Raising Magnolias

Because it's never too late for happily ever after…

Get outta the Truck

I saw a picture yesterday that read:

Redneck Divorce.

“Get outta the truck.”

And I laughed.

Out Loud.

Get outta the truck.

If only it were that easy.

And it reminds me of the time my brother was working  for Vice-President Gore and Mr. Gore looks at his boots; his signature cowboy boots that probably cost more than my entire shoe collection and Mr. Gore says to him,

“Where you from, boy?”

And it’s in that very same voice that I hear the man say, “Get outta the truck. Boy!”

And it makes me laugh.

Because looking back, I  thought it would be that kind of easy.

And one day it came to me. You don’t get divorced.

You go through divorce.

And so it should be.

It should be hard.

You  don’t get to jump outta the truck.

And I started wondering about other moms and other little ones and other stories and I wondered, how do you bring beauty from ashes? And my answer has been this:

To share the journey.

To tell the truth and show my  heart and be a witness to the realities of this messy, mis-stepped, beautiful, blessed life and that’s what I’m doing.

Mark Batterson writes in his book “The Circle Maker”, if you are called to write a book, it doesn’t matter if anyone reads it; you write out of obedience.

I’m a people pleaser and I am ridiculously defensive when it comes to criticism, but the same truth holds. If I’ve been called to write this blog and to share my story then it doesn’t matter if anyone reads it-

or  understands it-

or likes it.  🙂

I write out of obedience.

But lately the feedback has been overwhelming and overbearing and I thought Lord, why are you having me do this? I make a joke about being alone on a Saturday night and a reader thinks “I’m above that”.  One of the greatest blessings of my life is that I can find humor in almost anything.  And I’m not above laughing at myself.

And this isn’t funny. Divorce isn’t funny. But being alone on a Saturday night unable to zip (and 3 hours later, unzip) your dress because you are alone is kind of funny. And running down the street knowing that the only people giving you a second glance are the type of people with loud speakers and yell “run, momma, run” is kind of funny. And wearing a running skirt to teach body pump only to realize there’s a reason it’s called a running skirt and not a sqatting skirt or a tricep-dip skirt and a chest press skirt; yes while wearing said skirt only to realize that Coulter’s friend’s dad (yall remember him) is RIGHT in front of me and I’m paranoid so I change directions only to be RIGHT in front of another man (a cuter one, a married one, but for some reason a safer one) and all I can hear above the noise of the music is my Mom’s voice when we were children, “Keep you legs together” and my face flushes red and—

Wait. I don’t really think I had shared that story.

Ok, so now I have.

And it was funny.

And it’s funny that mowing makes me cry and that I once announced to a class with the head of the YMCA that “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” was my new theme song and—


I’m sorry. If you can’t find the humor.

As Ann Voskamp says, “I’ve never been here before.”

And so, yes. I’m sorry when I get it wrong.

Say it wrong.

Write it wrong.

My only purpose is to show my faith in Christ, show what it looks like to lean hard on Him and laugh just a little along the way.

But dangit. I’m ready to give up. I’m so ready to quit.

And then this.

A letter. Like a real letter, with a stamp.

In my mailbox.

And she writes: “Somehow I tripped across your blog months ago.  I love your writing. You speak to my heart and I believe you are someone I would feel honored to call a friend. They (your blogs) make me feel and they make me laugh and they are a kind of poetry that allow the reader to experience it as well.”

And y’all know that if I think a loud speaker on Military and Bell is the voice of the Lord, then for sure this letter is from God.



And then she continues. I also read your blogs as a cautionary tale and they sometimes feel me with dread.

Uhm. Ok.  A little on the ouchy side.

She ends with this. That you for sharing your thoughts, feelings, fears and joy. It is a gift. I just wanted you to know.

And how would she have had any way of knowing that her letter would come on the very day I was ready to quit.

How could she have known what she “just wanted met to know” was what “I just needed to hear.”

And I need the hard stuff too. I need to know when what I’m writing offends or hurts or is messy and tangled. I need to listen to all the voices and not just those that ring so clearly in tune with mine.

And I’m trying.

And in the meantime, I’m just gonna run, momma, run until the Lord finally says to me.

Get outta the truck. Girl!”

And He will.





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One thought on “Get outta the Truck

  1. I lived through divorce with my parents—actually it was more than once– but I’m not judging– just saying… And you are right, it isn’t as easy as getting out of the truck. My twin sister put me on to your blog. She’s walking right beside you. It’s been hard on me to watch her struggle but I am so proud of her. She’s going to graduate from college at 50 and be the best teacher in the world because she is getting through…

    Like you, I have come to understand that I write because that is part of how God made me…keep writing and please wear your shorts or leggings to body pump! LOL

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