Shit Storm Epiphany

So it would be a shit storm that would bring us to an epiphany.

We have a routine. As we leave a park I trail Shawn in the Jeep to the dump. I linger as far downwind as I can, windows rolled up, and watch him, with industrial strength gloves up to his elbows, tense. Every time he pulls the valve and lets a weeks worth of feces and urine forcefully make its way down an always gravitationally challenged dump set up, he tenses. The girls always watch. This time I saw the tense. And then I saw the explosion. I saw the girls’ mouths drop. I saw Shawn attempt to escape. And I saw the shit. There is no other word. It was something I will never UNsee. I froze. Inside my head was screaming to do something. Move. Get out of the Jeep. Help him. But I just pulled my sweatshirt over my gaping mouth in horror. At some point I did move, but when I reached him he was incoherent. He was wandering around the mess trying to chase what can only be described as a medical emergency around with an awkwardly built hose. And all I could think was, Do we not chew corn? The girls had begun to speak. Horrified they pleaded with him to clean it. To which he replied, “I don’t need to hear that I need to clean it!” I began eliciting advice babbling on about the necessity to throw away his shoes immediately and hand me his clothes to wash and he should shower… now. And amidst all of this (I think he was in shock) he began to joke about the movie RV and whose poo he was chasing down the drain. We laughed with him, we did, but in the end as we pulled away it was one of the girls who commended him, “I mean, Dad, you didn’t swear, AT ALL! You actually joked! Wow, Dad, you’ve really grown.”

Epiphany in a shit storm.

We will have been together 24/7 for 365 full days with NO time apart. In this space of time we have seen the worst of one another, but also the best. We are witness to the rise and fall of every emotion most of which goes unnoticed in the busyness of normal, daily life. Our kids have been witness to our worry, our arguing, and we are all witness to each other’s deepest faults. Unavoidable in 300 square feet, with no escape, but this, this is exactly what we signed up for, the no escape part, because this is precisely where change happens.

I’ve come to realize daily life at home masks our faults and allows them to fester. An argument? It gets swept aside and left unresolved because there are lessons to get to on time. A slight? It gets buried in homework, dinner, and bedtime. Words we didn’t mean to say? They get forgotten when neighbors call, wine is poured, and laughter and friendship loosen the memory. Yet it doesn’t. Because it is still there. And over time these minor offenses build around us, lying just under the surface of busy, and fun, and neighbors, and for some of us, well, we just crumble, personally, in our marriages, and what brought us to this place has never really been sudden at all, it has been building all along.

These minor offenses that get swept under the rug of busy are stemming from deep faults that we can address, we can mend from within to the benefit not just of those we love, but to ourselves as well. Most the time, it is hard to even recognize a fault. If we do, it is even harder to own it. And then to do something with it? Well, that takes time we don’t have, energy we don’t have, and a large dose of humility for which most of us do not have the stomach.

But 300 square feet forced a mirror under our noses. We could not argue and “just forget it.” Because there were no lessons or practices. Because no one in fact had anywhere to go, EVER. We could not dish or receive a slight only to bury it in the busyness of daily responsibilities because there was nothing to do that day but to just BE with one another. We could not utter words we did not mean and forget them with a neighborhood gathering because we had NO NEIGHBORS! We could not lose our temper, shove the kids out of the car line, and head to work because school and work and home had now morphed into the same thing, and no one could leave!

You see the problem. Every offense had to be met head on because there was nowhere else for it to go. When this happens the first realization is the depth of your fault and that is, well, hard to swallow. I like to fancy myself a good mother and most often a blameless wife in marital conflict. But I am pretty sure my dear husband has always seen himself in the same light. We caught our reflection within months of shoving off on this journey and it was blinding and often ugly.

As we tackled each offense, pride began to crumble, apologies began to come easier, and for the first time we were able to take an honest look at ourselves and admit our faults. And then, then we had to do the hardest thing ever, surrender. Surrender to the only one who could make any sense of self.

A large part of our trip has been about surrendering. Surrendering to God. An admittance that we cannot do this thing called life alone. That with every day and every decision we need help. Easy to say, extremely difficult to actually do. Most of us, even those on the fringes of our faith pray when the going gets tough, or when a loved one needs our prayers. But turning to God daily? That takes something all together different. Something that requires surrender and an admittance that we have faults, that life is hard, that being a parent, a spouse, and a provider is overwhelming.  And I don’t know about you, but I like being in control. I have got this thing called life. Until I don’t, and my faults rear their head.  And so with each day this family has learned to sit down and start with prayer both personal and as a family. Giving the day to God, our words to God, our thoughts to God, our treatment of one another to God. Surrendering and asking for guidance each day, well it has made all the difference.

I get the wisdom of love languages, counseling, self-help books, but here’s a short cut and we all love Cliff Notes… shove your family in a 300 square foot tiny house, abandon all family and friends who can rescue you and tell you its not you, it’s them, and stare at one another with no escape for 365 days. Done. You now know exactly what makes each member of your family tick. You know all of their idiosyncrasies. How they each need to recharge; how they need to be loved. You even know exactly who it is that keeps putting their boogers under the table, and which of you is truly the messiest member of the family. You certainly know each person’s weakness whether it is temper, or patience, but here’s the good thing. Now they know it too. And now you can all start moving forward.

What does that look like? Well, truly knowing what makes someone tick has its advantages. Now you can move in ways that compliment them. You can give where they can’t, offer the help they never ask for, but so desperately need, love them in the way that they need to be loved… It becomes a well-choreographed dance rather than an amateur symphony. When we can admit we’ve been trying only to perfect our own part in the dance, alone, we can suddenly see that all while the very One who created us, and our spouse, and these tiny adults that we somehow have the privilege of knowing, are dancing with us.

I’ve never thought it was necessarily healthy to involve your children in your parental, marital, financial mess, but here it is. We wake together, eat together, grocery shop together, and vote on costly outings together. You listen to your dad hold a call to a potential job prospect while your mom weaves in and out of traffic trying to keep the noise of semis out of ear shot due to your soft top Jeep and suddenly you’re all in it together. Dad gets off the phone and everyone compliments him on his answers and tell him they would definitely give him the job. Dad goes to his “office” in the back 100 square feet of the RV and a child whispers, “ Let’s pray for Dad.” And we pray him through his call. The dance.

And when your dad opens the black tank to empty a weeks worth of feces and the hose busts and all other members can only watch in horror as it explodes on their fearless leader… well, we all compliment dad on his ability to laugh. Because seriously, not funny. More shit storms are inevitably on the horizon, but this family is so much more prepared to face them. 

There are moments I get terrified to go home in just two short weeks. I think, “But we’re not ready yet. This work in us has not yet been complete. We need more TIME!” I worry we’ll get swept back into reality and forget everything we’ve learned. We’ll forget just how this dance is supposed to go… but then I realize just who has brought us thus far, and I rest in the knowledge that He will not allow this work in us to remain unfinished.

I pray it is only just the beginning.

…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. - Philippians 1:6