the statue of David. I’m pretty sure that had nothing to do with y appreciation for art.

The ski trip? Don’t you remember those lumberjacks in drag? One of them tried to kiss you and you kicked him in the shins with your ski boots, remember?

NO.

Sure you do, Duffy came to your defense and got a black eye. I’m sure you have a picture of him in here somewhere.

Oh shut up already.

What about the time you saw the French Lieutenant’s Woman? You drank wine for the first time that night and spent the whole movie in the bathroom throwing up.  Or what about the time you got stranded and had to hitchhike back. Two Iranians picked you up and you lied and said you were from Australia. You even got engaged for a short time, remember?

No. No. And No. If I drink wine will you go away?

You can try, but I doubt it.

Darn. She was right.

When did you start putting the hyphen in anal-retentive? You used to be so much fun. We lived life together. You never cared what anyone thought. You fell in love and pursued it with your whole heart – you threw yourself into everything you did every day you were there.

I threw myself at boys and put myself in dangerous situations.

You did more than that. We did more than that. Did you at least tell people about meeting the King? That was cool.

I insulted him.

So what. You met him didn’t you? Think about it. We came from the wrong side of the tracks and yet here we are meeting the king. How cool is that?

Yeah, that was cool. But the picture is all faded. No one will be able to make it out.

So tell them about it. Paint a word picture. If you won’t tell people about me, will you at least tell people about meeting him?

I’ll think about it.

Cool. Then maybe later we’ll talk about the Lumberjack.

Don’t push it.

 

THE LUMBERJACK STORY

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.  A friend from Sweden found me a few weeks ago and I am having fun going through my box of memories. Over time, I’ll blog about different parts of my trip and how those events impacted who I am today. It’s that or listen to my 15-year-old self continue to give me a hard time.

Living With Epilepsy: Baseball

Deana3 Comments
Suiting up and Showing up

It doesn’t matter that he’s never played before, neither has 3/4 of the team. It doesn’t even matter if the ball is coming at him at 70 miles per hour, he wants to catch. Turns out, he’s really good at catching. It doesn’t even matter that I have a thousand what if scenarios running through my head that put him in the hospital with my “I told you so’s” spilling out of my mouth. What matters is, he doesn’t want to be treated like a kid with a disability. He is a kid who wants to be a kid and unless I want to emotionally and spiritually cripple him with my own fears, I have to let him.

D has had epilepsy (ADNFLE) since he was six and is one of the bravest kids I know.

 He’s fought epilepsy, (16 months seizure free and counting)

 and he’s learning how to drive; standing behind a plate facing down 70 mph baseballs and runners twice his size ain’t nothin’ compared to that. So, I keep my what if’s to myself and let him be who he is, knowing that God doesn’t have grandchildren and that He holds my hands even when I’m watching my youngest play through my fingers in front of my face.

He even played third base.

Written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.

For more information about epilepsy please see The Epilepsy Foundation.

To help fund research and find a cure please see their Research Funding Challenge today.

Grateful for His Grace

DeanaLeave a comment

I’d shared with many people that I was going to completely fast from Facebook for lent. I wanted to replace the time I normally spend in the virtual world with face time with God. I didn’t tell people in a “hey look at me” way, but rather as a courtesy — meaning if I don’t reply to you today, it’s because I’m not online right now.

My choice wasn’t as practical as I’d originally thought. I couldn’t bring myself to allow friend requests and important messages just sit there, unanswered until April. So my full fast has been reduced to a partial fast, and that’s okay. And since I am not doing it to fulfill some law, but rather as a way to stop using the virtual world to replace what I sometimes find lacking in my real world — live human connection — I can find balance if I so choose.

I’ve spent the past week and a half, leaning deep into the heart of God, studying, praying, and writing about what I’ve learned so far. I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m actively engaged in my studies rather than passively absorbing partial truths. I’ve gone back from being at the foot of the mountain telling Moses to talk to God for me and tell me what he says to being engaged with God myself. It feels good to be fully alive again. (Challenge from a blogging friend).

What is Lent to me?  It’s a time to take time to look at the layers I’ve allowed to build up around my heart. The coats of paint, the stains, and everything else that keeps me from being alive in Christ. It’s not a legal thing, I assure you. It’s a relational thing.

This video sums it up really well. I hope you watch it.

WordPress will not allow me to embed Tangle Videos… so please click here to see it. Furnature and Spirituality.

Wishing I were on the other side already, Learning Trust

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“The task of growth is to pursue an unflinching honesty about self, world, and God, no matter what the results compel us to face or give up.” = Dan Allender, Bold Love

Have you ever gotten frustrated with the healing process? Have you ever wished you could just hurry up and get there already? If so, I’m right there with you. Healing is hard, it takes time, and it takes God’s help and tender mercies. Healing does come if we are willing to be honest, willing to let go of the things that hold us back, and willing to forgive even the unforgivable.

I have to admit, I think speaking is far easier than writing. In speaking, I can use body language, tone, facial expressions and other senses to  convey the story within the story. I can share tragedy in such a way that it’s okay to hear it. How does a writer convey a deeper story, without violating the sensibilities of the reader? I don’t know that I am fully there yet, but I’m going to give it a shot.

This is definitely one of those days where I regret deleting my former blog. Mentioning the “meanest pastor in the world” as I so unloving called him yesterday, doesn’t mean much if you don’t know the story. He was mean — most people who knew him would agree with that statement. God also used him to do great things for His kingdom. Being a pastor does not mean he was perfect. He was a sinner, just like you, just like me. He was also a good man in a lot of ways.

There are only a handful of trusted people who know the depth and breadth of my church work experience. Putting that experience into the acceptable standard of 500 words or less post won’t suffice. His death and his roll in my life are only relevant in the sense that he is responsible in so many ways for who I am today. What his death also signifies is the need for me to let go of excuses for no longer working in a church.

  •  Because of him — I learned that my own temple was full of idols. — People pleasing is rooted in idolatry and false shame.
  • Because of him — I laid down everything I thought I knew as a teacher of the Word and ran back into scripture and the arms of a loving God and found new value, new worth, and truth like I’d never known.
  • Because of him — I faced my own mirror of fear and secret shame.
  • Because of him — I know today that I am more than the things he called me.
  • Because of him — I learned the value of being trusted and keeping a confidence.

I am trying to choose my words carefully here. What I don’t want is someone to walk away from reading this post thinking I said God makes bad things happen. God doesn’t. We live in a sinful and broken world.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

What I don’t want to do is violate your sensibilities. I do however, want you to think. I want you to think about your life and the people in it. I want you to think about those you can learn from; even those you think hate you or better yet, those you think you hate. I want you to think about whatever past it is you hide from. I want you to think about God and His redeeming plans for your life. What I don’t want you to do is think about me.

My story, is anyone’s story.

I have a past. We all do. No big deal really.  Except that as a ministry leader, I lived in fear of being found out and called a fraud – or worse, being exposed and rejected.

 Guess what. I got found out. I got exposed. And I was rejected.

But hear this: I didn’t die.

I wanted to. Thought I was going to. I even considered taking my own life at one point. I spent three years in therapy fighting to stay alive. God won and I’m eternally grateful. He saw this coming, he’s already made a path. I have no idea why he allowed what he did, but I do know that I am stronger and better today because of it.

 Do I still spin sometimes when I talk about what happened? Yes. But not like I used to. I’m healing. I see progress.

Before I answered any kind of call to ministry, I processed my past with someone I trusted. A local (at the time) pastor. He was encouraging, thoughtful and kind and shared how God doesn’t hold our sins against us. We talked about how He redeems and gives new life. Our conversations revolved in large part around this is who I used to be, and this is where I am now because of God. My story is a witness to God’s mercies, grace and power. What I was most afraid of really was would the church still accept me? What if they didn’t?

I don’t want you to miss this — I wanted to belong MORE than I wanted to serve God. My core belief was if I could work in a church than that would really show the priest who kicked us out when I was a kid. This was hidden scar that did not come out until I was broken. It was a reality about myself that I had to face one way or the other — and repent of it — before I could be of any real use to God.

The thing is though – I always viewed my story as my story to tell. Not someone else’s. I only share that which I think can benefit others while still protecting myself. I only share in my time and on my terms.

This pastor’s belief that God redeems and I am forgiven apparently stops in his office. I say that because, once I took a part time church job, he chose to extend a professional courtesy and fill my new employer in on everything we’d discussed. That sharing got twisted from a past reality to a present reality and I was treated differently because of it. I honestly never saw that coming. I grew up in a time where priests took your confessions to the grave. Apparently in the protestant church, some ministers take your confessions to their wives and your employers. Some pastor’s view professional courtesies as rights and privileges. I view them as crap.

I’m going to get harsh here. Just for a minute.

It is my opinion that professional courtesies are nothing more than emotional and spiritual rape. My confidante is a rapist, whether he sees it or not, that is what he is. Any pastor who betrays the confessional betrays a sacred trust. Harsh words and a very unpopular stance, but true nonetheless. I’ve learned that the path of recovery from emotional/spiritual rape is almost identical to that of physical rape. — I’m working on several pieces regarding that topic, so I won’t expound here just yet. If that has every happened to you, please know that you are not alone. And know also, that God does indeed have a greater plan for you.

 It was because of this professional courtesy that said, now deceased, pastor felt he had the right to call me names and share his version of my life with others. I was, according to him both a whore with an over active conscience and the office bastard. I’m still living with the fall out from that and while I’ve forgiven the whole situation, there is still some pain. I don’t trust pastors, including my own.

Will I fully recover from that? I honestly don’t know.

 I tend to assume the worst of intentions and keep a closely guarded heart. My standard response to personal inquiries is “fine.” I pursue intellectual activities and communication at the expense of truth sometimes.

I also test the spirits. I am learning how to trust a little at a time. I’m learning to watch, and wait, and trust some more. While I have not arrived at my desired location (full trust) I am at least on the right travel itinerary.

What happened was wrong. It was huge. It did cause damage. It was not without consequence. What happened requires that I learn how to forgive the unforgivable. Not for their sake, but for mine. Why? Because the God of the universe, who knows the number of hairs on my head is in the midst of it all. He sent his only begotten son to die for me. It is through the redemptive, healing work of the cross and the resurrection that empowers me and anyone who has ever been deeply wounded to do so.

Running away from LCMS as I did, took me straight into the lives of the most unlikely of people. Anne Jackson (flower dust), Ken Davis, Chonda Pierce, Thelma Wells, Carol Kent. Not personal friends per se‘, but people God gave me to help me heal and teach me truth. They literally became my teachers through books (Anne), or personal conversations, and classes. I’ve even had the privilege of working behind the scenes with a few of them at conferences. They have taught me that my life is more than my past and more than whatever pain I may or may not experience. It was these very people that helped me find my way back home to LCMS and ministry – and it is these same people I write about today as a shared resource to other LCMS readers here on this blog.

In the psalms King David says that God created us to trust and if that is true then distrust must be learned. And if it’s learned then it can be unlearned. I like the hope in that. –Psalm 22:9 Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you even at my mother’s breast. (NIV)

So what is my responsibility here?

It is my responsibility:

  1. To: Act on the knowledge that God’s word carries more weight than the word of man.
  2. To: Repent of being more afraid of man than I can be of God.
  3. To: Learn that just because I trusted someone – who should have been trust worthy – and they let me down, does not mean I should never trust again.
  4. To: Trust God above all else.

I am able to forgive the man who called me names far easier than I am the man who betrayed my confidence. The man who called me names was only reflecting my biggest fears about what was true about me. He was just a mirror. The timing of his funeral was too close to Mom’s death and we didn’t have the strength to be there. I owe him a lot.

And the irony is, while he may have been my nemesis while he was alive, he was also one of my greatest teachers and for that, I am thankful.

I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet, strange, let me not be ungrateful to those teachers. – Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

A Time to Die

Deana3 Comments

Dear Friends, my beloved mother-on-law had a stroke on January 19 and another more severe one on January 20. My husband flew to Tampa to be by her side and make sure that she was taken care of. Mom showed pretty good improvement the first few days, but by the 25th she still could not lift her head, swallow, or sit up. At 86 years old, and having been fighting bone cancer for five years, Mom decided to involk her living will. She is refusing all treatment, and has been moved to a hospice care facility in Tampa.

The change in her demeanor was immediate. Safe and secure in the care center, and in her own pj’s Mom just shined. Her caretaker Beverly is with her and Bev tells us the funny stories about mom as well as her updates. As of today, mom is no longer opening her eyes, or communicating in anyway. Her blood pressure is so low it no longer registers with a cuff. It’s almost time.

She’s ready, but we aren’t.

I’m taking a week off of blogging and will be back next week.

I hope you understand.

EDITED to add: 

 February 2 at 4:31pm
 
Hi all,

I just wanted to let you know that Jeff’s Mom (Aunt Alice/Grandma) went home to be with the Lord at 2:30 this afternoon. Mom is a breast cancer survivor from 35 years ago and was a wonderful woman. Mom had suffered two strokes on Jan 19 and 20th and was placed in Hospice Care Facility in Tampa FLA at her request, on January 26. Hospice is a wonderful organization – and to see her there, in her own jammies, no wires or tubes or machines… she was beside herself with joy. Her last days were filled with peace and hope of the coming reunion with friends and family who had gone before. Mom was 86.

Funny thing is, I was in my truck picking up Dillon from school when she passed, and a country song was playing… something about flying up on the wings of angels and dancing with Jesus. The sun was shining and I could have sworn I heard her giggling beside me. Jeff’s cousin Cynthia said the same thing when she called him at 3… How awesome is that?

Thank you everyone for your kind thoughts, and prayers. they have meant a lot to our family.

Blessings
Deana O’Hara

 

I Love You Too Mom

Deana2 Comments

Don’t over react. Just stay calm and smile. You can shout for joy AFTER you leave the school parking lot. Just don’t let him see you do it.

I tell my boys I love them every morning and every night before bed. For TWO Looooong years, my youngest (now 16) would pretend not to hear me, or roll his eyes. There isn’t a trick in the world that could coax him into saying it back. And hugs? Forget about it.

One week ago, the impossible happened. I dropped him off at school, said I love you like I always do and there it was. Mumbled, but there… “yeah, I love you too.” With that, he closed the door.

At least I waited until I was on the highway before I screamed.

And then Saturday he even let me hug him.

Wow.. every day he says I love you too.

Don’t make a big deal out of it, or he’ll go back into cool guy status.

I wonder if God ever feels that way.  I mean, he sends me things every day just to show me he loves me. Do I tell him I love him back, or do I roll my eyes?

Thoughts on Marriage

DeanaLeave a comment

Now that I have totally silenced even the most loyal of readers with yesterday’s post, I thought I’d switch gears ever so slightly. Before I do, let me add that some women can be just as double minded and that post was meant to cover both. I’ve seen both sides, and probably played them back in the day.

You may not know this, but  I am a former member of the he-Woman’s Man-Haters club.  I loved female comics who ripped men. I loved it when TV shows made the wife out to be the savior of the day, and the man of the house a bumbling fool.

I wanted to believe myself to be a feminist.

Forget submission, forget marriage, forget all of it. I’m a boomer’s child and the world is my oyster. I will never belong to the First Wives Club. I’ll never be divorced, because I’m never getting married. I am my own woman and heaven help the man that tries to tame me. I won’t let him.

I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Fort Knox.

Truth is though, I didn’t hate men, I was afraid of them. I have a busted picker.  When I was younger, if our eyes met across a crowed room and my heart started pounding 280, he either had a flask in his pocket, or a record a mile long. I could pick a man sure to break my heart without even trying. So I stopped trying, which is how I met my husband.

I didn’t marry a man who wanted to tame me. I married a man who wanted to love me and there is a difference.  We’ll be married for 20 years this August.

My early career placed me as the only woman on an all male staff. These guys taught me a lot – mostly about smoking, drinking, and swearing along with construction. They also taught me about integrity, trust, safety, and smarts. Some of those lessons were easy to learn, others came from stupid choices.  Smart choice: Hang with the guys who are happily married and talk well of their wives. Not so smart choice: Letting your site partner come back to your hotel room to call his wife and let her know he’s running late. Once I figured out why he was running late — false hopes and ambitions — I kicked him out. I also paid for that by having to listen to my sight foreman rip me apart for an hour and a half the next day for being so stupid. The situation could have been a lot worse, and I’m thankful it wasn’t. I actually know other gals on the field who were raped by techs they worked with.

Personal note here: Rape is always about control and violence. My comments do not mean to imply that what happened to some of my counterparts was in any way shape or form their fault!

And before anyone comments on the unfairness of my sight forman — I’d been flirting with said partner the whole trip because I thought he was safely married. That was a huge mistake. My partner liked to dabble when he traveled, I didn’t know that. Besides, it isn’t fair to flirt with a married man. That was a lesson I had to learn a lot when I was in my 20’s. It was never about sex when I did it, it was always about fear, control and manipulation. I don’t have the right to throw stones. I’ve broken too many mirrors doing that.

Being tough, thinking I can always make the right choices and take care of myself without anyone’s help isn’t an easy road.

Learning how to trust my husband comes and goes. The more my husband and I grow in our relationship with Christ, the closer we become to being one.  I am always amazed at how God can take two very broken people and make them into his likeness.

While I may have spent our early years totally wrapped up in “him,”  I am also developing me right now. We are learning to follow the ebb and flow of life and maturity, rediscovering ourselves and eachother. We are polar opposites and I like that today. He keeps me grounded. It’s a fun journey. He’s the one who teaches me about the kind of man who can be trusted, and I listen to his insticts. He also teaches me about the kind of woman who can be trusted. I introduce him as well. I make sure that people know we are together. Nothing sets him on higher ground than my arm on his when we walk into a room.

As I was working on these two posts, I recieved a phone call from my husband telling me that his mom had a stroke and he is leaving Denver to be with her in Florida. She didn’t know he was there yesterday and my heart broke for him. Today, her eyes are open, she is trying to talk and even though she is weak, she can move her legs. The only real damage right now seems to be her left arm and her speach. Mom is 86. We have decisions to make, and we’ll make them together. I don’t know when he’ll be home, but I’m holding down the fort taking care of our son and praying.

I’d Like you to meet my wife.

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I refuse to be anyone’s “dirty little secret.”

I don’t care who you are, or what you do. If you are married you will introduce me to your wife, or I won’t trust you and we won‘t have much of a relationship. If you don’t introduce me to your wife, I’ll do so myself.

 

I did something out the ordinary this week. I chose to intentionally thank a man for consistently introducing me to his wife whenever we run into each other. Why? Because men don’t do that anymore and I really wish they would. I always introduce my husband when we are out together, and he does likewise.

We are a unit, and I want people to know that.

I used to assume everyone operated that way. As I get older, I’ve learned not to assume those things anymore.

I went to an office wedding several years ago and I brought my husband with me. I wanted him to know the people I work with, and I wanted them to know him. The saddest moment of the night was when a man I regularly joked around with at work, chose to ignore me in front of his wife. This wasn’t a simple case of the room was so full he didn’t see me, and while I won’t go into the details, he went out of his way to keep the two of us apart. Even my husband noticed.

Red Flag Alert: If a member of the opposite sex trips all over themselves to talk to you when no one is looking and ignores you in front of their spouse, RUN don’t walk to the nearest exit.

For some  reason I suddenly felt dirty. And then it hit me, I have a family member who was a notorious womanizer. I also recognized that the shame I was suddenly feeling did not belong to me and I was able to give that back to God and find a solution.

Now, I’m not saying the man in this story is a player, and I’m not saying he isn’t. I am saying I that I was allowing him to treat me one way at work and another way in front of his wife and I needed to change that. His actions left me no reasonable choice but to change mine.

I found a way to politely ask what was up and I listened to his explanation. I then informed my office friend that I will always make a point of seeking out his wife and speaking to her at events. This is a non-negotiable item.

I’ve also learned in life not to make false threats.

It isn’t enough to set the boundaries. I have to keep them.

Another party came and he tried the same thing. Keeping my word, I grabbed my husband and walked over to my office friend’s wife and introduced myself and my husband. We spoke briefly and left the party shortly thereafter. I made a point of talking to her every time I saw her.

I’d really like to say that my boundaries helped build a healthy work relationship with my friend. But they didn’t. What my boundaries did do, was build my own esteem and worth in my eyes, and my husband’s.

I don’t have anything to do with said gentleman today. I actually resented being the one who set the boundaries that should have been there all along, and that took too much of a toll on the relationship.

Avoiding men altogether isn’t the answer, although I did try that route for a while.

Today, I watch and I listen and I trust my gut..

Watch:

  • Does he introduce his wife to people he’s talking to or does he leave her standing there?
  • Is he publicly affectionate? – Putting his arm around her, communicating they belong together.
  • How does he look at her? Does he look at her?

Listen:

  • What tone of voice does he use when he speaks to her?
  • Does he speak well of his wife or does he put her down and complain? (my mother taught me that a man who speaks poorly of his wife to other women is fishing. — don’t take the bait.)
  • A good married man will never compare you to his wife in such a way that you come out on top — if she doesn’t “understand him” and he’s telling you that you do, that isn’t a compliment — it’s a deadly trap. Don’t fall for it. Understand that he is a snake —
  • A good man will praise his wife in your presence.
  • A good man will talk about her and let you know she exists.

My Gut

  • The Holy Spirit speaks volumes to our heart when we are open.
  • Past experience can be a good teacher sometimes as well. It’s from those trial and error days of being naive that I’ve learned the most. Those times when I didn’t listen to my gut and got in hot water have taught me to trust myself more often.

My husband follows the same walk — we are a unit. I love it when he introduces me, sends calls to voicemail whenever we are on a date or in a conversation. I love the way he looks at me, the way he puts his arm around me in a crowd and includes me in his life and with his friends. I love the way that he communicates the fact that I am his, and he is mine.

I love the trust that grows from those seeds.

Question: What actions do you and your spouse take to communicate to others that you are one?

This post written by Deana O’Hara, for Redemption’s Heart. January 20, 2010