tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12621334062981020922024-02-29T23:40:24.701-06:00and so i rise..."In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing." Vincent Van GoghKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.comBlogger369125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-29294968540050369262023-07-04T22:58:00.001-05:002023-07-04T22:58:16.488-05:00More on Starting Over<p>Relapse is common in recovery. In fact, the relapse rate is 40-60%. </p><p>When I first went to treatment in 2015, I felt so good sober that I could not imagine ever again taking a drink. </p><p>I was finally free of a toxic marriage and unhealthy work environment. I had a brilliant idea for a new business and was creating a new life for myself, one in which what I wanted and dreamed could be real.</p><p>The Teen Challenge outpatient group leader and peers referrenced relapse quite often. Wondering why it was such an over-discussed topic, I halfway ignored it and doodled in my notepad. </p><p>It wasn't until I woke up in jail in early June 2016 that I realized relapse is a real thing, it does happen to most addicts, and it can never be completely unexpected. </p><p>In fact, there are plenty of warning signs. I was in relapse long before I took a drink. </p><p>I just lacked the courage to face those things I spent so much time avoiding until it was too late.</p><p>So then I did the only thing I could do. I started over.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEK9LuptqyLnWd4uXRuKu3JOTvYDT9CXMGMgl5dWwXVaFCmlGaPJJ40f7-USwDaYTX7yqYf7C4yBb6SJ1WZQQ7HIFBLjGCR1W2menw5CzQnbnA2oQAPGm-RkEGY7JaIPgA7ND5SbOADSO8NSEZH-WM4e9tlfMdJRjEsYqGDXkNi8UYHmPEaN39BeP8eod/s8282/The-Learning-House-UWA-Relapse-Warning-Signs-r1-18-0425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="8282" data-original-width="1648" height="1484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEK9LuptqyLnWd4uXRuKu3JOTvYDT9CXMGMgl5dWwXVaFCmlGaPJJ40f7-USwDaYTX7yqYf7C4yBb6SJ1WZQQ7HIFBLjGCR1W2menw5CzQnbnA2oQAPGm-RkEGY7JaIPgA7ND5SbOADSO8NSEZH-WM4e9tlfMdJRjEsYqGDXkNi8UYHmPEaN39BeP8eod/w439-h1484/The-Learning-House-UWA-Relapse-Warning-Signs-r1-18-0425.jpg" width="439" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16182782642524194324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-68570248017410484482023-06-16T17:32:00.002-05:002023-06-16T17:32:32.493-05:00Trace the Thread<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivqQ5voVDRS6aRXbw-v4P__P-XlXZhy-HmqLAh3HhrB08paElnJqJYNEESyMDFWnOp2UMv9mDwLmP_hg66cRWE1Ca4JKwFdsBy0AIRSPjTJjI36MCA9R6gkO5CzCYrUzRz7TB80SytfhYZ8IDPPz4_0TMd32qjlT6qGCE3OZYMd5LsK4q1Z0QUcz0urg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="850" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivqQ5voVDRS6aRXbw-v4P__P-XlXZhy-HmqLAh3HhrB08paElnJqJYNEESyMDFWnOp2UMv9mDwLmP_hg66cRWE1Ca4JKwFdsBy0AIRSPjTJjI36MCA9R6gkO5CzCYrUzRz7TB80SytfhYZ8IDPPz4_0TMd32qjlT6qGCE3OZYMd5LsK4q1Z0QUcz0urg" width="320" /></a></div><br />There's some unfinished business over on this here blog.<p></p><p>On Sober Day #623, I've been thinking about some history, especially in relationship to my family. </p><p>One recurring thought is this: we were an experiement of hope for our parents.</p><p>More to come... </p>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16182782642524194324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-13847705335084208782020-08-25T22:19:00.001-05:002020-08-25T22:19:12.576-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjQMJ93dgNOPRXFZgXIebzh5fraxJK0uZtaBb73fvZRN39SelUP04UQG5QYiu0cJjEkHNnt1JPLX5In1benveYf1o5XfnmiXBHZpu9i-0wcNSLzdAaRh_ubOuFNR-8sWWo4GzCYGIO1AG/s313/wearing+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="161" data-original-width="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZjQMJ93dgNOPRXFZgXIebzh5fraxJK0uZtaBb73fvZRN39SelUP04UQG5QYiu0cJjEkHNnt1JPLX5In1benveYf1o5XfnmiXBHZpu9i-0wcNSLzdAaRh_ubOuFNR-8sWWo4GzCYGIO1AG/s0/wearing+white.jpg" /></a></div>It takes courage to wear white.<p></p><p>I look at people who do it all day and manage to avoid looking scruffy.</p><p>I don't have that skill at all. By the time I've left the house, there's already a splotch of something I won't notice until I've already left the driveway. Or a paw print. Or a bunch of dog hair. </p><p>I realized today that those who avoid looking scruffy aren't keeping their whites any whiter than mine. They're just wearing their splotchy whites with confidence and gusto.</p><p>I wonder if it isn't the same about our inner selves. </p><p>I wonder if all those people walking around with confidence aren't hiding a spirit as splotchy as my own.</p>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16182782642524194324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-14776430176127729772019-04-18T15:16:00.000-05:002019-04-18T15:16:56.964-05:00On that Day in 1988Darling Auntie Iris gave me a photo of my family taken on my graduation day in 1988. It's a nice picture of my dad with my mom and I in happier days. My dad looks so young in this picture and my hair looks so big.<div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1BfQmKXlTfGCvFcnZI3IcUbav7VLGwipy" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1BfQmKXlTfGCvFcnZI3IcUbav7VLGwipy" style="max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></div>
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My parents gave me a pearl necklace at the time of my graduation. I still have it, though I rarely wear it. But I see it now and then. I cherish it. But I don't clutch many pieces of my family tightly. I think it is far too painful.<br>
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On that day in 1988, I was young and fresh and vibrant. I had the whole world at my feet, and I believed I would conquer it. I knew some basics about Jesus. I was a daughter with parents still married to each other. I was a sister to Staci and Scott. I was a girlfriend to a man I reckoned I would marry because he was so good at always doing what he said. I was a friend to an eclectic group of people. I was college-bound with a bright future. I thought I knew who I was and who I would contiue to be.<br>
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I didn't know then how many of those things that seemed like promise would actually hold me away from the life I was made to live. I didn't know then that changing my mind was an option. I certainly didn't know then how to listen for the Holy Spirit to guide me to the right path. I didn't know how much of myself I would lose and how uncertain I would become about everything - even to the point of no longer knowing who I was or what I was supposed to be doing.<br>
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I thought I had it all on that day in 1988. And for the next several years it only got better. College went well. I married my sweetheart. I had my babies. I went to work with my family.<br>
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When my life feel completely apart and I was left separated from my family and my spouse and my friends and my career and my church, I was devastated and truly floundered for several years. What took the place of all those years of expectation and rejection and emptiness is truly beautiful. God has done great work in me.<br>
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I am blessed.<br>
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Peace,<br>
Kari<br>
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<br></div>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-25698660822793670912019-01-07T12:37:00.000-06:002019-01-07T13:38:04.593-06:00Get Your Armour, Man! The Battle is On!I wonder if there is a soldier alive who would march into battle unprepared, armorless. Certainly over the years armor has changed. Neverthless, all soldiers have their own armor they don for protection. And none would think of engaging in battle without it.<br />
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<b>The Armor of God</b> (from Ephesians 6:10-18)<br />
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Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguiush all the flaming arros of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. With all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints,<br />
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There's more on armor in Wisdom 5:17-20: The Lord will take his zeal as his whole armor, and will arm all creation to repel his enemies; he will put on righteousness as a breast plate, and wear impartial justice as a helmet; he will take holiness as an invincible shield, and sharpen stern wrath for a sword, and creation will join with him to fight against his frenzied foes.<br />
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And still more in Romans 13:12-14: The night is nearly over; the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us behave decently as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenenss, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and ndo not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.
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Evidently, the instruction to don our armor is important.<br />
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What is it we battle? Demons are real. Satan is real. Hatefulness toward ourselves and others is real.<br />
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Still, the exortation is not to go and fight out own battle. To the contrary, every piece of armor points us to trust in God for our strength and our protection. So we pick up these spiritual tools, lean on and in to God, and march into battle, fearless and courageous. We were told in Isaiah 54:17 long before that "No weapon that is formed against you will prosper; and every tongue that accuses you in judgement you will condemn. That is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their vindication is from me," says the Lord.<br />
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Christians who live with and by Holy Spirit live embattled. Spiritual warfare is a real thing. But those weapons formed against us? They powerless until we give them power. We give them power by hearing the lies, by condemnation, by letting sin have freedom.<br />
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So.<br />
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Take up the armor. Salvation. Righteousness. Peace. Faith. Truth. And Holy Spirit. Do it by resting in the Word. Share it with others. Worship. Breathe it in.<br />
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Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-11049873755695647892018-12-23T17:09:00.000-06:002018-12-23T17:10:49.355-06:00On Reconciliation and RevisitingI'm back, beloved Blogger; how I missed you!!!!! I'm not certain how long I'll stay, but here I am!<br />
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Today at Passion, we heard Pastor Herzozog talk about reconciliation. Great teaching, friends! And linked to the beloved hymn, "Hark the Herald Angels Sing." Check out this lyric:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Hark! the herald angels sing,<br />
"Glory to the new-born king!<br />
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,<br />
God and sinners reconciled."</blockquote>
Here'a YouTube of one of my favorite versions of the hymn.<br />
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Pastor shared the story of the Christmas 1914 in Belleau Wood when the solders - many barely more than boys - put down their weapons and met across the battlefield to sing "Silent Night" after which they spent the night in fellowship, connected by their faith in Christ rather than sitting in their trenches separated by the hatred they had been taught.<br />
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He spent the rest of his sermon talking about reconciliation. Here are some high points:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Jesus himself brought peace in a radical way to the early Church: "for he himself is our peace, who made both groups into one and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall, by abolishing his flesh in the enmity, which is the Law of commandments contained in ordinances, so that in himself he might make the two into one new man, thus establishing peace, and might reconcile them both in one body through the cross, by it having put to death the enmity" (Ephesians 2:14-16). In Christ, in other words, peace is not an option. If we believe in what Christ did on the cross, we believe we are made for peace, here on earth. </li>
<li>We are not promised peace in all things - that there won't be wars or struggles. No. We are not promised that. But we are promised that we can have peace - personal peace - right here on earth in the midst of whatever else is happening.</li>
<li>On reconciliation, Paul tells us this truth: "Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, namely, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses agains them, and he has committed to us the word of reconciliation" (2 Corinthians 5:18-19). So. We are ministers of reconciliation, which is so very different from engaging in conflict resolution. Let's forgive. Let's learn to let it go. Let's love one another fully.</li>
<li>Conflict resolution is coming to terms with transgression, in a sense. It's really allowing each party to the conflict take part in resolving an issue and often the resolultion is not completely agreeable to any party, but is a compromise to appease each party. Reconciliation, to the contrary, is bringing the balance to zero. Accountants do that when they reconcile their bank or other accounts. For Christians, bringing the balance to zero means there is nothing left over after the reconciliation occurs; the transgression is gone and the balance is zero.</li>
<li>Even earlier in his letters, Paul tells us how God wants us to practice love. In 1 Corinthians 13, there is a list of what love is (Remember this one? Love is patient, love is kind...?), and Paul clearly states: "Love keeps no record of wrongdoing" or as stated in NASB: it "does not take into account a wrong suffered" (5).</li>
<li>When we pray like Jesus taught us, we say "forgive us our trespasses/sins as we forgive those who trespass against us." I guess, if I want forgiveness for my sin, I need to offer forgiveness to others for their transgressions - and I need to offer that forgiveness whether they ask for it or not. And why not do that? We've already been promised forgiveness by Christ himself.</li>
<li>Hatefulness, bitterness, the failure to truly love... those things are like cancer. And cancer never stays where it starts. Forgiveness is the cure for that particular cancer. </li>
</ul>
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Pastor always leaves me with so much to think about. And when he said today, "if a certain person walked in the room, would you feel weird about making eye contact?"</div>
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I examined the corners of my heart and realized there is not a single person I would fail to look in the eye. I would not feel any discomfort. I've made my amends. I've done my work. I've walked in forgiveness until I felt reconciled. And the best thing about it is that I feel like I'm done agonizing over the things that have happened to me and the things I have done. I don't even want to talk about them anymore. It's been a long five years of work and revistiting the past to get here, but <i>holy Moses in a handbasket, </i>here I am!</div>
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I cannot predict how the people who have actually wronged me would feel, but they are not my problem. I'm worried about my side of the street, and baby, it's clean over here.</div>
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Amen! and Peace!</div>
<div>
Kari</div>
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-76415146916972679322016-11-07T12:51:00.001-06:002016-11-07T12:59:52.928-06:00Ending This Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This weekend I went to Minnesota Tres Dias as a servant.<br />
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I won't give away any details of the weekend; you have to get there for that.<br />
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Some stuff happened that I will share.<br />
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Three men offered me some Grace.<br />
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The first one told me that we get our sense of God the father from our earthly fathers. Our sense of the Holy Spirit comes from our mothers. How we perceive Jesus comes from our brothers and sisters.<br />
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Well, holy yikes. I don't have a clear view of what any of those relationships are meant to be. But the picture is starting come into focus.<br />
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The second one talked to me about his vision of the Holy Spirit in me specifically. "Why are you resisting the Holy Spirit." Here's why. I don't know the steps. What do I have to do to hear what the Holy Spirit is saying. "Nothing, beautiful warrior princess, daughter of a heavenly king. There's nothing to do; you just have to be."<br />
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Well, I don't know how to do that yet. But I'm close. Soooooooooooooo close!<br />
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The third one wrote me a letter about what he sees at work in me. That letter... Well, I'm going to cherish it. He spoke to me as his sister, as a loving and gentle man of God, and his words resonate. There is work to do for the Kingdom and I have a role to play.<br />
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Just before I left for my three days with Jesus, I spoke to my counselor about my changing role in treatment: "You are now a senior peer. You have a strong voice in recovery. I see you making a difference in people's lives. Don't be afraid to be who you are. Share your story."<br />
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I may not be able to hear the Holy Spirit myself yet. But you know? My truth holders can. And I can hear what they're saying. <br />
<h4>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">There is something magnificent happening.</span></span></span></i></h4>
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And I'm going to let it happen.<br />
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There's no place for Satan or any of my past demons, there's no place for hatred, and there's no place for doubt.<br />
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So, friends, this story ends right here, right now. I am breaking the chains of the past.I'm opening a new chapter, with a new plot, a new storyline, and some ass-kicking new characters.<br />
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If you want to come with me on this new journey, send me an email to: kari.kounkel@gmail.com for the linker.<br />
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Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-12417902771266342082016-11-03T00:18:00.000-05:002016-11-03T00:18:06.624-05:00I'll Be a Storytella'<div class="chapter-2">
<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">I am fighting an uphill battle for survival. My story is not rare. Every woman in recovery has one hell of a story. My sister peers are nothing if not strong, vital women.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">As for me?</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">I'm fighting for my right and ability to love myself wholly, as a child of God, magnificently created and loved by my creator. I am, after all, the apple of my heavenly Father's eye. Doubt it? Read the Psalms. 17:8, specifically.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">I have done so many things to achieve my goal. Recovery, I've heard it said, is not for the feint of heart. My own journey started last August (2015). I decided to be sober on July 27, 2015. I relapsed on June 7. I originally spent four months in recovery. I reentered on June 28, and I'm not done yet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">I have found myself repeatedly derailed by people who I expected to love me. This is not an innocuous thing. I was so miserably defeated last June by unkindness that I relapsed. I recognize now that I let others steal my sense of worthiness to the point that I felt unworthy of recovery. </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">As a consequence of my own disease and behavior, I am under probation for awhile yet. I have submitted to the tenants of probation not only because it would be foolish and illegal not to, but also because I believe my probation officer and her determination to hold me accountable is a key factor in my recovery. I have been vulnerable and completely honest with my probation officer. She's not an easy person, but she is consistent and wants the best for the people she supervises.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">My cousin has been acting horribly toward me. In an earlier post, I shared a link to a voicemail he left me in which he called me a piece of garbage. He's sent messages and made threats, and I have refused to engage with him. I don't have a gripe with him and he doesn't have a legitimate one with me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Yet he is on the warpath.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Part of his efforts included contacting my probation officer with the goal of getting me in trouble. Aside from the question that persistently pops in my mind, who does stuff like that?, there's nothing he can do. Sober I am the most authentically law abiding person I know. I've never cheated on a test, I don't use my phone while driving, and I always want to do the right thing. He won't get me in trouble based on my own actions.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">His fervent and frenzied desire to cause me trouble makes me wonder how far he's willing to go. There's little I can do to defend against crazy behavior like planting evidence or lying about things. The best I can do is to make the next right choice and stay on my journey to full recovery. That I'm doing. I am fully in control of what I can control: I can control my thoughts, my feelings, and my actions.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Worst about all this, I think, is that his mother who once bragged about being my godmother is now bragging about his actions. She's so excited he's supporting her, she cannot see that he is doing wrong, abusive, horrible things. That makes me sad, especially in juxtaposition to the behavior of my own boys who are my own cheering squad and chief defenders.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">When they discovered what was going on in my life Monday, both my cousin's behavior and my mother's suicide attempt, my eldest son did all manner of things to support me. He showed up, offered to drive me where I needed to go, and he called his brother. My youngest sent me a heartfelt message; "Mommarooski, I love you. I can only imagine how hard today is for you because I hate imagining what my life would be like without my mom." When I found out what Adam had done and that Jakob was on his way home to be with me, I admit I cried a little. I was pretty silent on my end of the call, and Adam asked, "Are you crying?" I said, "No." He knew.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Why is it that kindness smashes my heart to pieces? That gentle treatment and wholehearted love undoes me? That Grace poured out is constantly such a shock to my system? </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">If my boys were to attack another person for perceived or real wrongdoing and they did a fraction of what my cousin's done to me, I would be horrified by their actions. They would never, ever call someone a piece of garbage. Not ever.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">And you know? I'm not feeling all "Ohhhh pity me! The world is so unkind! Don't you feel sorry for me?"</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">The very thought of living that kind of thinking is deeply repugnant to me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Yeah.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Just no to that.<br /> </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Know what I'm thinking?</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">Thanks be to God. <a href="https://youtu.be/qStLwsPxWXI" target="_blank"><span id="goog_1836491201"></span></a><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/"></a><a href="https://youtu.be/qStLwsPxWXI" target="_blank">This, what I'm living, is amazing grace. Grace brings our chaos back into order; it makes the orphan a daughter; it sets us free. </a><span id="goog_1836491202"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">I am so profoundly grateful for the way my boys conduct themselves in a world run amok. </span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">While talking to darling Sara tonight, we got on the topic of Paul's letter to the Romans. She read this passage to me:</span></span></div>
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<div class="chapter-2">
<span class="text Rom-12-1"><span class="chapternum">12 </span>Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28247a" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28247a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28247a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup>acceptable to God, <i>which is</i> your <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28247b" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28247b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28247b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]</sup>spiritual service of worship.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-2" id="en-NASB-28248"><sup class="versenum">2 </sup>And do not be conformed to this <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28248c" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28248c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28248c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]</sup>world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28248d" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28248d" title="See footnote d">d</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28248d" title="See footnote d">d</a>]</sup>prove what the will of God is, that which is good and <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28248e" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28248e" title="See footnote e">e</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28248e" title="See footnote e">e</a>]</sup>acceptable and perfect.</span></div>
<span class="text Rom-12-3" id="en-NASB-28249"><sup class="versenum">3 </sup>For through the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-4" id="en-NASB-28250"><sup class="versenum">4 </sup>For just as we have many members in one body and all the members do not have the same function,</span> <span class="text Rom-12-5" id="en-NASB-28251"><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-6" id="en-NASB-28252"><sup class="versenum">6 </sup>Since we have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, <i>each of us is to exercise them accordingly</i>: if prophecy, <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28252f" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28252f" title="See footnote f">f</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28252f" title="See footnote f">f</a>]</sup>according to the proportion of his faith;</span> <span class="text Rom-12-7" id="en-NASB-28253"><sup class="versenum">7 </sup>if <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28253g" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28253g" title="See footnote g">g</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28253g" title="See footnote g">g</a>]</sup>service, in his serving; or he who teaches, in his teaching;</span> <span class="text Rom-12-8" id="en-NASB-28254"><sup class="versenum">8 </sup>or he who exhorts, in his exhortation; he who gives, with <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28254h" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28254h" title="See footnote h">h</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28254h" title="See footnote h">h</a>]</sup>liberality; he who <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28254i" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28254i" title="See footnote i">i</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28254i" title="See footnote i">i</a>]</sup>leads, with diligence; he who shows mercy, with cheerfulness.</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-9" id="en-NASB-28255"><sup class="versenum">9 </sup><i>Let</i> love <i>be</i> without hypocrisy. <span style="background-color: orange;">Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good.</span></span> <span class="text Rom-12-10" id="en-NASB-28256"><sup class="versenum">10 </sup><i>Be</i> devoted to one another in brotherly love; <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28256j" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28256j" title="See footnote j">j</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28256j" title="See footnote j">j</a>]</sup>give preference to one another in honor;</span> <span class="text Rom-12-11" id="en-NASB-28257"><sup class="versenum">11 </sup>not lagging behind in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord;</span> <span class="text Rom-12-12" id="en-NASB-28258"><sup class="versenum">12 </sup>rejoicing in hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer,</span> <span class="text Rom-12-13" id="en-NASB-28259"><sup class="versenum">13 </sup>contributing to the needs of the <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28259k" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28259k" title="See footnote k">k</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28259k" title="See footnote k">k</a>]</sup>saints, <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28259l" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28259l" title="See footnote l">l</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28259l" title="See footnote l">l</a>]</sup>practicing hospitality.</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-14" id="en-NASB-28260"><sup class="versenum">14<span style="background-color: orange;"> </span></sup><span style="background-color: orange;">Bless those who persecute <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28260m" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28260m" title="See footnote m">m</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28260m" title="See footnote m">m</a>]</sup>you; bless and do not curse.</span></span> <span class="text Rom-12-15" id="en-NASB-28261"><sup class="versenum">15 </sup>Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-16" id="en-NASB-28262"><sup class="versenum">16 </sup>Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28262n" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28262n" title="See footnote n">n</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28262n" title="See footnote n">n</a>]</sup>associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-17" id="en-NASB-28263"><sup class="versenum">17 </sup><span style="background-color: orange;">Never pay back evil for evil to anyone.</span> <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28263o" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28263o" title="See footnote o">o</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28263o" title="See footnote o">o</a>]</sup>Respect what is right in the sight of all men.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-18" id="en-NASB-28264"><sup class="versenum">18 </sup>If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-19" id="en-NASB-28265"><sup class="versenum">19 </sup>Never take your own revenge, beloved, but <sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NASB-28265p" data-link="[<a href="#fen-NASB-28265p" title="See footnote p">p</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12&version=NASB#fen-NASB-28265p" title="See footnote p">p</a>]</sup>leave room for the wrath <i>of God</i>, for it is written, “<span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Vengeance is Mine</span>, I <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">will repay</span>,” says the Lord.</span> <span class="text Rom-12-20" id="en-NASB-28266"><sup class="versenum">20 </sup>“<span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">But
if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a
drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals on his head</span>.”</span> <span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"><sup class="versenum">21 </sup><span style="background-color: orange;">Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.</span></span></blockquote>
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"></span><span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"></span><span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">And that's that. I'm laying it all down at the foot of the cross, and I'm resting in the trust I have in God's unbreakable Word: "Don't worry, kiddo," he says in a chiding tone. "I got this."</span><br />
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<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"></span><span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">I'm not going to stop writing about what's happening. My story is powerful, my voice is powerful, and I am assuming the role of a mentor in recovery. While living the twelfth step, I will be<a href="https://youtu.be/_ZAzvxsDOUU" target="_blank"> telling my story over and over and over agai</a>n. Count on it. <a href="https://youtu.be/wJBeONxjI9o" target="_blank">It's when we start talking about what God has done in our lives that we become storytellers </a>(Morgan Harper Nichols paraphrase).</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"><br /></span>
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">Fr Harry once said to me, I want you to be the hero of your own story.</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"><br /></span>
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">And you know what? So do I.</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267"><br /></span>
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">Peace,</span><br />
<span class="text Rom-12-21" id="en-NASB-28267">Kari</span>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-69955556975410233722016-10-29T08:12:00.000-05:002016-10-29T08:12:01.121-05:00Holding My Truth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's something intrinsically beautiful about female friendships. "Women instinctually know how to nourish each other, and just being with each other is restorative" (Tanja Taalijard).<br />
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Historically women have provided one another with emotional support and friendship when marriages were often arranged for reasons other than relationship. And those relationships were not exclusive relationships. No, women created webs of friendship. Says Caroll Smith-Rosenberg, "Friends did not form isolated dyads but were normally part of highly integrated networks."<br />
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Today commentary about female friendships proliferate. Rebecca Traister, in her own NY Times article dated February 28, 2016, writes, "Women who find affinity with one another are not settling... they may be doing the opposite, finding something vital."<br />
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I struggled with female relationships. My mother was not a good model for me in this respect as in others. Still, I navigated my way into some beautiful friendships. I often found them tarnished though when my husband would talk about his fantasies: "When you said she was here, I imagined I'd come home and find both of you naked waiting for me in our room."<br />
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Right. Because that often happens outside of pornographic films. <br />
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I also didn't talk about some of the most horrible things in my life with any of my female friends. I felt like sharing things about my marriage would be disloyal to my husband. My mother-in-law unwittingly underscored that belief when I went to her early in my marriage. I told her about some of the things my husband wanted and she advised, "Men want a lady in public and a whore in the bedroom." I thought that meant all men wanted the things my husband did, and stopped talking about it.<br />
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And then a friend got involve with a married man, and I thought telling her my story about my husband and I would show her what it's like to be the wife of a man who was being pursued by another woman. I shared everything: his porn addiction and how that played out in our lives, how an employee turned his head to the point of convincing him to send intimate pictures of me to her, and how painful all of it was for me.<br />
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It didn't educate her or stop her from her own quest to destroy a marriage. Instead it changed her target. After I poured out my heart, she started texting my husband and they played games like Adult Truth or Dare. She propositioned us to conduct a partner swap during a weekend stay at a casino. And she ultimately married my husband.<br />
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One could imagine an experience like that creating a deep mistrust of women, an unwillingness to be vulnerable again.<br />
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It hasn't, oddly.<br />
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The opposite has happened.<br />
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<br />
I find myself in profoundly beautiful relationship with the women who held my truth for me until I was strong enough to hold it myself.<br />
<br />
And that kind of friendship is worth vulnerability, and even potential pain.<br />
<br />
Bob Marley wrote "the truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."<br />
<br />
My truth holders have not let me believe I am worthless or unworthy. They have felt righteous anger on my behalf when I couldn't feel it myself. They have been patient and kind with me when I'm hateful to myself.<br />
<br />
Thank God for the truth holders.<br />
<br />
And thank God for my developing ability to hold my own truth.<br />
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<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari<br />
<br /></div>
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-87206386247670211412016-10-27T21:21:00.000-05:002016-10-28T21:35:38.701-05:00Owning My StoryI've experienced my share of bullying from the time I was small. I let it define me often over the years.<br />
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<br />
Having made the decision to insulate myself from bullies, I've found myself developing my own sense of safety.<br />
<br />
My mother was the most enduring of the bullies. Her latest effort occurred this past spring. My sister and I were trying to help mom unravel her financial mess. She hadn't filed taxes in eight years, had no money in reserve, and was being taken advantage of by many people in her life.<br />
<br />
But she only knows what she knows and fear often convinces us to stay with what we know rather than venturing into the unknown. She suddenly decided to fight against our attempts to help her. As I have always been, I was her target.<br />
<br />
Sitting at her house one afternoon, I was trying to explain the paperwork she'd received. She became enraged. She turned on me, spewing forth her vitriol like she always has. She threatened to call Wright County and tell them I abused her physically and that I was drinking, both of which would violate my probation. For a brief time, I was locked into the misery of the inevitability of being drawn back into the darkness of her world.<br />
<br />
Then I realized I did have some power. I called Wright County myself and asked them to come take a report. They did, and I felt safe from her threats for another day.<br />
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This week yet another family member attempted to bully me. The whole story is convoluted and nasty, and I'll finish telling it another day.<br />
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<br />
Briefly, my aunt and I went to court over a financial matter. When the judge told us to try to resolve it, my aunt slapped me. Though I reported it to deputies and the clerk, no one was willing to do anything. On the verge of a massive anxiety and panic attack, I opted to leave rather than stay and defend myself with my receipts proving I didn't owe the money. My journey to improved mental health, to a sense of safety, and to a sense of healthy autonomy mattered more to me than the money.<br />
<br />
Once that judgement was entered, my cousin started calling me demanding payment. If I had the money I already spent on my aunt's home, I could sure do that. But I don't have it. He has suggested I am a horrible person, that I treat family poorly, that I am dishonorable, that my immortal soul is in jeopardy, and that I am a worthless piece of garbage. He has threatened to put a lien against my developing business and take out a full page ad in the Monticello Times so someone else can help him collect "his" debt.<br />
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And in all the horror of his hurtful accusations and words, I realized something. The work I'm doing in therapy is working. I didn't have the physiological response I would normally have had to his behavior. I used to experience all the heightened symptoms of anxiety and panic, a spike in my blood pressure, the sinking inevitability of judgment by others, and digestive issues. In this episode, I cried a lot, and I experienced severe shaking, but none of the other things happened. It didn't even result in that horrible sensation of doom that always made it impossible for me to sleep at night. I was able to recognize that it's not me that's horrible, unworthy, unlovable, or wrong, and I called those who love and support me, warts and all.<br />
<br />
Yep, this is all bad. It's awful to deal with the notion that justice seems to be on my aunt's side and that public perception is that I've horribly treated her. And the courts seem to agree as they've issued a judgment.<br />
<br />
Even if all of that were true, I do not deserve my cousin's behavior.<br />
<br />
<br />
And so, I'm taking back my power. I'm telling the truth in my own forum and with documentation. I'm owning my own mistakes. And, ultimately, I'm <a href="http://www.karikounkel.com/public.html" target="_blank">outing the bully</a>. Enough is quite literally enough.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari <br />
<br />Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-74459624042616662872016-10-17T14:43:00.002-05:002016-10-17T14:44:32.243-05:00Evil Genius Assignment #18: A World Without FeelingsWhen I went to treatment the first time, I was all about setting goals and achieving them. I did very well, and felt like I was thriving.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then I had a relapse. And darn if it wasn't for exactly the same reasons I always drank. More about that in a different post.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the second round of recovery, I am learning a new way to thrive: I am resting in the care of experts. I am not trying to know it all or control the path of recovery. I am not manically busy in the pursuit of the goal of sobriety. I am not objecting to a single suggestion. Still, I am actively participating.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
See. It's like this: recovery is not one-size fits all. There aren't any shortcuts. It's painful and messy and horrible. And I have complete faith that on the other side, there is something beautiful. I am living in that beauty more and more of each day.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I likened it once to my peers as the equivalent of buying bras. You go to a store, let some perky young'n "fit" you, and try on a seemingly endless array of styles until settling for the least obnoxious version. Then you pay way too much money and head on your way, hoping it was the right choice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's recovery. You go to groups and listen to people talk about their recovery. You go to therapy and share your journey so the evil geniuses can craft assignments to aid your recovery. And you talk to others on the same path and learn about what works for each of them. Then you try on all the different things until you find what feels like the right fit. And then you find out that the fit only has to work TODAY because tomorrow you may choose a new fit. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Both bra shopping and recovery are horribly exhausting.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I had a plan for my recovery. One of the only questions I asked, in fact, was how long people were typically in the first phase of recovery (4-days intensive out patient group). "We generally expect the first phase to last at least thirty days." Cool. I was going to do phase one for 30 days and then step down and do phase two for another 30. I'd be done, then, in four months.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Five months later, I am still in phase two. And I am perfectly aceepting that being in phase two is exactly where I need to be.</div>
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I have been assigned some very intense homework. Much of it is painful, and may never be shared. But I feel compelled to share this assignment. It was revelatory.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The directive was to write a paper to present to my peers. My directive was to write about a world in which there were no feelings. </div>
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<br /></div>
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That was the only directive too. No word count. No criteria. No thesis.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I set about my task like I do. First, I think about it. Second, I research what everyone else has to say. Third, I craft my response using the best of what everyone else has to say. Fourth, I get an eh.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This was so different. SOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo different.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In fact, I was nervous about presenting my work for what could be the first time ever.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I find myself entirely pleased with the outcome.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I read it to my peers. I am relieved and gratified by their responses. </div>
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<br /></div>
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What matters more is I learned something pricelss about myself.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am free to express what is in my heart.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That's brand new. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Knowing that means that I'm not actually still waiting to get to the other side of all this recovery in order to find my way to something beautiful.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I've already found it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And that is what I think Christ means when he says, "I am the peace the world cannot give."</div>
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<br /></div>
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The world can steal our peace if we let it. And I did. </div>
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I won't let that happen again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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______________________________________________________________</div>
<div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I really love crayons. Always have. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember going to on the annual school shopping expedition
and looking at those perfect boxes of fresh, sharp crayons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I longed for the box with the sharpener so badly, I could
feel the saliva pooling in my mouth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That same longing strikes me anew every August when I pass
the school supply aisle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, man. Those boxes have grown. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I always felt so sad for the kids who only got 8 crayons. What kind of parent only buys 8 when they can
get the big box and have a sharpener too?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I became one of those parents who only buys 8 crayons. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oddly, it was all my boys wanted. They did not love
coloring. They would have been happy with one crayon, if they had to have any.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d tried to instill a love of coloring in my boys. I’d
decided early on that my boys were going to embody the best of the masculine
and the feminine, and that they wouldn’t be victims of my Nurture. In fact, <i>my</i> Nurture was going to overcome Nature,
if it had to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We worked hard on coloring. My friends with daughters told
me of hours spent coloring the Princesses and having to buy extra pink crayons.
No matter what I did, my boys wouldn’t use the red. Or the purple. They ignored
the orange, green, and yellow too. They pretty much liked black and brown with
a smattering of blue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They didn’t care about lines or elements of design. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They mostly grabbed their crayons and scribbled color across
the pages as fast as they could before proudly showing me their latest
masterpieces.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taking them by hands one day, I led them on a field trip
across the golf course behind our house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Along the way, I pointed out all the colors, from the rich
green of the leaves to the bright yellow sun, and the deep orange and purple of
the flowers. “See, boys!” I enthused. “God made the world a colorful place.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They climbed over logs and splashed through streams during
our outing, enthusiastically participating in finding more color. I really
thought they “got it” and we returned home where I sent them to finish new, more
colorful masterpieces while I made dinner. The new “rule” was that they each
had to use 6 of their 8 colors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I heard them giggling amid much thumping and clattering. See,
despite all my Nurture, my boys still acted like bear cubs at all times, and
any task was completed in some oddball event resembling a NASCAR-themed
wrestling match.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They appeared with bright smiles, masterpieces in hands. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know what I expected, but what they presented was
not it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While they certainly used many more colors, demonstrating an
endearing effort to please me, the crumpled and somewhat tattered pages weren’t
what I’d imagined hanging on the fridge.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No longer merely black and blue scribbles, they were clouds
of scribbled color – exactly 6 colors on each masterpiece. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their masterpieces resembled what I sort of considered ugly
chaos, almost as if they’d violently vomited rainbows on the paper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With a pair of deep brown eyes staring at me over one, and
smiling green eyes over the other, I found myself falling deeply in love with
their depiction of the world despite myself and my sense of artistry. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That day what they taught me was that some sort of
brilliantly messy and wildly unexpected work of art is waiting to be discovered
wherever we bother to look for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8qwQn4DZHMEjBXj9ZjDMlREP7XSwALvv_E8M8wlhl2m2b-20L7gewdkuYk0Yhk2kTnfw7fG9emPEfLMnnsztbzma4e73D9IUnjIcVfnNKRgL9bLbW3xnzlRsL17uj7cy-Ln_U2gmyhoW/s1600/color01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR8qwQn4DZHMEjBXj9ZjDMlREP7XSwALvv_E8M8wlhl2m2b-20L7gewdkuYk0Yhk2kTnfw7fG9emPEfLMnnsztbzma4e73D9IUnjIcVfnNKRgL9bLbW3xnzlRsL17uj7cy-Ln_U2gmyhoW/s200/color01.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFW4alnjLFlngzSANbV9C-TuC439KaCO-7774yXygxQgaKl-5LGCYS0t1T0am83D0qpHgQJk8ZzgcDTYyIHFFtsYCE7Bc4_6NEeyulVyDtEfDGInwRoyJE-TyaQTaqZ4COG4J2qzcyh-B/s1600/color02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFW4alnjLFlngzSANbV9C-TuC439KaCO-7774yXygxQgaKl-5LGCYS0t1T0am83D0qpHgQJk8ZzgcDTYyIHFFtsYCE7Bc4_6NEeyulVyDtEfDGInwRoyJE-TyaQTaqZ4COG4J2qzcyh-B/s200/color02.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I came to treatment, I had an assortment of feelings I
was comfortable with, that I understood and could identify. It was my own 8-crayon box, in a sense. The “safe” emotions, the ones I understood,
were Happy and Sad, Grateful and Hurt. I
had a few shades of shame too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Opening the orientation packet, the first thing I saw was a
Feeling Wheel. It was something like
that huge box of crayons, the one with the sharpener. And the contents of The
Wheel felt as foreign to me as that big crayon box would have felt to my boys. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the first weeks, when The Wheel was passed around the
group, I looked at it like the obedient student I’ve always been, but I really
refused to see it. I didn’t want to use or acknowledge all those vibrant, messy
emotions, and I sure didn’t want to think I was going to find myself actually
feeling or understanding them. For
certain, I wasn’t going to like it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I do like it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feelings are how we color ourselves. Without them, we would
be nothing more than robots, lacking the ability to care for, or connect with
others. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the world, in a sense, would be colorless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yuck.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari<br />
<br />
PS: I don't publish comments at this time, but I do appreciate what you have to say. Thank you for taking the time to read and thoughtfully reply!</div>
</div>
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-81902194064825661212016-06-30T17:08:00.001-05:002016-11-12T15:26:10.872-06:00Women and FriendshipI have made some amazing friends over the years, and I'm awfully grateful for most of them.<br />
<br />
The first time I shared my whole story with someone, though, it didn't turn out so well. The recipient of my confidences is now married to my husband. She used the information I offered freely because I thought it would help her cope with some things in her own life to entice him. He's no innocent bystander, of course. But that's a separate story.<br />
<br />
Factor in that my mother is a wounded person herself and that she actively seeks to cause me harm when I interact with her. I remember a day in March 2014 when Joe was advising me to go to the funeral for CC's mother. I was shocked that he'd offer that advice at the time; her and I were no longer friends. I didn't know, of course, that the two of them were already intimately involved with one another and he wanted a reason to be there to support her in her grief.<br />
<br />
Me: I think I'll send something to the H family.<br />
Joe: Don't you think you should go to the funeral.<br />
Me: Hell no.Why would that even be a good idea?<br />
Joe: I'm sure everyone's pretty sad and would like the support.<br />
Me: I know what it's like to lose a mother, Joe. I lost mine a long time ago.<br />
Joe: You're awful. Why can't you just be nice?<br />
Me: ...<br />
<br />
There's a wealth of material in that two-minute interaction. For now, I'm just going to let that rest.<br />
<br />
My focus is on building relationship with women. <br />
<br />
Considering my history, how does one accept women genuinely and authentically?<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
I don't know the answer.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari <br />
<br />Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-17310332069999668632016-06-29T14:49:00.000-05:002016-06-29T14:49:17.575-05:00That Day at the FieldI love the stroll down memory lane I get now and then from Facebook's "See Your Memories" feature. It's hard some days to remember happier days, and other days I am reminded what a blessing it actually is to be free of the past.<br />
<br />
Two years ago today I went to a baseball game with Joe, Jakob, and Joe's dad. After all I'd been through at that point, the day was a remarkable celebration of freedom, sunshine, and family. At least for me.<br />
<br />
It felt good to be safe and sober in a place that I'd always been - my chair behind home plate.<br />
<br />
I was wearing braces that day on both hands. The damage to my hands and nerves from the abusive use of the handcuffs in my June 20th arrest has proven permanent. I have no feeling in either thumb or the first two fingers of each hand. The swelling and pain disappeared, though. That's a relief.<br />
<br />
Jakob and Joe had some of their usual "moments" on the field.<br />
<br />
They met at the mound for a conference. Or something. Those things aren't always as serious as they look. <br />
<br />
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After their moment, Jakob made his way back to home plate.</div>
<br />
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And took his spot. He commands the field, even in these photos, in a way talented catchers do. Watch them sometime. Jakob's confidence is especially inspiring to me as he's so unassuming and shy in his daily life.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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At the end of the game as a new team took the field, players and families stand around talking. I have always done more listening than talking in those moments, and that was true two years ago too.</div>
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<br /></div>
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See, nine days prior, I'd been arrested for a refusal to test DWI. I was also charged with resisting arrest; I'd taken off my handcuffs - not in an effort to resist, mind you, but because they hurt. An additional charge for 4th degree assault of an officer was eventually dismissed; the reports differ about whether or not I'd done something assaulting, and the action itself bore no intent to do harm. I didn't hurt anyone.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the days that followed - four of them - I was in Hennepin County Jail with a motley crew of fellow inmates. My husband told me I wasn't worth getting out of jail. My dad refused to help too. I am fairly certain they had the notion that "tough love" and bearing the consequences for my bad behavior was key to some notion of recovery. Ironic. Neither of them has ever suffered the natural consequences of their own bad behavior, at least from my perspective. But I was going to pay for my bad behavior. Yes, indeedy.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When he picked me up from jail, Joe was the most verbally abusive, threatening person I'd ever known him to be. He screamed at me three times those heinous words, I HATE YOU. Imagine it: "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" He told me I would be complying with whatever he and my dad dreamed up, that I had no power and no choice about anything that was about to happen, and that if I said one word he'd pull over at the next ramp, shove me out of the vehicle, and call 911 to report I had started an altercation with him. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Scary. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Scarier in some ways the four days I'd just spent in jail. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Those moments at the baseball field with Joe and Jakob were the first normal moments in nine days. The first time I'd felt a modicum of safety. The first moments in which I relished what should have been mine to relish.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When I said to Joe how content I'd been to be there in those moments of normalcy, his response shook my equilibrium.</div>
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<br /></div>
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"I hated it. I hate it when you're there. I'm afraid of what you'll do."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Those words were confusing to me at the time. I'd never done anything out of line or unusual at a baseball game! But a person dealing with shame and guilt and a certain type of "bottom" doesn't reason through any of that. I just felt off-balance, unsafe, and demeaned. </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Joe's behavior, rage, and reactions are no longer confusing.<br />
<br />
He was actively engaged by that point in using my own bad behavior to manipulate those around me into believing his version of events. In the text message between him and my former friend, they discussed their efforts to turn people against me and take their side in the coming months. With the exception of my dad, no one that matters to me supports them. Just the opposite: the revelation of their affair has hurt so many people including the children of both marriages.<br />
<br />
As much as I hated Joe after the events of our trip to San Francisco, I still believed that I could chose to love him. I believed that things would turn around, that at some point we would morph into what people believed we were - each other's best support and friend. I believed we were in a valley, but that we would eventually make it out of the valley and find a mountain top. I believed we were a unit and that our hearts would heal and we would be the old "Joe and Kari" we'd once been.<br />
<br />
God had a different plan, and it's beautiful. <br />
<br />
Walking on the right path doesn't mean that things are easy or that I always make the right choices. But it does mean that eventually things will be how they're supposed to be.<br />
<br />
My great struggle right now is trying to forgive Joe and my friend for what they took from me. I hate them for destroying my family - the one I sacrificed so much for. I hate them for taking my table - the only piece of furniture I ever bought without following all of Joe's rules and restrictions, and which I loved. I hate them for using my time shares - the ones I expected to use with my family into the future. I hate them for the way they've managed security - the kind that comes with having a second income and your job.<br />
<br />
You know though? Jesus hated bad behavior too.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />Kari<br />
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-62232611951354044312016-04-04T21:00:00.002-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.541-05:00Choosing Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Loving is not the simple thing popular romance would have us believe.<br />
<br />
Loving is a choice. And having been wounded in the battle, so to speak, it's not an easy choice for me to make.<br />
<br />
Loving is the only thing we are truly called to do as Christians, as the body of Christ.<br />
<br />
And I've made the choice to love. <br />
<br />
It's different this time.<br />
<br />
This man met me when I was at my worst physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I was still drinking, much to his dismay. I was a mess in all ways.<br />
<br />
Yet he saw something of value in me.<br />
<br />
He listens to me when I speak, and he has apologized to me when he did something that wasn't just. He prays over me and taught me to pray for myself in supplication and with longing for Jesus to be my warrior. He offers words of affirmation about things that most matter to me; he told me I have a heart for Jesus. He accepts all my weirdness, and celebrates it. He shares his ideas with me and listens to me when I agree - and when I don't agree. He wraps me up in his arms and keeps me close to his heart. He protects my heart. He is so proud of me; he talks about what I'm doing and expects my success at every turn. He thinks I am beautiful, inside and out. He makes me laugh. He buys me the most ridiculous things - a part for my car, a charger for my phone, a pair of jeans, a silly piece of yarn. He lets me tell him about my freaky dreams. He wants to build me a house. He is careful with my body; he would be crushed if he left a mark on me. He feels real anger for people who have wounded me.<br />
<br />
I don't need any promises; those I've heard before. I don't need to talk about the future; right now is all we have. I don't need him to be something he's not; I've been deceived by men.<br />
<br />
This is new and different and good. And in the goodness, there is restoration of hope in my heart.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-76268098714239102792016-03-27T18:21:00.000-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.564-05:00The Aftermath, Part 2I have long thought that my biggest issue with the way my marriage died was not the affair. After all, I'd been telling my husband for YEARS to just have sex with someone. I was beyond sick of his recurring fantasy in which he would come home to find me and one of my friends naked and waiting for him. In his porn-addicted mind, things like that scenario happen all the time and everyone is fine with it. In reality, it is demeaning and sick to think that women exist and maintain relationships solely to satisfy some guy's ridiculous fantasies.<br />
<br />
No, my issue was not with the affair, but with the manipulation and the apparent willingness of my husband and my former friend, people who were actively professing their love for me, to figuratively crumple me up like a used piece of paper and toss me carelessly in the trash. There's actual psychology behind what they tried to do.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Gaslighting is just one of the many weapons in the arsenal of personalities hell-bent on having their way even if it means doing so by subtle and covert means of conning others... [These] aggressive personalities... will do whatever it takes to secure and maintain a position of advantage over others... A common element among all the tactics manipulators use is that they cause the person being targeted to doubt their gut instincts about what's going on. Their gut tells them they're under attack or that someone is trying to get the better of them, and they intuitively go on the defensive. But because they can't find any clear, direct, objective evidence that the other person is merely trying to disadvantage them, they start doubting and questioning themselves... The goal is always to win or secure whatever it is they want. And they'll do whatever they have to do to get it. Sometimes the most effective way to do that is to avoid red-flagging their intentions but rather to get the other person to unwittingly but voluntarily surrender. Instill shame, instill guilt, instill fear, or instill great doubt, and the other person will likely back off the stance they really wanted to take. (Jade Small's "Gaslighting as a Manipulation Tactic: What it is, who does it, and why.")</blockquote>
There were numerous instances when Joe must have wondered how I knew what was going on despite his careful attempts to hide it all. One night he texted me from the Monticello Community Center (MCC):<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Joe: It's going to take me longer than I expected. I have diarrhea.<br />Me: Well you should probably come home. You'll get dehydrated.<br />Joe: No I can finish. I'll just come in the bathroom every so often when it gets bad.<br />Me: Okay. Well, keep me posted.</blockquote>
Several hours later he came home. I was putting shoes in the front closet when he walked in the door. I looked at him and knew. I said, "You've had sex." He flipped out and aggressively counter-attacked. "You're so paranoid. I had diarrhea! I can't even be sick without you thinking I'm having an affair."<br />
<br />
Whoa. Overreact much?<br />
<br />
Joe and CC both accused me of "hacking" my husband's email, following him or them, and other stalker-like behaviors, none of which I engaged in. When my lover of twenty-nine years had sex, I knew what that looked like. And he'd had sex. By that time I had so little confidence in my gut-instinct, I just backed down. I probably was crazy or paranoid, I thought, to doubt someone who's never been a cheater and who has so vehemently denied it.<br />
<br />
The day I found proof of their lying and cheating, July 16, 2014, one of the things I asked him was about diarrhea day.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Me: And that day you said you had diarrhea... you were with her?<br />Joe: Yes.<br />Joe: But I had diarrhea too.<br />Me: Gross.</blockquote>
Me finding proof of their affair saved my mental health, but it enraged them.<br />
<br />
My discovery of their affair and my unwillingness to be quiet about it enraged Joe to the point of physical battery three days in a row. He tore my rotator cuff and gave me bruises on every visible and some less visible parts of my body. When I called for help on the third day, he lied to them about what had happened, and given my existing record I suspect, I was charged with two counts of domestic assault. When Jakob found out, he was upset and demanded his dad retract statements that were clearly lies.<br />
<br />
It enraged CC to the point of deep and abiding hatred for me that I'm guessing will never fade. I could be wrong about what gave birth to the hatred; I would have to guess it started when I stood in the way of her first attempt to win a married man. But me finding out about her affair with Joe and telling people about it cemented her feelings. Sadly for her, that hatred will only impact her future, not mine.<br />
<br />
Joe and CC had a goal. They wanted to continue their affair while they each continued to manipulate friends and family to be on their "side" in their imagined future. They committed to keeping the history of their relationship secret, and it was a secret they vowed to take to their graves.<br />
<br />
Their plan went something like this:<br />
<br />
Joe would divorce me while maintaining that he just couldn't stay married to someone struggling with addiction and presenting himself as someone who really had tried his best.<br />
<br />
CC would divorce her husband after convincing her daughter, brother, and some others that she was in a miserable relationship and deserved so much more, that she'd given it her best effort and sacrificed her own happiness for her children long enough.<br />
<br />
They would each pretend to date others; in fact, they had a plan how they would answer Adam (the only one they thought might see through their lies and want to meet someone his dad was dating).<br />
<br />
Eventually they would magically connect in a completely moral fashion via their friendship and common interests as recent divorcees and a commitment to working out at the MCC.<br />
<br />
They had absolutely no shame about what they were doing. Despite the fact that they didn't want anyone to discover their activities, they never considered doing things the "right" way. Neither of them had the courage or honor necessary to end their marriages and focus on their own situations or their own children before they engaged in their relationship.<br />
<br />
The excerpts:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">CC: That's
a tough question. My first thought is that I would wait until after she has
been served. I wouldn't want to hear that I was the last one to know that my
husband was filing for divorce, but in the other hand, you haven't kept it a
secret.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Number 9:
Yea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">CC: Maybe
it would be good to meet with Staci before she gets back to just talk through
it and explain our reasoning before Kari gets back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Number 9: I
think I will tell her that this week alone has let me think it's best for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">CC: I would talk with Adam and Jakob though.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Number 9: I
will them for sure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">CC: Do you
have any idea how long it will take the lawyer to serve her once she has the
money?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Number 9: No. I'll ask in
an email Saturday</span>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: Yes,
Clint will have lunch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
Does he know what it's about<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: I got a
call from Grace to sing in a funeral on Monday. Maybe I'll see if he wants to
do lunch after that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>CC : I just said I wanted to talk about some stuff and not to bring it up at dinner the other night, so I have no idea what he thinks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9: Once we are together we still aren't telling anyone about the time line of our friendship or are we then?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: I don't think it is a secret that we have been friends for a long time. Clint knows we play racquetball. It's just that the friendship can't turn into a relationship until we are both free to peruse another relationship.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9: I
told my dad that we are good friends<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: What
did he say?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9: He
didn't say anything<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: Did
Kari tell him we are having an affair?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
No. I told him she text the boys that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: And he
never said anything?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
Nope. I told him we are friends but that's it. That's why I'd rather not tell
them the truth ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: Sounds good to me. Like I keep saying, that secret goes to our graves</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: I think
what amazes me about your dad is that whenever I see him he is always so
friendly and talkative. But that is so unlike the person you describe he is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9: He
doesn't share feelings well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
You can tell at my funeral.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: Nope.
I'd still have to live with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9: I
thought maybe you'd want to get it off your chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC: Nope.
To my grave.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
Lol</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CC : Do you
have any other secrets like that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Number 9:
None from you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">There's more, but the gist is the same. Manipulate others into thinking what they're doing is right, and congratulate each other on being together. </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Without their own words revealing their actions and plans, I would have been left accepting full responsibility for the demise of my marriage. As it was, my marriage had no chance of surviving. As good as being free of Joe has been for me personally, it's been horrible for my children and for CC's husband and children. And it's been horrible for our community of friends and family. </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As thankful as I am that Joe put the file of their chat on our work server under passwords everyone at the office had, it's tough to remember their words, especially when he shares the bare brokenness of my heart and they dismiss the collapse of my world as if it was nothing. He forced himself into all of my therapy sessions and then shared what transpired with CC. I wrote him beautiful letters trying to recall the good parts of our marriage, and he shared those with her. I existed in a painful and dark world, and they mocked me, even wishing for my disappearance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wasn't the horrible person, the failure, the liar or the cheat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kari</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-77210123617935968312016-03-22T15:30:00.000-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.569-05:00The Aftermath, Part 1This weekend I was at Minnesota Tres Dias #20. It was a blessed weekend in so many ways. Spending time with other Christians, especially Christian women, is affirming. Somehow the loving connections we make endorse the way the Father loves us.<br />
<br />
During the weekend, one of the speakers approached me.<br />
<br />
"Did you know you're about to be under spiritual warfare? Has anyone warned you?"<br />
<br />
"No?" I answered with that tentative query in my voice that means, "What the hell are you talking about, strange lady?"<br />
<br />
She shared a warning from the Holy Spirit. I've had these warnings before, and they always freak me out a little bit. Probably especially because they've proven true.<br />
<br />
I'm glad she warned me. After two nights of little sleep and days full of efforts to care for the weekend's attendees, I was exhausted. When I crawled in bed, I decided to catch up on email. It's midnight on Saturday night at this point. Mixed in the eighty-six new emails was one from my former friend; I call her CC.<br />
<br />
Spiritual warfare, indeed.<br />
<br />
The email was a vile attack on my integrity and mental health. It was a bitter diatribe, full of the hatefulness of someone I believed was part of my past. Along with her claims of perfect happiness in the person who "completes her," she describes me as a person I certainly don't recognize.<br />
<br />
This is not the first time CC has attacked me. She did it once before, a long time before Joe was interested in her. I was crying when I brought him that email, and asked him if her portrayal of me was accurate. In one of the rare moments when Joe actually was able to provide emotional support, he hugged me after reading the email. "That's not you, Kari!" he said several times while I cried. I would guess his opinion has largely changed, more because of how she presents me than anything I ever did to either of them.<br />
<br />
I lay there that night for four hours, four hours I can never regain. I thought hard about how to respond. I revisited the old me, the me who thought I could fix everything myself and who believed there is justice for the righteous. Then the new me stepped up to the plate! Physically and emotionally exhausted, I finally (FINALLY!) turned to God and laid it at His feet. "I can't figure this out, Lord. Help me!" were the last thoughts I had before I fell asleep. <br />
<br />
A couple hours later I woke with the certain conviction that I would do nothing. Nothing. I wasn't going to respond. I wasn't going to contact the other people to whom she spewed her poison. I wasn't going to revisit the past or defend myself. In fact, I couldn't defend myself. Just like in my past experiences with CC, defending myself means breaking the confidences of others, and I won't do that.<br />
<br />
Over the years since our friendship ended, I have heard from people who are angry at and hurt by CC. She's destroyed much that people found precious, and my marriage is not the least of those things. I have given the exact same genuine counsel every single time: "Forgive her. She's a hurting and broken person deserving of compassion. Free yourself!"<br />
<br />
Those are words I take to heart. <br />
<br />
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" /><br />
<br />
I forgive you, CC. You are hurting and broken. You deserve my compassion and the love Jesus calls us to give even to those who willfully hurt us. <br />
<br />
My forgiveness is heartfelt. But my desire to be free of her anger, hatred, and manipulation is also heartfelt. What does one have to do, I wonder, to be free of someone who is that bitterly angry? The only conclusion I can draw, the only thing that might free me of her is my own failure.<br />
<br />
And failure, my friends, is not an option!<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-62062669496157544032016-03-20T23:09:00.000-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.535-05:00When the Truth HurtsOver the course of months since I refused to take a field breath test on June 20, 2014, my life sometimes felt surreal.<br />
<br />
I experienced shame and guilt for the publicity that would touch my dad's company, among other things.<br />
<br />
As time passed, I found myself relieved for the way things transpired. I no longer had any secrets or any reason to hide anything I did or had done. In fact, my journey is potentially inspirational to people who find themselves as lost and broken as I was, and who find themselves the victims of people expected to love them.<br />
<br />
I'm done being silent about what was done to me. I intend to finish my story for my own closure and in celebration of my victory over depression, anxiety, and alcohol. There is great freedom and healing in transparency and truth, and I deserve both freedom and healing.<br />
<br />
I intend to tell the truth. Of course, there is much I don't know. I was lied to and misdirected. I was drinking to numb myself to what was happening in my life. I was broken and hurting.<br />
<br />
The journey to tell the truth carries it's own pain. Revisiting the past is not easy, and it's definitely not a path lined with primroses. I made mistakes and I paid for them. And yet trying to leave the past behind without making a full accounting, without making it make sense in my mind is not an option for me. I spent years writing about my faith and about my marriage. I need to finish the story.<br />
<br />
My marriage ended for me in January 2013.<br />
<br />
Joe and I went to San Francisco to celebrate our anniversary. We'd been to some great places to celebrate our anniversary starting the year Joe decided he wanted to vacation with just me instead of our usual crowd of co-vacationers. We went to Hawaii in 2011 for our 20th, Spain in 2012, San Francisco in 2013, and Walt Disney World in 2014. <br />
<br />
During our trip to San Francisco, Joe was excited about the seedier side of night life. On the night after our anniversary, he took me to a bar with a Scooby Doo theme. It was not a place for kids. The floor was plastered with centerfolds shellacked to the wood, and the videos playing at the tables were like no Scooby Doo episodes that played in my youth. We had a couple drinks there and then walked up the hill to the next bar.<br />
<br />
I went to the bathroom and came back to a plastic cup filled to the brim with Chardonnay, my drink of choice at the time. The bartender was fun and he and Joe hit it off. Their conversation had the appearance of more of a flirtation than a conversation between patron and bartender, but maybe that's just the bar scene at it's best. After another trip to the bathroom, I came back to another full plastic cup. Joe urged me to finish it fast so we could go across the street.<br />
<br />
The place across the street was alcohol free. It was a sex club of some sort. People could wander through or participate at will. There were some rules; men couldn't randomly touch women, for example. We went into all the rooms to see what was happening. Eventually we had sex in a public room with people watching from all sides. There was another couple there and Joe wanted me to touch the other woman. It seemed like nothing was real that night. Afterward, we made our way back across the street, I suppose so Joe could tell his new friend his story. I drank another plastic cup full of Chardonnay.<br />
<br />
The next morning I woke early. I never suffered hangovers. I stood looking out at the streets of San Fran wondering how that young bride I'd been ended up having sex in a disgusting place like where we'd been.<br />
<br />
When Joe woke up, he came over to the window and gave me one of the sweetest hugs he'd ever given me in all our years together. With his chin resting on my head, he squeezed me tight, and told me words I'd longed to hear, "You are the Best. Wife. Ever."<br />
<br />
In that moment every feeling of hope and love I'd ever had for my husband died. I went in the bathroom and cried.<br />
<br />
After everything I'd done to be a good friend, wife, mother, daughter, sister, whatever, getting the best compliment of my life depended on shady sex in a shady place with shady people watching. I'd earned the best praise of my marriage for something I never wanted my boys or my friends to know.<br />
<br />
I grieved for my marriage in the weeks and months after we returned to Minnesota. I talked to my therapist about it at length. She was relieved that my marriage FINALLY came up. I'd been going to see her for nearly a decade, and I'd never talked about my marriage. When she talked about her own observations about things I'd said and done up until that point, she was so spot on it was scary. <br />
<br />
Her advice was sound though. "Joe will never understand you; you are at different places in your evolutionary development."<br />
<br />
"What do I do?"<br />
<br />
"Love him anyways."<br />
<br />
And so I tried. And when there were fails, I turned to my solid and true friend, Chardonnay. And then I tried again. And again, and again, and again.<br />
<br />
I valued my marriage, I valued my children's family, and I valued the community of friends we had. It all mattered.<br />
<br />
The one thing that should have also mattered and the one thing I forgot about was me. And that is a truth that probably hurts the most. I couldn't even answer the question, "Who are you?"<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari<br />
<br />
<br />Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-377354293036333852016-03-11T14:25:00.001-06:002016-04-16T15:53:21.494-05:00Just One in a Sea of Faces<photo coming=""></photo><br />
<br />
Music always leads me to prayer.<br />
<br />
For a long time, I only prayed in gratitude. Some days it was harder than other days to find the grateful thing, but music often led me to focus my attention on grateful things.<br />
<br />
For several months, if not a year, I couldn't listen to much of my original play list. I had lost hope in people and in truth. I didn't remember how to feel grateful for much of that time, and I didn't know how to pray for anything else or in any other way. <br />
<br />
I stopped lifting my eyes to heaven. <br />
<br />
I found myself listening to Tenth Avenue North's "Worn" on repeat. Near the end of my marriage, I even shared it with my husband who then shared it with his lover. Knowing that you trusted someone with your deepest hurts and the rawness in your heart, and that he then forwarded it to his lover - a lover who had been my own trusted friend and confidant - for analysis and mocking belittlement creates a deep chasm of hurt. I've always said, from the day I found out the truth about my husband and former friend and their perfidy, that their affair is one thing; the intentional and willful effort to destroy me, my mental health, and my relationships is another thing entirely. The latter is not just a moral lapse or error in judgment; it's cruel and evil. No sugar coating, no donning the respectability of a new marriage, no leaving the past behind forgives that kind of behavior.<br />
<br />
When I hear the song these days, I am reminded about where I was. I didn't know who I was, I hated my life, and I felt worn. My heart was heavy. Some days the act of breathing was all I could manage. And so I made mistakes. I lost hope. My soul was crushed by the weight of the world. In the end my strength, though immense, wasn't enough. I fell to my knees. I couldn't even lift up my eyes. And so I found a faithful crutch, vodka, to cope with all the aches and the abuses I could no longer handle. Though the first two or three swallows was always a battle (our bodies know better than our minds sometimes, and my body often tried to reject my faithful crutch), once I felt the heat of the alcohol coursing through my body and knew oblivion was coming, I felt pure and almost victorious relief. No matter what was outside my control, putting that alcohol in my body was my choice and I made it with gusto.<br />
<br />
I was lucky though. Through the worst of it, I had the best people in my life, people who loved me no matter what I did to try to push them away or how self-destructive I tried to be.<br />
<br />
There was Jakob who knew I would find my way back to being his mom, and who stood beside me without fail and without judgment though he violently hated my choices. He didn't discount me for the least of what I did. He saw me as a whole person - talented, energetic, silly... and struggling. He never failed to share with me the longing of his beautiful heart: "Please stop. I love you."<br />
<br />
Staci, in the midst of her own celebration of her career and relationship successes, just didn't know how to rescue me, how to force me to see what I was doing and who I was doing it to. I genuinely believed my behavior was only hurting (saving) me and didn't understand why she couldn't just leave me alone. She didn't give up and still hasn't. She's the best cheerleader I could have, and she celebrates my victories and joys.<br />
<br />
Iris kept inviting me to do things that would change my life - things I knew I couldn't do when I was married. She wanted me to go to Tres Dias for years, and I resisted. I knew that enlightenment - confronting the horror of my marriage and the abuse I lived both in my home and at my job - would have made it impossible to stay married or stay at my job. She also brought me papers to register for Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge, and then sweetly asked repeatedly if I'd completed the papers and made contact with her friend there. When I finally went to Tres Dias, I found renewal in Christ. I've written before about MATC and the restoration and peace I found there. I left MATC with a beginning relationship with myself: I am learning who I am in Christ.<br />
<br style="background-color: #ccccdd; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13.4px; line-height: 19.1429px; text-align: center;" />There were others too. Too many to count, really. My contacts at my job, new friends I made, old friends I revisited. Their love and support overwhelmed me. It still does. As I reenter parts of my "old life" and receive the blessing of love and acceptance from people I willfully pushed out of my life, I am struck with such intense emotion, it makes me shake with horrible deep body tremors. My therapist told me last week that those tremors are the presence of the Holy Spirit and to welcome them. I'll try. But man. It's embarrassing when someone is hugging me and my body starts to tremble. Not everyone recognizes Holy Spirit tremors, after all.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
Still, there is one conversation that stands out for me. I was in Texas talking to Dave about the worst of my struggles. He's a strong man,and he's in love with Jesus Christ. He said, "You need to surrender. Do it. I want to hear it." He wouldn't let go or accept a promise that I'd do it later, alone. "No. I want to hear it. Do it." </div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
And there, with his arms wrapped around me and feeling perfect acceptance for whatever I was about to say, I did.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
Those moments were horribly uncomfortable for me. I'm a Catholic. We generally use rote prayers when we're in public prayer. Praying out loud for myself is so not my thing. Don't get me wrong. I pray for others. I open meetings and close meetings, and ask for food blessings. But praying for myself and in supplication was wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy outside my comfort zone. </div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
I called out to God in a way I never had. I surrendered my will and my comfort. I asked the Holy Spirit to walk with me. "Lord, I need You. I can't do this myself, my strength isn't enough. Mend my frail and torn heart and bring life to what's dead inside me. Fill me with the Holy Spirit and lead me to a place of forgiveness and grace." </div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
Hardly any of what I said was my own! Lyrics to songs I'd been hearing for years spilled out of my mouth. For the very first time, they weren't words of gratitude, but supplication. Finally! In those moments I found humility and love unending. I trembled, sweated, and cried. But I cried out. And in so doing, I reclaimed the ability to lift my eyes and my heart, Better, I reclaimed my gratitude.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
I have seen redemption win and it keeps winning. The struggles end, a heart can mend, a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life, and all that's dead inside can and will be reborn. And somehow the Grace Christ poured out on the Cross flows through it all to touch others.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
I won't ever be one of those people who constantly seeks or makes requests of God. God knows what I need and what path I have in front of me. I trust that. I'm back to living a life of gratitude, a life of praise. When I say the words, "Thank God for _______!" I literally mean THANK YOU, GOD! It's not just a saying or a space-filler. It's a prayer of gratitude and part of who I am. But I will also never find myself in a place where I cannot even lift my eyes or hands in supplication again. I need God as a warrior, as a protector, as a father, as a mother, and as a friend. I love the scripture we are using at the next Tres Dias: "He rescued me because He delighted in me" (Psalm 18:19). </div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
He rescued me because He delighted in me. ME! </div>
<br />
<br />
I heard the song "Sea of Faces: by Kutlass the other night. It won't stop whispering to me in the quiet of these long work days: "I am not just a man, vastly lost in the world, lost in a sea of faces. Your body's the bread, your blood is the wine, because you traded your life for mine. Just one in a million faces." <br />
<br />
He delighted in ME!<br />
<br />
And you too.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari<br />
<br />Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-44033484787532578402016-02-09T15:03:00.000-06:002016-04-16T15:53:21.500-05:00Unfinished BusinessWe all, I think, have our own bucket lists.<br />
<br />
Some of them are probably more formal than others.<br />
<br />
Mine's not very formal. It doesn't even exist outside myself. My bucket list sits in a rarely visited corner of my brain. And it's only in the dark recess of night that I start to think about what's on that list.<br />
<br />
Most of what I long to do is fairly exciting. Find my house in Costa Rica or thereabout. Write a story and publish it. Learn Gaelic.<br />
<br />
Exciting for me, I guess.<br />
<br />
Some of the things on my list are more about closure and healing. <br />
<br />
One thing heads the list: finish this blog! I have a bunch of unpublished and unfinished posts I need to edit and post. Once I do, I'm going to print my last blogger book, and close the cover on the first half of my life. It gets harder to do it with every day that passes. The joys and hurts of the past belong in the past. But I've never been a person to leave something like this unfinished, and I don't want to start with something this critical.<br />
<br />
To that end, I've printed my posts all the way back to the very first one.<br />
<br />
This blog is a heck of a read! I love reading about our family and my boys, my developing faith, and my zany journey. I love the history of a marriage and family that mattered; it was valued by both myself and my husband, our families and friends, and our sons. I love seeing the small glimpses of how I loved my job and why it mattered to me. Most, I love remembering all I did to celebrate my life and the lives of those around me.<br />
<br />
I still do that. I still find the good, the silly, the joyful. I still focus my energy on what I most love. I still start and end my days in gratitude. <br />
<br />
Today, though, there's a new angle. It has something to do with truth and with authenticity. It has to do with humility and grace. It has to do with letting go of me and trusting that God has my back.<br />
<br />
For a long time, I made the best of my life. I was able to focus on the good things, spend energy filling up the gaps and empty corners, and achieve at a high level. Like Walker Percy, though, I couldn't understand why I felt so empty, alone, and unfulfilled. I wanted what I had to be enough. And it wasn't.<br />
<br />
There's a dark side to my story, one full of disappointment, anger, and despair. I remember waking up in San Francisco on my twenty-second wedding anniversary and standing at the window staring out without seeing the streets I loved. My husband rolled out of bed and gave me one of the best hugs of our marriage and told me, "You are the best wife ever!" His thrill spilled over. He was so happy I had complied with his longing for public sex. My heart was broken; in the moment I heard those words, everything tender and loving in my heart for my husband died. I couldn't reconcile the pornographic side of our marriage with the person I longed to be.<br />
<br />
Still, leaving my marriage wasn't an option. By then I had already given up so much of what I'd hoped for in the marriage and in my life. I wanted a large family and Joe didn't; in fact, it took months of begging before he agreed grudgingly to have a second child. His pointed lack of interest in the pregnancy and even the infant son scared me; I thought I'd doomed my second child to a fatherless existence. And Jakob was the end of our family. There's no compromise when it comes to family size. Joe got his way. There were other concessions, large and small. Things like church attendance, career choice, family obligations, and finances. My life was horribly disappointing to me too. I remember thinking that if God really loved me and wanted me to be free of the marriage, I would die. Or Joe would.<br />
<br />
I chose to deal with my disappointment, anger, and despair by doing the best I could not to feel anything. I numbed myself in a number of ways. Alcohol was my last choice and it was a successful one. When I drank, I didn't have to think about what was lacking or disappointing. I didn't have to try to see a bright future. I didn't have to deal with a man who couldn't understand me. I didn't have to think about the emptiness of a future I didn't want.<br />
<br />
The chain of events that led to my divorce tells a sad story. When I failed, I did it with gusto. There never were any half measures in my life. The good news is that when I decided to recover, I did that with gusto too.<br />
<br />
I know I need to write the rest of the story; it's unfinished business. <br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
I will.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
Kari Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-84782788202460156172016-02-05T06:46:00.000-06:002016-04-16T15:53:21.586-05:00Reclaiming...I had a friend who was a copy cat. She bought the same jewelry I bought, painted her nails the same way I did, and did everything I did. She coveted all I had.<br />
<br />
I made the mistake of annoying her by standing in the way of something she desperately wanted, and I believe that prompted her to turn her attention to my husband.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. My husband made his own choices. In fact, I believe I helped point him in her direction. I wrote about that in another post.<br />
<br />
My girlfriend didn't fall into a relationship accidentally. She first tried to engage my husband and I in partner swapping. That started at the end of 2009.<br />
<br />
The ugly horror of what the two of them did to my children, my sister, and my dad is laid out in a 252-page text message that was on the file server at work. It was never protected or hidden. Since Joe casually gave his user name and passwords to everyone who worked there, anyone could have read it.<br />
<br />
I learned so much that saved my sanity and restored my trust in my own instinct and inclination. <br />
<br />
It was no accidental coming together for them, but intentionally orchestrated by her. He fell for it.<br />
<br />
It was nothing beautifully loving, but a freak show fueled by pornography, whips, and vibrating butt plugs.<br />
<br />
It was nothing honest or spiritual, but spiteful and mean-spirited.<br />
<br />
In the end what happened was good for me. Things needed to happen exactly the way they did to free me from a life I didn't know how to fix, and didn't want.<br />
<br />
For them it culminated in a newly formed marriage.<br />
<br />
That doesn't whitewash everything or legitimize anything. It doesn't make the lies true or the profane sacred. And it doesn't create a family out of broken people.<br />
<br />
At the end of the day though, it's really their problem.<br />
<br />
I have to wonder what it's like to watch your lover lie to your son convincingly and then trust your lover to tell you the truth.<br />
<br />
I have to wonder what it's like to sneak and steal and then trust your lover to be forthcoming and authentic.<br />
<br />
And I have to wonder what it's like to look at each other and see exactly what ugliness lies beneath the surface coating.<br />
<br />
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What happened to me at the hands of two people who claimed to love me, well, it was horrible.<br />
<br />
Two people I trusted betrayed everything I held sacred.<br />
<br />
I poured out my heart to my husband who was supposed to be my other half, the bedrock of my life and he shared it all with a friend who claimed she only had my best interest at heart. They laughed at me in my greatest pain and weakness. I felt paranoid and thought I was mentally ill. I was a victim of two people who went out of their way to make me feel like everything that was happening was my fault.<br />
<br />
Piece by piece, I reclaim my self.<br />
<br />
I have reconnected with people I shut out of my life in my paranoia and hurt. Every place I go, I find acceptance and love and joy.<br />
<br />
I have made new friends and find that the better they know me, the more they love me. And the reverse is true too.<br />
<br />
I have built a space that my sons call home, and it's so beautiful I wake up in wonder every day.<br />
<br />
And today when I found my bottles of antidepressants and anxiety medication in a cupboard, I tossed them down the drain with a smile in my heart.<br />
<br />
Mentally ill. Pffft.<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-55192827977544505112015-12-01T10:36:00.002-06:002016-05-16T10:59:55.803-05:00Go Forth...Last night was my last night at Minnesota Adult and Teen Challenge. I'm a graduate, and I am a new creation in Christ!<br />
<br />
I
went there for the first time on August 10 and have spent fifteen hours
a week in or on my way to class and countless hours completing my
homework. One of the first assignments was called "Renewing Your Mind"
and every person who completed it really did find renewal and blessing
in the work necessary to complete that assignment. Many more followed -
sexual integrity, healing after abuse, worry, anxiety, fear, relapse
prevention... Every hour I spent in the pages of those assignments
changed my life, my heart, and my spirit.<br />
<br />
Those
assignments were not the typical treatment work. They were developed
over a couple decades by our teacher and therapist, Lori. She has such
an incredible heart for God and a deep, abiding love for others. She
poured her heart into the assignments she created. Every paragraph
provoked thoughtful examination of conscience in me and in others in my
classes. The questions we answered forced us to search our hearts for
truth and share brutal and painful realities. Each of us who completed
those assignments learned about ourselves and developed a new
relationship with Christ and confidence in our recovery. I am so glad I
did that work, even though it was the hardest work I have ever done.<br />
<br />
I
am going to miss my classes and my sessions with Lori, but I am also
ready for the next phase of my life and ready to be done with all those
hours of introspection and healing. Don't get me wrong - healing has
only begun! But it's time for a new, independent phase of healing. I
plan to remain involved in recovery programs and I plan to share my
story with anyone who will listen.<br />
<br />
Last night I shared part of my story with the newly formed coed group.<br />
<br />
Our
Christian women's group underwent the transition to a co-ed treatment
group last Monday. Considering that much of my trauma has been
inflicted by men, the transition was not a happy event for me. I would
not have talked about many of the things I talked about over the last
four months had my group included men from the beginning. That is not a
commentary on men! It is certain knowledge that my journey would have
been vitally different had it not occurred in the exclusive company of
Christian women.<br />
<br />
During our first coed meeting, I
articulated my concerns. Women's voices are so valuable and studies
indicate that those voices are often silenced in the presence of men.
There are many reasons for that, and I don't care to debate them. It is
what it is. Because I knew that, I chose to drive two hours round trip
to attend a group that was exclusive to women, and even more exclusive
to Christian women - women who desired a stronger relationship with
Christ and who will freely admit their inability to conquer their
addictions without Christ.<br />
<br />
One of the men in the group
respectfully pointed out that sharing my story among those men - men who
are also weak and wounded - could foster a deeper understanding of
women's experience, and those words resonated with me. When I wrote a
concise recap of my experience, I wrote it knowing I would share it with
men.<br />
<br />
My recap is brutal and cold. I didn't talk about
so many issues that created the collateral damage in my life. I talked
about the bare bones and the ugly consequences. My recap took the form
of a goodbye letter to alcohol, my drug of choice.<br />
<br />
After reading it, each person said something to me. Their very sincere words told me that my testimony mattered to them. And, you know? Their words matter to me. I won't forget the things they said or how they recognized Christ in my life. I won't share what they said either. Those words are all mine. They give me hope for the future and confidence that I am letting the light of Christ shine.<br />
<br />
My friend and therapist, Lori, gave me her rendition of Jesus with the Word given to her for me by the Holy Spirit.<br />
<br />
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It reads:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>God created a purpose and then He created me in Christ Jesus - He actually selected me for Himself as His own before the foundation of the world and positioned me for destiny by making me holy and without fault in His eyes. Therefore, through Him, I can do everything He has called me to do. He strengthens and empowers me to fulfill His purpose. I am self-sufficient in Christ's sufficiency. I am ready for anything and equal to anything through Him who infuses me with inner strength and confident peace.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Ephesians 1:11,4, Philippians 4:13</i></blockquote>
Yeah. <br />
<br />
Over several years Jakob gave me many gifts with the same verse: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Man! Did he ever hit the nail on the head!<br />
<br />
I left last night after sharing the words my friend Pat shared at yesterday's Rotary meeting: do not curse the darkness; instead light a candle.<br />
<br />
Go light your candles!<br />
<br />
Peace,<br />
KariKari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-20338238569420474062015-10-29T17:15:00.004-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.468-05:00Living KindnessI have the luxury of loving kind people. A bunch of them from a bunch of backgrounds. They are all people I am thankful to have in my life every day.<br />
<br />
In a perfect world, this post would be read while listening to Bebo Norman's <a href="https://youtu.be/F-KKy5UIUpY" target="_blank">I Will Lift My Eyes</a>, as that's what I was hearing when I wrote it.<br />
<br />
A kind person is not the same thing as a nice person. I've known nice people and I want nothing to do with them. Their version of nice meant they followed the rules when others could see what they were doing, but what they did behind the scenes was all about lying and cheating and stealing and hurting. Their rage at being "outed" was and remains a fearsome thing.<br />
<br />
A kind person is one who will tell the truth. He or she will be listen and be supportive without pushing or "advising" another. He or she will absorb tears and fear and anguish and will call to mind laughter and courage and joy. He or she will encourage freedom and success without losing him or herself. <br />
<br />
I am kind. I have hard edges, for good reasons. I tell the truth, even when it's painful truth and even when it's about myself. And I am fierce, and that's what sustains me.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Know what else sustains me? The kindness of my family and friends. I am often humbled by what people have done and will do for me. My future is bright because of them. It sometimes makes me bend over and giggle with joy. Knee slapping moments must be celebrated, my friends!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9V5csc3D1397BR4W6XgPwzqvARK7aVpjP-g0kZaJ-6RP-hv7etL30SJuqPzlNLI4SVn5MPf2R-ppAGfEjBak-p6zPDoDEzJIt8YtuDWjG3Kuuq9os_iMiP_iu7YH13OKS7KLNCa5RsN4/s640/blogger-image-1632681696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9V5csc3D1397BR4W6XgPwzqvARK7aVpjP-g0kZaJ-6RP-hv7etL30SJuqPzlNLI4SVn5MPf2R-ppAGfEjBak-p6zPDoDEzJIt8YtuDWjG3Kuuq9os_iMiP_iu7YH13OKS7KLNCa5RsN4/s400/blogger-image-1632681696.jpg" width="290" /></a>Last week a friend discovered I was having an abundance of difficult events crowding my days, and he bought me a ticket to Texas. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He wanted me to relax and feel cherished and beloved. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It worked.<br />
<br />
I slept a ton, worked a ton, and because of it, I have a solution for what was troubling me.<br />
<br />
The joyful part of it? Last week's setbacks mean I'm going to release my app a couple weeks sooner than I planned.<br />
<br />
Halleluia!<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
And that man? He's a work of art. He lives kindness. And though he is physically, mentally, and spiritually strong, he is gentle.</div>
<div>
<br />
Nice? Not even a little bit.<br />
<br />
Thank God.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Peace,</div>
<div>
Kari</div>
Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-90910172324299366202015-10-23T11:47:00.001-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.592-05:00Momma LoveI have a broken heart.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Tonight was supposed to be our annual pumpkin carving event and my son can't come. This latest in his series of choices to not be with me has effectively destroyed my hope. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This last year has been a long journey. Though I wrote about all of it, I'm not done posting, so there are gaps in my story. I will close those gaps by the end of the year. And then I'm closing the book on the events and the emotional and physical pain of the last year. It's time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSL_dMwK63yYJx7iKoZKLlA2USTXcmUM7mZOQObJciy1ygKtWST6sslFkwUyCvNhAa4xACLiYC5IW1evZj3fWhiZP-cFeBv33PsEuWimFgLqR3S7asSd7yzokBsAussKPtLlnXo8_BfKt5/s640/blogger-image--569513522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSL_dMwK63yYJx7iKoZKLlA2USTXcmUM7mZOQObJciy1ygKtWST6sslFkwUyCvNhAa4xACLiYC5IW1evZj3fWhiZP-cFeBv33PsEuWimFgLqR3S7asSd7yzokBsAussKPtLlnXo8_BfKt5/s640/blogger-image--569513522.jpg" /></a></div>
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The one thing that won't ever stop hurting is the loss of my son - the boy who shared my love of fiction and corny tv shows, who has my affinity for people and relationship, and who loves like I do, with a heart fantastically generous. </div>
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He has made the decision to stay out of my life until I achieve some unmeasurable and undefined standard of wellness. Meanwhile he is surrounded by people to whom I will always be the worst of what I was. There is an element of injustice that I cannot wrap my mind around. </div>
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And so I surrender. </div>
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There is an ache in my heart constantly for the massive loss of the boy who is such a beautiful spirit. Some days the grief is so intense, it stops me in my tracks and I have to catch my breath. </div>
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I don't miss my husband. I don't miss my friend. I don't miss my dad. I don't miss my career. I don't miss my friends. I don't miss alcohol. But my boy? </div>
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Imagine the loss of a piece of yourself and then imagine that it was your own actions and choices that caused the loss. </div>
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Yeah. I did that. </div>
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I'm proud of my boy though. He was hurt by things I said and did. I can't take those things back or make the hurt go away. My mother's heart is broken for his pain. And because I taught him about being strong and confident and about boundaries, he was able to draw one with me and stand firm. I believe his actions are about making the healthiest decision for himself and about holding me to a standard of good behavior. Accountability is a good thing. </div>
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But. Man. The aching grind of the grief on my heart and in my spirit never relents. </div>
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The grief is just so painfully profound. </div>
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So. There it is. </div>
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"I am" says Jesus, "I am the peace the world cannot give."</div>
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There is peace in managing this pain without trying to banish it by abusing alcohol or using some other method of escape. </div>
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There is peace in the love and nurturing of the people who knew me at my worst and love me anyway, and trust in their constant belief that the best is yet to come in my life.</div>
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There is peace in knowing that I did nothing to deserve the gift of grace in my life and there's nothing I need to do to keep it. </div>
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There is peace in knowing that the very grace that sustains me every day can work in my boy's heart too, and that I will love him and wrap my arms around him when he comes, and I will do it without recrimination or shaming but with perfect joy. </div>
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There is peace in knowing that I love unconditionally. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKu6MgILFsg5DDb9YcoebrZd4ddbjV3FdC6TelzaeRbnI3aJjDXxxsTTuk2bEi0tI-y3p-nDuJZbgPp90nllBjgPqTyF-UNDTI8QhkrUW_w1KPE6coaTWTMXyovamvk97fvdXY0dphwAA1/s640/blogger-image-1807457169.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKu6MgILFsg5DDb9YcoebrZd4ddbjV3FdC6TelzaeRbnI3aJjDXxxsTTuk2bEi0tI-y3p-nDuJZbgPp90nllBjgPqTyF-UNDTI8QhkrUW_w1KPE6coaTWTMXyovamvk97fvdXY0dphwAA1/s640/blogger-image-1807457169.jpg" /></a></div>
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Thank God. </div>
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Peace, </div>
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Kari</div>
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Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0Monticello Monticello45.307808 -93.794759tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-33775475368604896342015-10-15T10:27:00.001-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.487-05:00Memes and Social ValuesI built my first meme this week. It's from a photo I took while riding Harley last week in Texas. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRj1NNcxfbRJWycJMjzXm8hInVFk_fsZ6crFTApceH7-iALpowFxdZcA0isS4YSbAo2-xiI07e4OVAnBqctBJcJpHNIGpQsI2YhpKYGJhJQ4-nymcxNGsurgDaGMQPUz2jYP7N-SLQeG_/s640/blogger-image-168128369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRj1NNcxfbRJWycJMjzXm8hInVFk_fsZ6crFTApceH7-iALpowFxdZcA0isS4YSbAo2-xiI07e4OVAnBqctBJcJpHNIGpQsI2YhpKYGJhJQ4-nymcxNGsurgDaGMQPUz2jYP7N-SLQeG_/s640/blogger-image-168128369.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I like it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Then I made this one from a photo I took out my new front door on Monday. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVh_ycP1knykxcg63v1_fOTgm-asDi_KqJZfLSKv43s0tn95oOLF-NDQTYcFDRlOeUm4b5AJS79u072ufhcBYPo59aFLy4BQbqMQSVQ48iQyNdU6eLydvqR2ZU5sGjrAh4sdjutXNDatB/s640/blogger-image-1967978320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVh_ycP1knykxcg63v1_fOTgm-asDi_KqJZfLSKv43s0tn95oOLF-NDQTYcFDRlOeUm4b5AJS79u072ufhcBYPo59aFLy4BQbqMQSVQ48iQyNdU6eLydvqR2ZU5sGjrAh4sdjutXNDatB/s640/blogger-image-1967978320.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And my final first week offering is this one in support of all the men who know how dangerous pornography is to healthy relationships. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5ArXC4nKvrD8s-4ypxuwKZahVMgb_wdn4R1cDdJsqGNDzPNXXWg1Mab30pbltoYLALjGnAEaapeSoEcgCHgrAyeQnWrse7PvtVvPXtdRSUPNSzaj_r-NsCQ0118PlN0rpOMHin1jSe5v/s640/blogger-image-1464698222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5ArXC4nKvrD8s-4ypxuwKZahVMgb_wdn4R1cDdJsqGNDzPNXXWg1Mab30pbltoYLALjGnAEaapeSoEcgCHgrAyeQnWrse7PvtVvPXtdRSUPNSzaj_r-NsCQ0118PlN0rpOMHin1jSe5v/s640/blogger-image-1464698222.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Memes really are the new arbiters of social values. And anyone with an editor can have a voice. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It remains to be seen whether that's a good thing or not. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Peace, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Kari</div><br></div>Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1262133406298102092.post-62139310342019723772015-10-12T17:08:00.000-05:002016-04-16T15:53:21.538-05:00Born to Ride!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Getg4CABavf7AmW4LA2jYMTCb7VvXXBmBaO5HCbAOY0NPYNyDEWC3xLFExt7Ljr1nbsdy4faUU-b0CYGKU2fxP_YxVBH3OZcd63kcP_nx5hEoeDPw-2qvid12q45bPWr0Vo260xf12f5/s1600/12143083_10207760238954766_4898877597291388601_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Getg4CABavf7AmW4LA2jYMTCb7VvXXBmBaO5HCbAOY0NPYNyDEWC3xLFExt7Ljr1nbsdy4faUU-b0CYGKU2fxP_YxVBH3OZcd63kcP_nx5hEoeDPw-2qvid12q45bPWr0Vo260xf12f5/s320/12143083_10207760238954766_4898877597291388601_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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This was my view from the back of the Harley I rode all last week in the evenings when all the work was done each day.<div>
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I actually love this view. There's the world to look at and admire. Then there are those arms and hands. They are powerful and strong. I'm never afraid riding this Harley with this man. He's cautious and confident. He would never take a risk that would result in me being hurt. He's wonderfully trustworthy.</div>
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He also thinks I'm eye candy on the back of his bike. Can't beat that.</div>
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Well except when you drive the bike yourself. One year from now, I will.</div>
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Peace,</div>
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Kari</div>
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Kari Kounkelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08948842221508546546noreply@blogger.com0