Having been out of work for nine months when my wife asked me to leave our home, and having no income to hire a lawyer, and with my wife’s assurance our divorce was a “standard” divorce, I still felt uneasy signing the divorce papers, to say nothing of my wanting nothing to do with the divorce in the first place. I was ramrodded. I had learned over previous months that the more I pushed back concerning the divorce, the worse our relationship and everything became. So I pulled back in every way. I was submissive and hoping and praying that with the divorce being out of my control, my wife would calm down and reconsider. I was oblivious and in denial that it would actually go through. It was beyond my comprehension. But I signed, believe it or not still believing it was not really going to happen.
By the time the divorce was final two months later on October 18 I had a job. I was living rent-free in a condo (bless you, David!) and didn’t have a sense for what my expenses and financial life would be like in the long run. I was totally overwhelmed, and devastated emotionally and spiritually. I cannot describe my grief. (I attempt in other posts.) It would yet be several months until my dire financial situation would hit me … when I had to start paying rent. Other posts will perhaps describe this is more detail, but suffice it to say that the most I could pay for a place was $250 a month. How could I afford a place I could host my children on that? Would I stop paying my donations to the church? They had been such a blessing to me before. I knew I couldn’t. Staying with my parents didn’t cross my mind because they live a fair distance from my work and children. A few miracles happened to allow me to stay in a nicer place than $250 could afford, again another story. I subsisted for several years on next to nothing.
I felt the desire to seek mediation to relieve the burden. I talked with a lawyer-neighbor-friend and he felt I had a case to push my ex to come to mediation, even though our divorce decree stated we couldn’t seek adjustment to the decree unless one of our incomes became 10% higher or lower than at time of signing. I hired him, and several months later met my ex in mediation.
As part of the proceedings I asked for more time with our children. Seeing them only 114 hours a month out of 720 was heartbreaking and difficult. Understatement. (Unless you’ve been divorced, you likely can’t comprehend.) Yes, I even calculated the hours. It was unfair. Was I not as much a parent as my ex? In mediation I asked for joint custody. That was turned down. The mediator suggested to keep them one more evening when they came on the weekends, Sunday evening, and take them to school on Monday. My ex agreed.
At this time I was renting a bedroom in my friends’ home, where they were so gracious to let me sleep with my children on the family room floor in their basement when they came to visit.
Through the mediation the counter-requirement for me to be able to have them until Monday morning was that each of my four children must have their own beds. Thinking back on it, it was a silly request to prevent me from seeing them two nights more a month. Not surprisingly if you think seriously about it, the weekends they came and we camped out in sleeping bags on the basement floor every other weekend was such fun. It was a sleepover with five sleeping bags covering the living room floor, a camp-out of sorts. Breakfast and lunch were created and served on a card table in that same family room, or more commonly on a blanket on the floor picnic-style, with the sleeping bags rolled up and used as backrests. I shared the kitchen upstairs with the family when I didn’t have the children with me, but had a microwave and a small (very small) fridge in the basement. (The family I was renting a “room” from were and are angels. Literally. Renting a room, they let me take over their entire basement when the kids came.) My children and I would sit and chat until late. It was a bonding time that I needed desperately with the void of divorce. (Even if you are married with children, I recommend camping out on the living room floor as a family now and then!)
To think that having beds for my children would somehow make for a better or safer experience for my children, or make me a better father, in order to allow them to stay two extra nights a month now is nonsensical. It was nothing than a trick to keep me from having them those two extra nights a month.
By a “fluke” (no such thing in my mind–it was clearly the hand of God) a few weeks after mediation a couple in the neighborhood were moving and had two sets of bunk beds they were getting rid of. Did I want them?
And equally as miraculous, the wonderful family I was living with said I could put those up in their basement family room, and basically take over the family room as my own, even though I was paying $250 to rent only a room in their basement.
I had four bunk beds and a place for the kids to sleep (as if they didn’t have a place to sleep before). Now my children could stay with me into Monday morning.
A sad part of the story is that by now my ex had been encouraging the older two, now of age to be in the youth program of our church, to not attend church with me on Sundays. To have them “split their experience between two youth programs would be too difficult and confusing for them.” I had the distinct and clear impression to the contrary, that father is more important than friends and where they attended church, and more importantly, there is nothing more important a thing I could do than to worship with my children. Suffice it to say the older two of my four youngest no longer came to church with me at this time except on rare occasions like Fathers Day (another source of grief and sorrow). But I am happy to say that as my third later turned 12, my gentle encouragement and a few comments to my ex, have allowed her to continue to come to church with me.
And … my two youngest at least stay during the school year through Monday morning when I take them to school!
I wish I could put words to this story to convey the blessings of the Lord I feel in the events I describe. In spite of hardship, Words cannot describe the praise I have for my Savior in intervening in some indescribable way beyond the veil, to allow my children to stay those two extra nights a month. And to have four beds fall in my lap at the exact time I needed than and couldn’t afford them. And to live with a family that allowed me to rent their entire basement at the cost of a room.
Let me explain as best I can: If you think of the times in your family experience, what have some of the most truly important healing or bonding or touching times come with your children? Besides the big whoop-de-do vacations and the fun extravagant planned times, what do you count as the most cherished times when hearts were touched, tears were shed, feelings and testimonies were born, and peace reigned? Were not many of those times in the quiet evenings around the kitchen table sharing and talking, or tucking the children into bed, reading bedtime stories and sharing personal experiences and thoughts, laughing together? Not to say the one-evening-a-week with dad aren’t appreciated, but most of that time is fixing dinner, doing homework, then driving them back to Mom’s. Three to four hours passing too quickly. The long evenings into bed time are key. As a divorced father with four Friday and Saturday nights a month with his children, adding two more of those per month, now six out of 30 nights instead of just four, becomes more valuable than rubies or gold.
My prayers are with you,
Carl