There isn't going to be a last installment...

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here

For Part Five Click Here

For Part Six Click Here

For Part Seven, Dear Anonymous, Click Here

For Part Eight Click Here

For Part Nine Click Here

***********************************************

Because.

Well.

There isn't one yet.

I've been thinking a lot about this.

I suppose that the last installment will be written by someone else a few days after I've left my cumbersome body and, hopefully, am sitting down with Jesus over coffee and pestering him with kisses and questions. Hopefully everyone will have had a big ol' party celebrating what a fandamntastic life I had. I hope that it is said of me that I loved and that I loved well and that I did not run away from life but right smack into it, that I wrestled with it and danced with it and high-fived it, and that maybe I wasn't graceful about it but, "GOOD LAWD did she ever live every last drop out of her life."

I will not live life afraid.

But, also hopefully, none of you will have to think about any of this for, oh I dunno, let's say...sixty-three more years. I'm having a birthday on September 14th where I shall turn thirty-two whole years of age and to live sixty-three more years would put me right at ninety-five and, right now, I think that is a very respectable age to have managed to have accomplished.

Now, when I have reached ninety-five and I'm still a blast and hanging out and living large I'll reconsider.

Are you still with me, gentle reader?

I don't know why I just called you a "gentle reader". No, wait, yes I do. It's 'cause I was watching a Ken burns documentary on Mark Twain and Mark Twain used the term, "gentle reader" and I LOVED IT.

And should it be Gentlereader? Like Gentlemen and Gentlewomen?

I digress.

Let me at least fill you in on what happened after the debacle of the Paul and Puck show.

**********************************************

To back up a bit, the very same day Puck called Zack was the very same day I posted this post.

So, what did I do after the Paul and Puck show?

I went back to packing that's what I did. That's what we both did.

It was time to move our two separate households into one.

Finally.

Phoenix and I were so excited to get out of the upstairs of Zack's studio which is where we had been living for eight whole months. Sharing a 13 x 10 foot room. But that's another part of the story altogether.

But, and this is obvious, the moment I treasured most was the moment all married couples treasure.

The first night when one climbs into bed, next to your beloved, and you get to stay there. You don't have to go home.

It feels impossible to try and put into words the joy we felt. Such a simple thing to go to sleep next to the person you love. But you all know a bit of what we went through to get there, and what I've told you isn't even all of it, and so to simply write,

"We went to sleep.", feels surreal.

But that is just what we did.

**************************************

Those last few days of July and the beginning of August were a whirlwind.

Zack and I never got the chance to honeymoon and so, because I had a tour on the west coast in August, and he had a couple of OneLight Workshops to teach out west too, we flew out to Seattle together and had 2 weeks of us time, between shows and workshops, before he flew home and I flew to San Diego to finish out the last 2 weeks of my tour.

It sucked when he left for home.

I missed my family. I missed Zack, I missed Phoenix, I missed Caleb and Joshua.

I was conflicted. I love music. I love to play. I love that 45-60 minutes when I can get lost in the music. But the music business? That I am not fond of. But, it seemed that that was the price I had to pay in order to do what I loved to do.

But, driving up from San Diego en route to Los Angeles for the next show, with my guitarist extraordinaire Michael, asleep next to me in the passenger seat, I prayed.

(This is Michael Westbrook.  His guitar-er-ing is incredible. This was taken backstage at Cafe du Nord in San Francisco...)













"God. I feel pulled in two directions. You know how much I struggle with the balance of music in my life and everything else. I need you to give me some direction. I need a sign or something."

A few days later Zack's step-dad, Craig, passed away while I was back in Seattle to play another show and I seriously considered canceling the next night's show in Portland and flying to Charlotte, North Carolina to be there for his funeral. Zack talked me out of it, said that I needed to finish the tour, and so I did, with a heavy heart.

I flew home from Portland, and immediately picked up Phoenix from school, got us both packed and we hit the road the next day for another show I had in Sandestin, Florida.

You know what was ROTTEN about that? I got to see Zack for 12 whole hours.

I digress again.

Phoenix and I just soaked each other up. I missed him like macaroni misses cheese.

The drive down to Florida was fine except that I just felt...weird.

I couldn't put my finger on it. I tried, too, poking my stomach, poking my legs and my back trying to figure out just why I felt so...funny.

The night after my show in Florida, Phoenix begged for breakfast from the hotel room service and, when the food arrived, I lifted the lids and there lay a gorgeous Belgian waffle for Phoenix and Eggs Benedict for me.

I must've made a face because Phoenix said,

"What's wrong, Mommy?"

"It's just that my reaction to this food would normally be one of YUM! Instead, it's one of meh. No thanks."

In fact, I felt queasy. And I noticed my sense of smell was off the hook. Off the chain.  Off the map.

All you ladies out there know what's up, yes?

I still didn't.

The fact that I could very well be pregnant with none other than a HUMAN BEAN* had not registered in my brain at all.

I have something called PCOS, have had three miscarriages and was told that having Phoenix was a miracle because...(All you dudes! Look over there!) my inner lady parts don't play well together.

"Prepare yourself.", my last OB/GYN said. "You will never be able to have any more children."

When Zack and I had talked about the prospect of having more kids I dismissed it.

"It's not even an issue. I can't have anymore anyway. While I would love to see what a Zack and Meghan baby would look like, sadly, it's not going to happen."

Phoenix and I headed home from Florida and it was somewhere between Eufala, Alabama and Columbus, Georgia that my brain sat bolt upright.

"HANG ON A SEC."

"What? What is it?",

"You feel pukey. You feel tired. You have the smelling capabilities of a Marvel comic Superhero. You feel funny in general. You see where I'm going with this?"

"Uh. You don't mean - a baby?"

"YES. That's is what I'm telling you, you. A baby."

But, because I am SO smart, I dismissed it.

"Silly brain. I have screwed up inner lady parts."

So, since my brain wasn't getting through to me, life decided to.

At a chinese restaurant, as per usual.

Phoenix and I had arrived home and he wanted chinese food and since Zack was still shooting at the weekend wedding we went.

I didn't eat much. But I did crack open my fortune cookie.

It read,

"The answer to the question you were asking will come about in the most unlikeliest of places."

I practically spit out my drink.

"C'mon Phoenix, we gotta go."

"Where are we going?  Are we going home?"

"Not just yet.  Mommy has to stop by the drugstore for something first."

I bought four pregnancy tests.

I put Phoenix to bed, and instead of waiting until the next morning, like the test suggested that I should, I whipped that test out right then and there at 9pm and didn't even have to wait the 2 minutes the test said it would take to display the results because WHAMMO it was positive.

I looked in the mirror and I was shaking.

"Holy Shit."

And I started laughing.  And I started crying.

"Mommy?  Are you okay?", Phoenix was calling to me from his bedroom.

I went to his room and was immediately struck by how huge he was.

"I'm fine, little man. Wait. Wow.  You are such a BIG GUY now, huh? I remember when you were a little baby!  You were a baby!  A baby!  You were a baby and I used to carry you around without effort and you were little and tiny and a...baby!"

I was babbling.

"Um. Okay, mommy.  G'night now, okay?"

I had a martini ready for Zack when he got home that night.

Told him to close his eyes.

Placed the positively positive test in his hands.

He was speechless.

We were 258 days away from meeting this guy.

The fortune cookie was right.  I really think that Hawke was the answer to the prayer I prayed in the car driving north in California.  This doesn't mean that I don't struggle still with how music is to fit into my life, if you've read any of my previous blog posts before you ought to know that by now, but it was the best thing for me and my family. It was hard going to my manager and saying, "You know that album that I just released that I was supposed to tour my butt off in support of? Yeah well...something's come up...".

But he's the best something that has come up ever. I cannot imagine my life without Hawke in it.

******************************************

This has not been the best bit of writing thus far, and for that I apologize.  I've been working on this post for a few hours now, in between feeding, and playing with, and picking up after the aforementioned human bean that Zack and I made. Zack gets home from Las Vegas tonight and I am aching to see him.

We've been married a little over two years now.  And it was two years ago this weekend that I found out I was pregnant with Hawke.  But, oh how full our life has been!  Feels like so much longer than that, in a good way.

My story is a crazy one and I thank you for sticking it out this long.  It's been a beautiful thing to write this all down.

Thanks for reading.



*I wrote human bean on purpose. Read it in a book once and loved it.  Just in case you thought I was struggling with the word, "being".

A Bit Of A Pause While I Figure Out Where To Go Next...

I cannot tell you how much it's meant to me that you guys have stuck it out this long with me in the telling of our story.

Based on all the comments and emails and messages and phone calls I've received I've decided to delve a little deeper and perhaps write this out a little more thoroughly.

Perhaps I shall compile all of these combinations of letters that I have strung together into words, words that will reach their little font-y fingers out and join hands into sentences, into a party of paragraphs, that will march across pages that are carefully bound inside my favourite kind of binding, between the covers of a book.

Stay tuned. Well, stay tuned if you WANT to. I have a bit more of story to share. I would love to hear...read? - your stories. Some of you have already sent them and I have laughed and cried and prayed and wondered aloud. I once heard someone say, "The story is rarely simple." I, for one, am grateful I have a story to share at all.

I'll leave you with this bit from Winnie-the-Pooh, whom I love.


"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called. :: A.A. Milne

The Paul and Puck Show* (Or, the Holy Spirit told you to do what?)

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here

For Part Five Click Here

For Part Six Click Here

For Part Seven, Dear Anonymous, Click Here

For Part Eight Click Here

**************************************************

The conversation, from my end, went more like this:

"Hello?"

"Who?"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Oh, the Holy Spirit, hmmm?"

"Do you know me? Have we walked together? Do you know my story?"

"How did you even get my number?"

I was squirming in the passenger seat at this point, in utter suspense over what was going on.

Zack talked for a little bit longer, said goodbye tersely and hung up.

"So. That was someone named Puck who said that he's a missionary of some kind and that we used to go to the same church but that he no longer attends there because they are a church full of heretics. He said that he knows you, and knows about us, and that the Holy Spirit told him to call me and ask me if I thought if my relationship with you is valid. When I asked him if he knew me, knew my story, his response was that he had heard about us from a very reliable source. I told HIM that if he wanted to sit down with me and talk with me face to face then fine. But not to go calling me on the phone, throwing out statements about a situation that he knows nothing about. I told him to email me if it meant that much to him and we could talk it out like men."

I was flabbergasted. I was glabberfasted. I was...angry.

"If your relationship with me is VALID? What does that even mean? And the Holy Spirit told him to call you? It's a good thing he's wrong because that would mean that the Holy Spirit is a whole f***ing DAY LATE!"

"I didn't bother telling him that we were married. I think it's kind of funny! I'm hoping that he emails me. I hope I get to talk to this guy face to face. We'll see."

"Why? Why would you want to waste your time on something so...stupid? It's not even important. I don't want you wasting your energy on this. It doesn't deserve the effort."

A few days later, however, as we were starting to pack for the move into our new little house Zack received an email. Not from Puck, though, but from a guy named Paul.

Paul had at one time been Zack's small group leader at a church that Zack went to before starting to attend Trinity. I knew Paul and his wife, too. Paul wrote Zack to say that Puck attended a group that he led in his house and that it was at that group that Puck learned of our relationship. They had been discussing our relationship so that they could pray for us, he said.

Right. Uh huh.

Paul went on to say that Puck told him of his conversation with Zack and that now they BOTH wanted to meet with us. Would we be willing to do that?

"Heck, yes.", Zack said, dashing off a reply. "We'll meet with them at the studio."

We met them one morning, a couple of days later, at the studio. I instantly recognized Puck. I remembered him as a shy, soft spoken man with a beard and a kind of turban headdress (it sounds strange but it was actually kind of cool looking...) from Trinity. Paul was the same as ever, and we all smiled grimly at each other while shaking hands.

To be fair I don't remember all the details of our conversation. Zack would be able to add in more detail. I was in a kind of shock, I think. I remember being referred to as "the adulterous woman" a few times.

That was fun.

There we were, recently married, being told by two dudes, one we didn't really know and one we hadn't spoken with in years, that we weren't walking in righteousness - that we were to no longer see each other despite how we felt. They had been praying and felt that God had called them to talk to us about our sinful ways and that we needed to repent.

"It's hard but we feel this is the right thing to do."

I didn't really ever speak. Zack spoke for both of us. He still hadn't let on that we were married yet. He was kind of enjoying that, I think.

They were quoting Matthew 19 to us, again referring to me as a "fallen woman".

"Zack you have a legitimate reason for being allowed to divorce G_____. You couldn't control what happened there. You're the innocent party. But Meghan here, she does not have grounds for divorce."

Zack interjected, "You know what's interesting? Just a chapter before that Jesus tells everyone that if their hand or foot causes them to sin to cut it off and if their eye causes them to sin that they should pluck it out. Does that mean, Paul, that if I found out you were looking at porn that I should take you up to Home Depot to buy a chainsaw to help you cut your hand off and help you pop your eyeballs out?"

"Well, that's just hyperbole...", Puck muttered.

"The next thing you guys are going to tell me is that your wives wear head coverings and aren't allowed to talk in church!"

It got very quiet. And then Paul cleared his throat.

"Actually, our wives DO wear head coverings and they aren't allowed to talk in church."

Zack and I looked at each other. Whoa. Huh. Okay.

"Ah. Well then never mind, then." Zack was almost laughing. "It's obvious that you guys have a more radical approach than we do. I don't know how all of this works. Meghan and I didn't make the decision to get divorced lightly. It wasn't something we chose because we were bored. What I want to know is, according to you, what should we do now? You see, we're married now. We were married the DAY BEFORE Puck called to say that the Holy Spirit had told him to."

We watched as what Zack said registered in their brains.

"Wait, you're married now?"

Zack held up his left ring finger and wiggled it.

"Yup. Now what? Are we supposed to divorce each other and try to remarry our ex-spouses?"

Zack was just teasing them now.

Paul was flustered. You could almost see his brain exploding. Puck said nothing.

"Well, I mean, you obviously can't get divorced again. You are now bound to each other. I am not sure what to say at this point. We came here today to tell you that you should no longer be together. That your relationship is sinful. We didn't know that you were married. I don't know what else to say."

There was some chit chat after that. Paul told Zack that he wanted to continue the conversation that had been started about how Paul felt that the church had gone way off course from where it was supposed to be. Zack told him he would welcome any discussion about it.

We never heard from them again.

And we didn't mind a bit.

*I wanted to title it "The Pee Pee Show". Then I realized that I have been too deeply immersed in testosterone with all of these boys running around. And, obviously, Paul and Puck are not their real names. The smallest one is waking up from his nap thus the reason I'm going to be continuing this mess for later...

{to be continued...}

Hamburger Cayenne Cake

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here

For Part Five Click Here

For Part Six Click Here

For Part Seven, Dear Anonymous, Click Here

*************************************

If one likes hamburgers and also likes cayenne pepper and also likes chocolate this does not mean that you should put those ingredients together into say - a cake.

I can speak from experience that one should never eat chocolate cake and cucumber at the same time. They are flavours that I love separately but together they are wretched.

Sometimes it seems that couples come together and make cakes (marriages) with no guidance, without any knowledge of what it means to make a "cake".

"I like you! And you like me! You have ingredients that I like! Let's put them together!"

They've seen cakes. They've watched them being made. It looks easy.

And they end up with Hamburger Cayenne Cake. And then are told that that is what they get to eat for the rest of their lives.


(If you are assuming that I am the cayenne pepper you would be right.)

**********************

K____ and I made a very odd looking cake. And a wretched tasting one to boot. We did, however, manage to make a darling cupcake in the form of Phoenix who came out all butterscotch and toffee, warm and lovely, with a scattering of nuts.


I was terrible to K____. My realization of the mistake of my marriage had been softened by the birth of Phoenix but it reared its ugly head once his babyhood changed to toddlerhood. I won't go into all the things that K___ did and didn't do because, in the end, it was I that ultimately couldn't keep eating...well...the cake.

If there are any fingers to be pointed in all of it, I point them at myself. I was cruel and heartless and disrespectful and manipulative and careless with K___. I castrated him with my words and I did not love him the way that I should have.

But I couldn't see that then. I was like a caged animal, a lioness, and I was dangerous. To myself. To others. I said and did things that make me cringe now at the thought of it.

I became depressed and angry and shut down. I knew all of the verses, I knew all of the "but you need to's..."

And, like you all know, I pulled the plug.  In K___'s story I am the bad guy.  In a lot of peoples story I am the bad guy.

Why am I sharing this part of the story? Because I want you to know that despite the romantic love story that Zack and I had, and, thank God, still have, that I wasn't blameless. I know you know that. It's just...there are stories behind stories under other stories. And sometimes I wonder why everyone tries so damn hard to make it simpler than it can ever be. We all want to say,

"This part goes here. And that part goes there."

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't. It's when they don't that we all need each other the most. Unfortunately that's when most of us give up. We spray that, "I'll Be Praying For You" air freshener towards the ginormous pile of shit in front of us and hightail it out of there.

I've done that more times than I care to admit.

Does this make any sense? I'm just typing out loud here.

Just...think about what was in their cake. Okay?

(off of my soapbox now...back to the story...)

************************************************

The night that Zack took me out on that date is etched into my memory. What he wore, the way he smelled, the wine we drank.

When he said,

"Begin transmission.", the hairs on my neck stood up, (the way they so often do around him) and I felt the hugest sense of peace and joy.

Peace.

Joy.

These are fruits I highly recommend.

The months after that are a blur. We were together. It's sappily indescribable how wonderful it was to just BE with the man I loved. Jeepers. Nauseating, isn't it?

Zack's brother, Chris, and sister-in-law Andrea, recommended a counselor for us to see,

"Because, after all," Andrea said, "If you can drop off some baggage the size of a refrigerator before jumping back into marriage again that's something you ought to look into."

So we did for a while, driving 40 minutes to see a guy that Zack and I both liked and respected. He pointed out stuff. We cringed. We dropped off suitcases and trunks and whole rooms.

During this time I was recording the album "Songs To Sail By". All of the songs that I had written during that tumultuous saga of ours were being put down for posterity, recording them in closets and sometimes in the grand sanctuary of a Presbyterian church at 3 am. We planned the album release in June of 2008 and were talking of an October 2008 wedding.

And then I happened upon a little 4 bedroom, 2 bath house for rent in Decatur that was affordable and in the right school district and immediately called Zack. We loved it.

"Should I move in with the boys and then in October you and Phoenix move in? Or should you and Phoenix move in and then I'll move in with the boys?", Zack was standing in the backyard under a natural archway of trees and ivy.

"I don't know, I just know that we have to get this house. We just have to. It's too perfect."

I stepped into the archway with him. There were lightening bugs in the trees above our heads and mosquitos blanketing me. Zack reached for my hand.

"What if we don't get married in October? What if we get married now?"

I turned towards him, "What do you mean now?"

"Like, as soon as I get back from Denver now."

"At a courthouse?"

"Exactly."

I kissed him.

"Let's do it!"

On July 21st, 2008 Zack and I, along with my sister, Erin, and our good friend Hassel Weems, met at the City of Decatur Courthouse and waited out in the hallway for the Magistrate Court to open. Hassel took pictures and Erin laid hands on us and prayed and then our names were called. We stood in front of a judge with a voice like Barry White and very simply (but oh so not simply everything that had taken place to lead up to this not simply), me with my ingredients and Zack with his, we got married.

We made, in my humble opinion, something close to a Mexican Chocolate Cake.

We celebrated at the Brickstore Pub with some lunch and a couple Newcastle Brown Ales, bid farewell to Hassel and Erin and, in the most romantic way, went to the City of Decatur Watershed Management to apply to have our water turned on.

The next day, our first full day of being married, we went to the Apple store to buy ourselves wedding presents of an iPhone each.

"Happy We Are Married Finally Present!", I crowed as we each received our white box full of iPhone goodness. We hadn't yet figured out the whole SIM card thing, none of the numbers from our old phones had been transferred over yet and so, while waiting at a QuikTrip gas station for our gas tank to fill up, Zack's phone started ringing.

"Oooooh! My very first phone call on my new phone!"

"Who is it?"

"I dunno. I don't know anyone's number anymore!"

We kind of laughed as he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Zack Arias?"

"Yes."

"My name is P__.  I am calling to ask if you feel that your relationship with Meghan Coffee is valid?"

{to be continued...}

Dear Anonymous... (a short intermission to address some questions...)

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here

For Part Five Click Here

For Part Six Click Here



The following comment was left on my last blog post and I thought it was interesting so I thought that it should be addressed before moving on. Now, I don't want this to become some sort of weird back and forth between myself and anonymous commenters. That's not what this is for.

Here is the comment:


"Seems interesting that the grace you have found for yourself (as you should) you cannot seem to have for G______. Does it occur to you that perhaps she too married too young, before she knew herself, realized she too had made a mistake? Yes, maybe it came out sideways as anger, but was really frustration and feeling trapped? Perhaps she doesn't deserved to be publicly put on display, without her permission with so many people that know and can recognize her? Her children, your children can read this account - is it possible it is skewed without you even knowing it? Your anger at her hurting the man you love is (sic) understandable, of course. But can you not see that she just made some of the exact same mistakes as you? This is your blog, your story to tell, but be careful in the assumptions you make of others. Words put out there cause hurt and pain that is not so easy to undo. And you all have a lifetime of still dealing with each other. Not just with G____ or K_____ but with the children involved."

While sharing this with Zack, and as we were talking about this, I asked him to go ahead and write out some of his thoughts on this.

So, here he is.

**************************

Hi all. What Meg has started here is a telling of "her" story. No matter how you try to tell your own story you have to realize that there will always be other people connected to your story. Some people step into your life with a positive role to play. Others step in with a negative role. Other's still play a role where they bridge the gap of being both a positive and a negative force in your life at different stages of your relationship with them. "Other people" will always be a factor in your life. You, yourself, are an integral part of other peoples' stories right now. If they were to go tell their story I'm sure you would play a role in that telling.

Meg has not named anyone in this story. IF you personally know the people she is referring to then you already know most of this story. None of this should really be new to you. In fact, Meghan has only told small parts of a larger story for the others involved. It is not her intention to sit down and write an exposé on the lives of others. She's giving just a bit of a look at the people and events connected to our lives for the sake of giving you, the reader, context of why this or that happened. If it was her goal to "out" others then she could write some juicy stories. If the other folks wanted to "out" us they could tell some juicy stories as well. It's how Hollywood stays alive.

If you are over the age of 20 and have ever gone through a break up or been close to one then you know there are two sides to each story. You know that each side is always a bit skewed in favor of the one telling it. We've all met the bitter people in the world who, when telling their own story, their pitfalls always fall on the shoulders of others. It's the "victim" mentality so prevalent in our culture today. Meg is doing a pretty good job of airing her own dirty laundry here. Is it all of her dirty laundry? No. Some of her crap doesn't fit into this story and some of my crap doesn't fit in this story but know this... she owns up to her crap. I should know because I'm the one who usually has to point it out. :) (Just so you know I'm perfect. Not sure if Meg told you that yet or not.)* What I love about Meg is if you ask, she'll tell you. We have both lived part of our lives with a veneer over who we were and that never worked out very well. We'd just rather lay ourselves out there. Warts and all.

As for our kids reading this? Most likely they are not reading this. They aren't on Facebook or Twitter and they don't google our names. Of what has been written though is nothing that we ourselves would not tell our kids. I have often told them about mistakes I made that are age appropriate for them. As they get older, the more I tell them. There are certain things we will not tell our children and that's pretty much the grievances we have toward their other parent.

I've really screwed some things up in my life. I've been a horrible steward of gifts given to me. I've flushed great opportunities right down the drain and being a parent, I feel, gives me an obligation to tell my children these stories so they don't do the same stupid things I did. As they get older the more they will know more about us and the more they will understand the challenges they face. It is our hope and prayer that they learn from this and know what to expect in life. We will never sit our children down and say "Let me tell you what your mother or father did...", at least not to the full extent of their actions.  They, like you, may know some key events or issues because they were there when things went down so some of it isn't news to them.  What we will say is, "Let us tell you what WE did."

As to the commenter's line, "This is your blog, your story to tell, but be careful in the assumptions you make of others. Words put out there cause hurt and pain that is not so easy to undo."

Assumption - A thing that is accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof.

A single assumption has not been made in Meg's story so far. We've both been on the receiving end of those words that cause hurt and pain. Meg has not been saying hurtful things compared to all the things that could be said in this story.

Also note that the telling of this story is not finished. You are watching it in progress. You may feel it is going in a certain direction only to find out later that it makes a turn you are not expecting. This isn't any type of bait and switch scheme but Meg began this process as a way to get to some deep questions, concerns, and uncertainties that are simmering in her heart right now. I honestly do not know what sparked her to do this but I'm glad she's doing it. It has stirred issues inside of me that are unanswered. It's making me take note of my life at this point to see where I am as a husband. I wasn't the best husband in the world in my first marriage. Takes two to tango and all that but ultimately I feel the responsibility of that marriage falls on my shoulders. I know the heartache and pain associated with divorce and God above knows I don't want to ever go through that again. Our kids know it too and I don't want them to go through with it in their lives.

As for giving grace? Trust us... we have extended grace in multiple ways. You know why? Because grace was extended to us. In Matthew, chapter 18 there is the story of the unforgiving servant.

Our ex's can tell you of heartache brought on by the actions and inactions of Meg and myself. We have not lived without sin nor without regret. Please understand this. Understand also though that our hearts were broken. We still deal with it. It still surfaces. It's still painful. It's still a story that we ourselves are walking out. Grace has not been cheap and therefore we respect grace and extend it. There are some who have not extended any back to us. There are some people who will still not make eye contact with us. There are some who say a lot of things about us. Their are words that are said that still cut to the bone. There's grace for the world but not for Meg and Zack.
To those we say... you didn't walk in our shoes. When it got ugly and messy and uncomfortable to walk along side of us, you walked away. When it was darkest for us... you took your light elsewhere.

If you think that Meg and I walked through a little crap and now live a postcard life from paradise then we want you to know that isn't the case. Events in our lives, actions we took or ignored, etc... still effect us today.

We walk... but we walk with a limp. We live... but we live outside the city gates.

This story is about Meg but more it is a story about us. How we got here. What we do with our lives now. What questions are still unanswered in our own hearts. It's a beautiful mess.

More to come.

Cheers,
Zack



**************************

So.

There's that.

Thank you, my love, for sharing your thoughts.

;-)

My hope is to show, through these little writings of mine, something deeper.  I'm getting there, slowly.  I'm walking this out and inviting all of you along with me.  I want to always live my life in a way that is transparent and wide open.  Nothing good comes from hiding or pretending or wishing away or denial.

And if all you're getting from this, Anonymous, is that I'm trying to make G____ or K___ look bad then you're missing the point entirely and that, m' dear, can't be helped.  This is about putting ourselves out there in the hopes that someone, somewhere will read this and be encouraged that they're aren't alone or be slapped upside the head for being stupid (like me)  or be inspired or motivated to do, or sometimes NOT do, the thing that they feel they are supposed to.

Zack and I believe in a book that is filled with stories of complete and utter misfits like ourselves.  Stories, that, if in the headlines today would be juicy and shocking and most of the characters would definitely be frowned upon at church! (And facing some pretty serious criminal charges...) Someone wrote those stories down 'cause they felt that God was leading them to.  I, for one am grateful.  Here are all of the stories of people who royally and spectacularly effed up, and then here is Jesus, who didn't screw up at all, and he showed up to tell you that you are loved in spite of what a misfit you are.  In spite of your foibles and stupidity, YOU ARE STILL LOVED.

Thank God.

{to be continued...}


*Ha ha.  Very funny, Zack.  Let's just say we're both perfect at being imperfect, no? __m

A Bit of Going Back Before I Go Forward (or Nice Is Different Than Good...)

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here

For Part Five Click Here




When one makes a mistake one is allowed to fix it.

Usually.

There is a reason there are erasers on pencils.

That there is a delete key on keyboards.

Command Z (undo) on Macs'.

White out for paper.


But if one makes a mistake in getting married? If one hadn't a CLUE what one was getting into?

Tough.

You made your bed now lie in it.



*********************************

I was almost 18 years old when I met K___.

Almost 18 years old is very very not old.



I was one of the more messed up and confused almost 18 year olds you would've ever met.

Looking back on myself then, from where and who I am now, is surreal. Other than my general rotundity and clumsiness I'm a very, very different person.


Myself at almost 18 was a hurting, scared, tired, self-medicating, work-a-holic. One of my defense mechanisms was lying. It gave me a sense of control. I couldn't control the situations around me but I could control, I thought, what people could do to me. It was a sad, scary time in my life. My mother's death when I was 13 shook my world so much that I never got a handle on life for a long time after it.

Looking back now my siblings and I needed some serious counseling and deep, deep love. Instead we were sort of left to our own devices. Our father was severely depressed, losing his wife and best friend at the age of 35 (my mom was 36 when she died), with four children from ages 13 to 4 years old to care for, one with Downs Syndrome, left him utterly incapable of giving us the love and assurance we so desperately needed. This is not a slight towards my father. He did the best he could. Now, as an adult, I can look back on that time with so much more grace and understanding but, at the time, I was not so forgiving. There were times he was so hurting and depressed he couldn't keep a job and so it was the money I made working at various restaurants (First job was at McDonald's inside a Wal-Mart. Basically the Hell of HELL) and my sister, Erin's, money made from babysitting jobs, that kept us afloat. The church that my family had been a part of for years growing up did a great job helping us out for the first few months after my mom's death but then, after a while, life took hold, and people began to forget and move on. Again, as an adult I get that. But oh LORD did we ever feel abandoned. There was no one to help us kids and, dare I say my father, walk through the grief and shock of losing the most wonderful woman ever so so quickly.

Wow. Even typing this out is hard. The swirl of emotions and hurt that begin to surface...

It was a dark, dark time.

There is so much more to this part of my life that I could write about (Maybe one day I'll have the courage to write it all out fully) but the reason I've shared this much is to help you get somewhat of an understanding of why I grew into such a confused and depressed teenager.

And why K___ was so attractive.

K___ grew up in a suburb of Atlanta with two very nice parents who had very nice jobs and lived in a very nice house with 3 or 4 nice cars and he and his siblings each had their own very nice rooms and went to very nice schools and generally everything was very, very nice. He was, in a way, the black sheep of the family in that he was a musician, a bass player, and had grown his hair long and wore odd clothes and was deeply immersed in the Christian music scene when I met him. He was going to college, but failing, and didn't really have a job and was living with his parents. This would prove to be a pattern later but there was no way I could know it then.

He was 23 when I met him in a band he was in that was looking for a lead singer. I showed up for the audition, they liked me and asked me to join. Then I found out they were a Christian band. Not only were they a Christian band they were a Christian RAP band. Not only were they a Christian rap band they were a Christian rap band I had seen once and made FUN of.

Wha?

I liked Christians. I considered myself to be one. I did not, however, like the music they made. I joined anyway, flattered that they liked my voice and song writing style and drawn to the sense of community that I so desperately longed for.

It would be a short lived band, 5 months later we would go our separate ways except that K___ and I had developed a budding romance. A budding romance that turned into love. He was my first kiss and made me feel good about myself. Me, the bungling, depressed, goofy girl that I was. K___ was a very handsome man and very, very nice. He walked with me through a mental breakdown and put up with the slow dismantling of the lies I had built around me. When he proposed to me a little before my 20th birthday I said yes. Because that's what one is supposed to do when someone so kind and nice proposes.


You love me enough to want to marry me? REALLY? No one has loved me in a long time. Very well, I'll take that, thank you.

Eight months later, two weeks before our wedding, as we were sitting in the car in a TGIFriday's parking lot, I told him that I couldn't marry him.

It was while inside the restaurant, an hour earlier, that the realization hit me. I remember I had been doing a little puppet show for him with the salt and pepper shakers.

"Hey there Salty, I think you make food taste better sometimes. But not on cookies. On cookies you're gross!"

"Oh yeah? Well you're gross on cookies, TOO."

I looked up at him and thought,


This man is not my friend.

He's nice. He's kind. But we're not FRIENDS.

I don't find him remotely interesting at all.

I feel like I'm just entertainment for him.

But he's been through so much with me.

He loves me.


This all went through my head in a split second and I tried to dismiss it. Pushed my meal around my plate, made jokes about the decor, excused myself to the restroom where I stared in the mirror panicked at my realization, came back and sat down, sang the praises of the ice cream in the dessert...

Just don't think about it, Meghan. Just don't think about it and it will go away. Just be very still.

As though I was trying not to throw up.

In the car, though, out it came.

"I can't marry you!"

He was shocked. He was hurt. He cried. He pleaded with me. Said that I just had cold feet. Said that he loved me. Reminded me of all the people who were coming, all of the preparations that had been made, the dress that I had had made to resemble my mother's wedding gown, the cake we picked out, again all the PEOPLE. All the people who were coming.

I felt terrible then.

I acquiesced.

That was when I made my mistake. That was when I let my fear of what other people would think of me dictate my decision. I tell you now that every decision I look back on with regret have been the ones I have made when I was worried about what people would think.

I told myself I was being ungrateful, that women would love to be in my shoes, about to get married to a nice, handsome, kind man. That finally I was going to be taken care of. Someone was going to take care of me. The fact that he loved me would be enough.

And so, in March of 1999, I got married. It was a lovely day. A lovely wedding.

6 months later I would write in my journal,

"I made the biggest mistake of my life and I don't know what to do. There's no one I can tell."

6 months after that, 2 weeks before my one year anniversary, I found out that I was pregnant. I was ecstatic. I wrapped myself up in the coming arrival of a whole new person and dug in my heels.

In October of 2000, a month after my 22nd birthday, Phoenix Dorian was born and my life exploded with joy. I would endure anything for this child. I would die for this child. Any misgivings about his father were pale in comparison to what I would do for Phoenix.

There was no going back now. My bed was well and truly made, and slept in, and the sheets rumpled.

{to be continued...}

Supernovas (the 5th installment of craziness...)

For Part One Click Here

For Part Two Click Here

For Part Three Click Here

For Part Four Click Here





"I was listening for your feet
With my ear, pressed hard upon the ground.
I was waiting for your thunder and quake
And love you finally came.
Alleluia."

I Was Listening, I Was Waiting ~ Songs To Sail By ~ M. Coffee & C. Quinn

***********

I really left on quite a cliffhanger, didn't I?

It wasn't my intention to do so.

Yes it was, it totally was.

What I meant to say was that I didn't mean to make it sound so dramatic because, now that I think about it, the circumstances that brought Zack and I back together weren't THAT bizarre or disturbing. Well, hang on. They were bizarre and disturbing TO ME. And to Zack. And to the rest of my friends and family. But in the grand scheme of oh, life, perhaps not so much.

I was at my Father's house one very very average day around the end of April 2007. He and my step-mom, Carey Lynn, lived about a mile and half away from my place and I would drop by quite a lot to see them.

I think I was sitting at the kitchen table when my phone rang. I remember that it was Carey Lynn who, in mid-sentence, looked down at my phone there on the table, picked it up, looked at the caller ID and said,

"It's Zack.", then again kind of yelling it this time, "It's ZACK!"

"Zack?", the hairs on the back of my neck all decided to stand up at once. And then they all stretched.

Carey Lynn sort of threw the phone in my direction and I sort of caught it and there was this crazy sort of hot potato game moment where I couldntquitegetmyhandsonthephoneohmigoshohmigoshohmigosh...

"Hello?", I attempted to sound as demure and collected and nonchalant as possible.

"Hey. Where are you?", Zack's voice jumped through the phone, ran around to the back of my neck and woke up all the hairs again.

I was so stupid over the fact that I was on the phone with him that it took me a second to realize that he had asked me a question.

"Huh? Oh. I'm at my dad's house, why?"

"I'll be there in five minutes and tell you all about it."

"Well, okay then! See you in five!"

I hung up the phone with Carey Lynn looking at me expectantly,

"He's gonna be here in five minutes! I look like HELL. Carey Lynn I need to borrow some make-up or something!"

"Yes, of course, use whatever you need!", she gestured towards the bathroom and I ran in there and went from death warmed over to not going to scare anyone just in time to walk out onto my parent's back porch to see Zack walking up the driveway.

What is it that causes that glowing feeling when one sees the person one loves? I'm trying to pinpoint where it starts exactly. For me it feels like it's in my chest, my sternum, and, at the risk of sounding completely cheesy and corny...without sounding completely nachos, it's like a supernova* of LOVE.

When I saw Zack Arias I was so happy to see him I about fell over. Which isn't hard for me in the first place much less when my sternum, nay, my very HEART, is love supernova-ing and stuff.

He was carrying a stack of paper about an inch thick that he set down on the bench there on the deck.

"Last night I came back to the house and noticed that G______ was acting a bit squirrelly, a bit strange. Something was off. So, this morning, after she left for school, I started looking through some of her things and I found this in one of her backpacks.", he indicated the paper. "When I saw what they were I knew that I needed to tell you."


(Zack was still living in "the house" as he called it. He didn't even call it "home" just "the house". To give you an idea of the kind of man he is, he agreed to stay in the house until G______ finished a certification training she had started. He didn't have to, he didn't want to but, as he saw it, it was what he felt he should do to help the mother of his children.)

I picked up the papers and started to flip through them.

Then I realized what they were.

They were print outs of emails and messages from Myspace. (remember Myspace?)

She had broken into my personal email accounts and my Myspace account and had been reading them and printing them out.

I was flabbergasted. They ranged in date from December of the year before to just a couple of days prior. At first I thought that perhaps she was trying to get some dirt on Zack and me, that maybe she had been looking for evidence of us still seeing each other but, no. There were very personal emails in there, ones where I shared with good friends how life was going, song lyrics that I had emailed to myself to remember them, etc.

"How in the world did she get into my email?"

"She must've been snooping through my computer and found old saved iChats between you and I and found where you shared your iTunes password with me and started plugging that password into anything she could think of."

Whoa.

He went on, "I thought you should know because this is a criminal offense, no different than opening someone's mail with wrongful intent."

"This is very wrongful. This is weird. You know she told me how she had been spying on me in my house, right?"

I was shaking. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up again but this time not with excitement but in anger and this time they were joined with goosebumps. I could hear them all muttering and tut tutting and cracking their knuckles.

(Geez. No they weren't. Neck hairs and goosebumps don't have knuckles!)

Zack was giving me a knowing look.

"Well, Meg, you were in my front yard when she told you, remember? In the middle of the night?"

I bit my lip, "Yeah, well...I wasn't looking in the freakin' WINDOWS!"

"You need to decide what you're going to do. You could press charges. I'm going to tell her I found this stuff and that you have it now and that you know about it. Immediately change your passwords to EVERYTHING. I'm sorry that this happened."

We hugged each other then and then sat there for a little bit just enjoying the presence of the other. His hand was resting on his lap and I can remember the sight of his fingers slightly splayed across his leg.

Funny the things one remembers, hmmm?

*********

Zack and I sort of never stopped seeing each other after that day. We eased into it slowly, and by the time he had finally moved out of "the house" and into his own little place in July of 2007 I had actually furnished his entire house, at his request while he was traveling. He threw a Fourth of July BBQ Party in his front yard, invited his entire family and introduced me as, "his friend, Meghan." Which I was, and, in case you were wondering, I still am.

In September, for my 29th birthday, he threw me the most amazing birthday party I have ever had. It was so lovely it's worth its own telling, but not now. It's incredible to me to think back on that time. To think about how, just the year before, I had been singing my heart out to Zack on the Eddie's Attic stage not knowing he could hear me in the parking lot, and then to have him so fully present in my life.

It was the beginning of October, shortly after his divorce was final, that he asked me out on a date. An honest to goodness real DATE. He found a lovely wine bar in Oakhurst called Palate and we sat outside on the patio, under a gorgeous old tree hung with candle lanterns. We couldn't deny anymore that we loved each other. We didn't have to deny anymore that we loved each other.

Zack picked up his wine glass, raised it a bit and said,

"Begin Transmission."

{to be continued...}


*A supernova (plural supernovae) is a stellar explosion that is more energetic than a nova. Supernovae are extremely luminous and cause a burst of radiation that often briefly outshines an entire galaxy, before fading from view over several weeks or months. During this short interval a supernova can radiate as much energy as the Sun is expected to emit over its entire life span.[1] The explosion expels much or all of a star's material[2] at a velocity of up to 30,000 km/s (10% of the speed of light), driving a shock wave[3] into the surrounding interstellar medium. This shock wave sweeps up an expanding shell of gas and dust called a supernova remnant. ~Wikipedia