Rambling on about the pain of realizing the truth of those I love…

Life has a funny way of handing out lessons. It does not always send them wrapped in wisdom, tied up with a neat little bow, and delivered at a convenient hour. Sometimes life throws the lesson at your head like a pine cone in a windstorm and then stands there waiting to see if you finally understand.

I have always been guilty of hoping for the best. I have faith. I trust God. I try to believe people will do better once they know better. I tell myself things are not as bad as they seem, or maybe they will correct themselves if I give them enough time, enough patience, enough chances, and apparently enough groceries, electricity, forgiveness, and emotional labor to stock a small country store.

But reality has a way of catching up to us. It may walk slow, but it does not get lost. And when it arrives, it does not knock politely. It sits down at your kitchen table, looks you straight in the face, makes promises, tells you what your heart wants to hear and all the while has no intention of carrying through the promises.

My lesson came at a price. Not a cute little learning fee either. This one hurt my heart. It has been sobering, painful, and long overdue…  not everyone who calls a place home respects what it takes to keep it standing and things going.

These acres are home to me. They are not just dirt, trees, buildings, bills, chores, and long days. They are the place I have poured myself into. I have built here, grown here, worked here, sacrificed here, and tried to make something steady and meaningful out of what God put in my hands.

The hard part is realizing that some people can say “home” with their mouths while treating it like a free-living zone with optional responsibilities. They want shelter, the comfort, the benefit, and the belonging—but not the care, the respect, the upkeep, or the sacrifice that makes any of it possible.

I thought that seeing me build, work, repair, stretch money, make do, and keep going would be an example. I thought it might inspire responsibility. Instead, somewhere along the way, my effort was mistaken for obligation. My kindness became expected. My support became assumed. My exhaustion became invisible. I have become invisible unless they have a need. There is a special kind of tired that comes from being financially drained, physically worn out, emotionally overlooked, and still expected to smile like you are running a bed-and-breakfast with unlimited patience and a heavenly rewards program.

That is the thing about life, we all must learn as we go. If we refuse to see reality, truth, and the way people behave, we doom ourselves to repeat the same painful patterns. We leave the door open to get hurt again. We mistake hope for evidence. We call disappointment “just a season” when in actuality it may be a sign.

The world lately has been full of shocking and sobering truths. We see them in the news, in our communities, in our families, and sometimes right across the dinner table. It is tempting to look away. It is tempting to keep believing that if we love hard enough, work hard enough, pray hard enough, and give enough chances, everything will somehow become what we hoped it would be.

But faith is not the same thing as denial. Trusting God does not require me to ignore what is happening right in front of me. Being loving does not mean being used. Being generous does not mean becoming the unpaid sponsor of everyone else’s comfort while my own peace is repossessed one bill, one chore, and one disrespectful moment at a time.

So here I am, standing on the acres I call home, finally admitting what I did not, nor do I, want to admit… I cannot care for a place by myself while pretending others care the same way. I cannot keep supporting people who do not respect that I need support. I cannot keep pouring from a bucket they keep kicking over.

This lesson did not make me bitter. It made me awake, aware. There is a difference. Bitter says, “No one deserves anything.” Awake says, “Not everyone deserves access to everything I have worked for.” Bitter shuts the heart down. I still love these people, my people. But I have begun to build boundaries, think of myself first, and see the truth in life. I suppose “Awake and Aware” helps me see that locking the gate when the gate needs locking is self-care.  

And maybe that is the life lesson that has changed my perspective of the people closest to me… love people, pray for people, hope for people—but do not ignore who they are while waiting for them to become who you imagined. Reality may be uncomfortable, but it is also merciful. It tells the truth before the next heartbreak can unpack its bags and move in.