I started a new therapy with my counselor called Life Integration Therapy. Being a Christian, she does things a little differently and invites the Holy Spirit into the session to help build these broken pieces in your brain from many years of trauma.
It kinda kicks your butt.
I did ok until the adult me had to tell the infant me, just birthed and wrapped in a receiving blanket, what her life was going to be like. I totally lost it. I don’t want to tell this innocent, precious baby that her life would be filled with molestation, an alcoholic father with rages, suicide, lying, deceit, shame, divorce and many years of pain and regret.
How do you tell a child this is what their life will be like? How can you do that to any one let alone an innocent child?
It’s not fair.
I have several girlfriends, the dearest ladies in the world to me, who have had blessed lives. A good, solid upbringing with healthy fathers, good husbands filled with integrity, safe homes, ministry without shame, marriage without betrayal, the works in my book. Then I look at my life and I feel like a little girl watching her Daddy hand beautiful gifts to her sisters - new, pristine party dresses, china dolls with silk curls, warm, soft coats with fur around the collar. And I get a beat up, second-hand doll.
Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful for two AMAZING children and a lovely home and a job I love; but there is still a little girl in me with dreams and hopes, that is looking at a second-hand doll. I don’t want to tell the baby me that this is what her life will feel like.
I know God can and does make beautiful china dolls out of gauze and yarn; however the child in me is having a good old-fashioned pity party. I’ve heard the catch phrases of the decade saying we need to “heal the child within” and now I get it. Except this child is sulking in the corner with a torn up doll at her feet watching her sisters twirl in their party dresses to the delight of all who watch.
I know. I need an attitude adjustment. But this is where the child me is today. I refuse to stay here. It is too exhausting! Sulking takes work! The brow must stay furrowed (causes caverns in middle-aged skin), the lips must maintain a constant pout (although they do look like they’ve had some silicone in them this way), and the arms have to remain crossed (well that isn’t so bad, it gives you cleavage).
It’s still tiring. Maybe I need a nap.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Shards of Light
It’s been so long since my last entry; a lifetime in blog-world. It seems I have lived a lifetime in the real world too. Since Bingeing and Purging, I’ve become a divorced woman/new homeowner - both very scary things.
Within the span of a year my life has taken more dips and dives than a trick pilot. On September 1, I became a single woman after nearly 25 years of marriage. It is amazing the feeling of a 25-year-weight being lifted off one’s shoulders with a thump of a judge’s stamp. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy. I liken the divorce hearing to pulling out one’s intestines through the navel. Despite the ripping pain, when the aftermath subsided, there was a lightness that I’d not felt in a long time.
I didn’t realize how exhausting it is to wrestle oneself into submission in a marriage where one partner is consistently sabotaging the foundation.
The last few weeks have been like walking through a deep cavern without any visible shadow on the path of suffocating blackness. God’s Word was the only shards of light to guide me through this pervasive darkness; that and the broad shoulders of a few girlfriends known to me as DSTN and TWaD (long story) and the prayers of many friends and family. If any of you are reading this, bless you. I wouldn’t be sane without you.
I now enter the next phase of my journey to discover Abba’s Child as a “single woman.” A single woman wedded to Christ. What an honor to be His bride! I truly feel a honeymoon phase in my relationship with Him. After all, there is no other man competing with His affections, no other man to seek council from, and no other man to fulfill those quiet places within my soul.
Just my Jesus.
How sweet it is!
I still wrestle with guilt, but it subsides as I study what the Word says about divorce. I’m not talking just reading the Bible as is…I’m talking going back to the original Hebrew and Greek along with the divorce traditions of the time. What a difference it makes! So many churches and denominations wreck havoc on the abused seeking divorce to end the pain and bondage. As if heaping guilt and condemnation on the wounded will bring healing!
The night of the divorce, I sat before my Bible exhausted and unable to decide where to seek my solace in His Word. I did what I haven’t done in years. I asked the Lord to take me to a place in His Word just for me. I desperately needed to hear that He was close and knew my heart. I closed my eyes and opened my Bible to where it just happened to land.
Isaiah 14:3, “It shall come to pass in the day the Lord gives you rest from your sorrow, and from your fear, and the hard bondage in which you were made to serve…”
He knows.
He understands.
He heals.
Within the span of a year my life has taken more dips and dives than a trick pilot. On September 1, I became a single woman after nearly 25 years of marriage. It is amazing the feeling of a 25-year-weight being lifted off one’s shoulders with a thump of a judge’s stamp. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy. I liken the divorce hearing to pulling out one’s intestines through the navel. Despite the ripping pain, when the aftermath subsided, there was a lightness that I’d not felt in a long time.
I didn’t realize how exhausting it is to wrestle oneself into submission in a marriage where one partner is consistently sabotaging the foundation.
The last few weeks have been like walking through a deep cavern without any visible shadow on the path of suffocating blackness. God’s Word was the only shards of light to guide me through this pervasive darkness; that and the broad shoulders of a few girlfriends known to me as DSTN and TWaD (long story) and the prayers of many friends and family. If any of you are reading this, bless you. I wouldn’t be sane without you.
I now enter the next phase of my journey to discover Abba’s Child as a “single woman.” A single woman wedded to Christ. What an honor to be His bride! I truly feel a honeymoon phase in my relationship with Him. After all, there is no other man competing with His affections, no other man to seek council from, and no other man to fulfill those quiet places within my soul.
Just my Jesus.
How sweet it is!
I still wrestle with guilt, but it subsides as I study what the Word says about divorce. I’m not talking just reading the Bible as is…I’m talking going back to the original Hebrew and Greek along with the divorce traditions of the time. What a difference it makes! So many churches and denominations wreck havoc on the abused seeking divorce to end the pain and bondage. As if heaping guilt and condemnation on the wounded will bring healing!
The night of the divorce, I sat before my Bible exhausted and unable to decide where to seek my solace in His Word. I did what I haven’t done in years. I asked the Lord to take me to a place in His Word just for me. I desperately needed to hear that He was close and knew my heart. I closed my eyes and opened my Bible to where it just happened to land.
Isaiah 14:3, “It shall come to pass in the day the Lord gives you rest from your sorrow, and from your fear, and the hard bondage in which you were made to serve…”
He knows.
He understands.
He heals.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Bingeing and Purging
I’ve seen my soon-to-be-ex cry quite a few times the last year, but never in front of a Realtor. We discussed our options for selling the house and that was the last straw in his already full back-pack of stressors. If we are LUCKY we’ll get a very small amount out of the house; hardly enough to start new lives.
So the myriad of plans, discussions, ideas, and purging started. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one 1600 square foot house and garage. Frightening really. I finally had had enough of the trash collectors bilking us of our hard earned cash and decided a dumpster was a more economical idea. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one dumpster.
I was wacked on the side of the head with the irony - cumulative stuff in a dumpster in the midst of a divorce. I kept waiting for the deep wracking sobs and grief that I’d heard can accompany such an undertaking. It didn’t materialize; even when we divided some of the family photos. There was just a sweet sense of “Awww…remember that?” My husband didn’t fare so well and excused himself several times. If I wasn’t sure I was done, that would have been a good indicator.
There are many reasons divorcing couples should not live under the same roof. I know most readers (if I have any) would be saying “duh” about now, but I thought we were more mature than that. More Godly, More…I don’t know…just more. I was wrong. I guess we’ve made it this long, so we should get some kind of award; but the stress of living with an angry husband became too much and those wracking sobs found their way to the surface last week. That was when the bingeing started. Mint Milano cookies do wonders when eaten under the covers.
I am trying very hard to wrestle myself into compassion and mercy for this man I’ve spent 24 years with. Despite the deceit and betrayal, I tell myself Jesus died for him too, so if He can love and accept, so should I, right? After all - the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in me so why can’t I raise my emotions from contempt and betrayal into the resurrection life of compassion and mercy.
I thought by living with him during this hellacious time, I would have this amazing testimony of how you can really “love” your enemy and forgive even if you can’t stay married.
Boy, I feel dumb.
My therapist, my friends, my co-workers thought I was crazy to stay under the same roof while trying to stay afloat financially. I think they were right. I definitely feel crazy…or just dumb.
On my next entry I’ll try to get out of my flesh and back to my search for Abba’s Child.
So the myriad of plans, discussions, ideas, and purging started. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one 1600 square foot house and garage. Frightening really. I finally had had enough of the trash collectors bilking us of our hard earned cash and decided a dumpster was a more economical idea. I had no idea you could get so much “stuff” in one dumpster.
I was wacked on the side of the head with the irony - cumulative stuff in a dumpster in the midst of a divorce. I kept waiting for the deep wracking sobs and grief that I’d heard can accompany such an undertaking. It didn’t materialize; even when we divided some of the family photos. There was just a sweet sense of “Awww…remember that?” My husband didn’t fare so well and excused himself several times. If I wasn’t sure I was done, that would have been a good indicator.
There are many reasons divorcing couples should not live under the same roof. I know most readers (if I have any) would be saying “duh” about now, but I thought we were more mature than that. More Godly, More…I don’t know…just more. I was wrong. I guess we’ve made it this long, so we should get some kind of award; but the stress of living with an angry husband became too much and those wracking sobs found their way to the surface last week. That was when the bingeing started. Mint Milano cookies do wonders when eaten under the covers.
I am trying very hard to wrestle myself into compassion and mercy for this man I’ve spent 24 years with. Despite the deceit and betrayal, I tell myself Jesus died for him too, so if He can love and accept, so should I, right? After all - the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead lives in me so why can’t I raise my emotions from contempt and betrayal into the resurrection life of compassion and mercy.
I thought by living with him during this hellacious time, I would have this amazing testimony of how you can really “love” your enemy and forgive even if you can’t stay married.
Boy, I feel dumb.
My therapist, my friends, my co-workers thought I was crazy to stay under the same roof while trying to stay afloat financially. I think they were right. I definitely feel crazy…or just dumb.
On my next entry I’ll try to get out of my flesh and back to my search for Abba’s Child.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Compassion and Mercy Can be ashes of Sacrifice
My one constant prayer during this journey is, “Jesus, help me see Truth in all this.” That is a big prayer. I guess I didn’t say which truth, did I. In His infinite grace and faithfulness, He uncovered truth in my marriage, and to my surprise…truth in me.
I truly want to understand where my enemy weeps. Perhaps that will help me understand why the “enemy” chooses to wound.
Will that change his character?
No.
Will it change my decision?
No.
My understanding and planting seeds of compassion and mercy doesn’t change my enemy; however it does change me.
Whatever happened to compassion and mercy in the church? Oh we have plenty for the world, but what of it amongst ourselves? When does the “Pharisee” malignancy start? Perhaps it is a form of religious dementia. We forget where we came from and the pit He pulled us out of.
Most pastoral counseling I received on this journey has been “Be submitted and obedient. God blesses these.” The other very annoying counsel was, “Sometimes marriage is just a sacrifice.” I sacrificed and died to my flesh more times than I can count. Did it change my marriage? I’m not real sure. I know it changed me. I know that one day, if God wills, I remarry, I will be a much better wife and life partner because I’ve learned from this.
Marriage is a road riddled with sacrifice – kind of like a well-traveled highway. Some sacrifices are small and barely noticeable in the matrimonial pavement; like giving a kind word instead of a snide remark, or ignoring a criticism knowing your spouse is under stress. Other sacrifices are potholes so big we lose ourselves, like in an affair, financial infidelity, or abandonment.
No matter how big or small, all sacrifices have one thing in common. Something has to die. By bonfire or a knife in the heart, death is the main ingredient.
I truly want to understand where my enemy weeps. Perhaps that will help me understand why the “enemy” chooses to wound.
Will that change his character?
No.
Will it change my decision?
No.
My understanding and planting seeds of compassion and mercy doesn’t change my enemy; however it does change me.
Whatever happened to compassion and mercy in the church? Oh we have plenty for the world, but what of it amongst ourselves? When does the “Pharisee” malignancy start? Perhaps it is a form of religious dementia. We forget where we came from and the pit He pulled us out of.
Most pastoral counseling I received on this journey has been “Be submitted and obedient. God blesses these.” The other very annoying counsel was, “Sometimes marriage is just a sacrifice.” I sacrificed and died to my flesh more times than I can count. Did it change my marriage? I’m not real sure. I know it changed me. I know that one day, if God wills, I remarry, I will be a much better wife and life partner because I’ve learned from this.
Marriage is a road riddled with sacrifice – kind of like a well-traveled highway. Some sacrifices are small and barely noticeable in the matrimonial pavement; like giving a kind word instead of a snide remark, or ignoring a criticism knowing your spouse is under stress. Other sacrifices are potholes so big we lose ourselves, like in an affair, financial infidelity, or abandonment.
No matter how big or small, all sacrifices have one thing in common. Something has to die. By bonfire or a knife in the heart, death is the main ingredient.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Pharisee vs The Child
I’ve been a Pharisee more times than I care to count. I’m embarrassed to view myself this way, but I must in order to give all legalism within me its walking papers. Let’s look at the comparison of a child of God - meaning one that has that childlike joy of the Love of God - to the all-knowing, all-seeing, oh-so-perfect Pharisee.
The Pharisee - Sees the Word as a manual of instructions
The Child - Sees the Word as love letters
The Pharisee - Sees God as a bookkeeper of wrongs
The Child - Sees God as a loving parent who overlooks childlike mistakes
The Pharisee - Demands sacrifice and obedience
The Child - Delights in mercy
The Pharisee - Uses fear of displeasing God as a means of manipulation
The Child - Doesn’t understand how you can displease a loving Father
The Pharisee - Blames, accuses and uses guilt and points fingers
The Child - Points the finger into the heavens and delights at what he or she finds
The Pharisee - Has a consummate gift of noticing the speck in another’s eye
The Child – Helps the other person bath the eye until the speck is removed
The Pharisee - Believes keeping the law earns God’s love
The Child - Believes being loved by God helps motivate one to keep the law
The Pharisee – Pursues a lifestyle that minimizes mistakes
The Child - Makes mistakes and learns from them
The Pharisee – Surrenders control of their soul to rules
The Child - Surrenders control of their soul to Jesus
The Pharisee – Has a fascination with honor and power
The Child - Doesn’t care
The Pharisee – Emphasizes personal effort and achievement
The Child - Emphasizes exuberant joy at God’s love
The Pharisee – Edits feelings and makes stereotyped responses to life’s situations
The Child - Is aware of his or her feelings and loves to express them
The Pharisee - Represses emotions
The Child - Is spontaneous with emotions
The Pharisee – Loves labels
The Child - Can’t read them
The Pharisee – Dominates people and situations to increase prestige, influence, and reputation
The Child - Accepts people out of sheer delight of who they are
The Pharisee – Seeks to master God
The Child - Wants to be mastered by God
*Paraphrased from Abba’s Child By Brennan Manning.
**Just my random thoughts
For years, I’ve been dominated and mastered by Pharisees in the church. They counseled me to be submitted and obedient and God would bless me. This is true; however there are times when submission to the Lord is more important than submission to a perceived mandate (i.e. the institution of marriage is more important than the individual). I always thought these leaders knew better because they had the mantle/title of pastor or leader. They were merely a Pharisee in hiding.
I feel like I’ve been untangling a large knotted ball of twine the last few years. It is exhausting to figure out which way the knot goes and which way to pull it out - Am I in sin, am I not? Is the sin of divorce worse than the sin of lying or stealing? Will God still love and bless me as a divorced woman because I was the initiator of the horrible deed?
It is like a monumental sifting process.
I’ve forgotten how to be a child of God. I’ve been a Pharisee looking in the mirror.
The Pharisee - Sees the Word as a manual of instructions
The Child - Sees the Word as love letters
The Pharisee - Sees God as a bookkeeper of wrongs
The Child - Sees God as a loving parent who overlooks childlike mistakes
The Pharisee - Demands sacrifice and obedience
The Child - Delights in mercy
The Pharisee - Uses fear of displeasing God as a means of manipulation
The Child - Doesn’t understand how you can displease a loving Father
The Pharisee - Blames, accuses and uses guilt and points fingers
The Child - Points the finger into the heavens and delights at what he or she finds
The Pharisee - Has a consummate gift of noticing the speck in another’s eye
The Child – Helps the other person bath the eye until the speck is removed
The Pharisee - Believes keeping the law earns God’s love
The Child - Believes being loved by God helps motivate one to keep the law
The Pharisee – Pursues a lifestyle that minimizes mistakes
The Child - Makes mistakes and learns from them
The Pharisee – Surrenders control of their soul to rules
The Child - Surrenders control of their soul to Jesus
The Pharisee – Has a fascination with honor and power
The Child - Doesn’t care
The Pharisee – Emphasizes personal effort and achievement
The Child - Emphasizes exuberant joy at God’s love
The Pharisee – Edits feelings and makes stereotyped responses to life’s situations
The Child - Is aware of his or her feelings and loves to express them
The Pharisee - Represses emotions
The Child - Is spontaneous with emotions
The Pharisee – Loves labels
The Child - Can’t read them
The Pharisee – Dominates people and situations to increase prestige, influence, and reputation
The Child - Accepts people out of sheer delight of who they are
The Pharisee – Seeks to master God
The Child - Wants to be mastered by God
*Paraphrased from Abba’s Child By Brennan Manning.
**Just my random thoughts
For years, I’ve been dominated and mastered by Pharisees in the church. They counseled me to be submitted and obedient and God would bless me. This is true; however there are times when submission to the Lord is more important than submission to a perceived mandate (i.e. the institution of marriage is more important than the individual). I always thought these leaders knew better because they had the mantle/title of pastor or leader. They were merely a Pharisee in hiding.
I feel like I’ve been untangling a large knotted ball of twine the last few years. It is exhausting to figure out which way the knot goes and which way to pull it out - Am I in sin, am I not? Is the sin of divorce worse than the sin of lying or stealing? Will God still love and bless me as a divorced woman because I was the initiator of the horrible deed?
It is like a monumental sifting process.
I’ve forgotten how to be a child of God. I’ve been a Pharisee looking in the mirror.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The "C" Word
My new friend, the childlike part of me, had a serious jolt today by that dreaded word “Cancer” invading my safe place. The mother that brought me forth, gave me life, nurtured, cuddled, and kissed away ouchies has bladder cancer. What a horrible word. It is treatable, thank the Lord, but it is scary nonetheless and makes me realize how fragile these gifts, parents, are to us.
The newly-found child within me wanted to run from these new shadows imprinted on my walls. Not now, Lord. Not now when I so desperately need her nurturing, cuddles, and to kiss away my new ouchies.
As I helped her with her catheters and showering I was seized by shifting circumstances. Just 40+ years ago she was doing much the same for me (minus the catheter). Being this intimate with my mother brings such a vulnerability to our relationship. There is a sweet sadness to it, if that makes sense.
I am catapulted back to my insecurities as a little one in this house. Fear of abandonment was a big thing with me. Don’t know why, really. My mom was a stay-at-home mom while dad was a hero fighting fires. I remember having nightmares of my mom leaving me in a car in a parking lot and having large statues (one looked remarkably like the Statue of Liberty) fall on the car. It was a recurring dream and I’ve never discovered its significance. I always attributed it to the usual childhood fears.
That same fear whispered in my ear today - abandonment. Just when I need my mom most. Am I really this narcissistic? My mother is battling cancer and I’m worried about being abandoned. The adult in me knows that she has a 70% chance of beating this…a good odd in today’s cancer percentages. But the child in me sees her locking me in the car, walking away, and statues falling in slow motion.
I was hoping to connect with the Dana-child that danced endlessly and sang at the top of her voice putting on shows for anyone willing to sit in the same room. Not this Dana-child. I wanted to find the Dana-child that was completely soaked in her emotions, giving in to them at will. Not the teen-adult Dana that was told her feelings and perceptions about abuse were wrong and sick.
In Brennan Manning’s book, Abba’s Child (is anyone tired of me quoting this new favorite toy?) said, “To ignore, repress, or dismiss our feelings is to fail to listen to the stirrings of the Spirit within our emotional life. The Son of Man did not scorn or reject feelings as fickle and unreliable. They were sensitive emotional antennae to which He listened carefully and through which He perceived the will of His Father for congruent speech and action.”
What a concept!! To actually stop an abuser in their assault before any damage is done. To tell a husband early on that stealing is wrong and lying is an abomination to a marriage. To stomp one’s adult-foot and say “Get out” if sin is a continual threat to the family.
If I had grasped this 35+ years ago until now I wonder how different I’d be.
I wonder where I’d be.
I read somewhere that if a brook did not have rocks in it the water would lose its song.
I guess that just means that this child within and the adult without have a lot of singing to do!
The newly-found child within me wanted to run from these new shadows imprinted on my walls. Not now, Lord. Not now when I so desperately need her nurturing, cuddles, and to kiss away my new ouchies.
As I helped her with her catheters and showering I was seized by shifting circumstances. Just 40+ years ago she was doing much the same for me (minus the catheter). Being this intimate with my mother brings such a vulnerability to our relationship. There is a sweet sadness to it, if that makes sense.
I am catapulted back to my insecurities as a little one in this house. Fear of abandonment was a big thing with me. Don’t know why, really. My mom was a stay-at-home mom while dad was a hero fighting fires. I remember having nightmares of my mom leaving me in a car in a parking lot and having large statues (one looked remarkably like the Statue of Liberty) fall on the car. It was a recurring dream and I’ve never discovered its significance. I always attributed it to the usual childhood fears.
That same fear whispered in my ear today - abandonment. Just when I need my mom most. Am I really this narcissistic? My mother is battling cancer and I’m worried about being abandoned. The adult in me knows that she has a 70% chance of beating this…a good odd in today’s cancer percentages. But the child in me sees her locking me in the car, walking away, and statues falling in slow motion.
I was hoping to connect with the Dana-child that danced endlessly and sang at the top of her voice putting on shows for anyone willing to sit in the same room. Not this Dana-child. I wanted to find the Dana-child that was completely soaked in her emotions, giving in to them at will. Not the teen-adult Dana that was told her feelings and perceptions about abuse were wrong and sick.
In Brennan Manning’s book, Abba’s Child (is anyone tired of me quoting this new favorite toy?) said, “To ignore, repress, or dismiss our feelings is to fail to listen to the stirrings of the Spirit within our emotional life. The Son of Man did not scorn or reject feelings as fickle and unreliable. They were sensitive emotional antennae to which He listened carefully and through which He perceived the will of His Father for congruent speech and action.”
What a concept!! To actually stop an abuser in their assault before any damage is done. To tell a husband early on that stealing is wrong and lying is an abomination to a marriage. To stomp one’s adult-foot and say “Get out” if sin is a continual threat to the family.
If I had grasped this 35+ years ago until now I wonder how different I’d be.
I wonder where I’d be.
I read somewhere that if a brook did not have rocks in it the water would lose its song.
I guess that just means that this child within and the adult without have a lot of singing to do!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Visiting Haunted Places
In the middle of this pilgrimage, I find myself in my childhood home to care for my mother after surgery. Soon the worry of her health and the logistics of appointments recede and I am sitting in my room as a different person than the woman that left to go on her honeymoon. Oh it isn’t the last time I found myself in her home; but it is the last time since I was stepping out to a new beginning.
Here I am again. Only this time instead of hope, excitement, and dreams of white picket fences, I’m scared, lonely, and wondering if I’m going to spend the rest of my life crammed into two rooms.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I am often haunted by the proverbial “What If’s” that all us humans wrestle with. What if I’d taken that job and moved? What if I’d said ‘yes’ my first love? What if I hadn’t married my husband? You know the ones. Those deep, thought-provoking questions that do nothing but haunt us like the shadows on the walls during the night when we were children. There is no real harm in them per say except the images that spring to mind and wrap us in a vice-like grip keep us from drifting to sleep…or keep us from moving forward in life.
I sat with my daughter tonight looking through old photo albums when I was her age. Ahh, now there is a part of the young woman I misplaced. Except this one had a few secret pains as well, but there was more of the little girl present back then. Now, the little girl is a shadow-thought. Kind of like the shadows on the wall of my room as a child.
It is so like the Lord to bring me here during this season. God is good and even has a sense of humor! I’ve caught glimpses of the shadow-child on the walls just before I sleep. The difference between then and now is that I’m not afraid of them. I welcome them.
Here I am again. Only this time instead of hope, excitement, and dreams of white picket fences, I’m scared, lonely, and wondering if I’m going to spend the rest of my life crammed into two rooms.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I am often haunted by the proverbial “What If’s” that all us humans wrestle with. What if I’d taken that job and moved? What if I’d said ‘yes’ my first love? What if I hadn’t married my husband? You know the ones. Those deep, thought-provoking questions that do nothing but haunt us like the shadows on the walls during the night when we were children. There is no real harm in them per say except the images that spring to mind and wrap us in a vice-like grip keep us from drifting to sleep…or keep us from moving forward in life.
I sat with my daughter tonight looking through old photo albums when I was her age. Ahh, now there is a part of the young woman I misplaced. Except this one had a few secret pains as well, but there was more of the little girl present back then. Now, the little girl is a shadow-thought. Kind of like the shadows on the wall of my room as a child.
It is so like the Lord to bring me here during this season. God is good and even has a sense of humor! I’ve caught glimpses of the shadow-child on the walls just before I sleep. The difference between then and now is that I’m not afraid of them. I welcome them.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Abba’s Child
I wonder if God likes me. Not loves me like the Bible says He does or like the song “Jesus love me this I know”. I mean LIKES me.
Isaiah 49:15 says, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you.” I vividly remember nursing my babies. It was one of the most tender, loving, bonding times I’ve ever had with them. It was the one time, besides their stay in my womb, that they were attached to me physically for their survival. I remember watching their little mouths work and their sweet lashes resting on their cheeks in blissful contentment. The wonderment and love that swelled through me was tangible.
Is it like that with Him? When He see’s our head bowed, eyes closed, mouths working in our supplications to Him, does He feel that same wonderment? I believe He does. For His great love for us He gave His ONLY son to die for us.
I couldn’t do that. No one hurts my son if I can help it. He is the first light of my life from my life. Flesh of my flesh. Bone of my bone.
Yes, my Abba likes me very much. As a matter of fact, He is very fond of me.
But how does my Abba feel toward those who have wounded His suckling babes?
The same way. Matthew 5:45 says, “…for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
Darn it!
What about the wolves who ravage His sheep?
Ditto.
We’re not talking about consequences here…for there are consequences to those who wound or ravage His little ones. I’m talking Love. The same way He loves me.
This one is so hard to swallow, but swallow this medicine I must. For this understanding is the same well that forgiveness feeds from. Tasting like compassion, this medicine becomes forgiveness when we allow it to soak into our spirit and soul.
Soaking takes time.
I have walked this same rocky terrain in my marriage for over 20 years. Even after multiple betrayals, I finally taste a bit of compassion. Forgiveness started its long journey through my soul; but it has so many more places to soak.
So why not wait to divorce? Wait to allow time for forgiveness to have its complete work? Because, unfortunately, it won’t change the behavior that keeps getting me in this mess. That is the understanding I came to the last time this happened 7 years ago; however, I was willing to be willing to stay if certain boundaries were agreed upon and followed. Yes, the little girl finally had the courage to say “no more.”
I’ve discovered even when we give forgiveness a road map through our soul, there are consequences to sin. This is where I am now - dealing with the consequences of another’s choices and sin.
It sucks.
But I am determined to allow the compassion to blossom and forgiveness to have its complete work; regardless of my husband’s change in his behavior. My forgiveness is not based on his behaviors. One of my new favorite quotes is, “The heartfelt compassion that hastens forgiveness matures when we discover where our enemy cries.”*
That is how I forgave my father. The Lord showed me where he cried as a young boy. The Lord is also showing me where my husband’s wounds have opened the door to deceit in varying forms. This doesn’t give him an excuse for the behaviors; but it does give me the door to walk through and offer a precious gift that my Savior modeled as He hung on that cross and looked upon those crucifying him.
I have a long road and a lot of soaking to do!
*Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
Isaiah 49:15 says, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you.” I vividly remember nursing my babies. It was one of the most tender, loving, bonding times I’ve ever had with them. It was the one time, besides their stay in my womb, that they were attached to me physically for their survival. I remember watching their little mouths work and their sweet lashes resting on their cheeks in blissful contentment. The wonderment and love that swelled through me was tangible.
Is it like that with Him? When He see’s our head bowed, eyes closed, mouths working in our supplications to Him, does He feel that same wonderment? I believe He does. For His great love for us He gave His ONLY son to die for us.
I couldn’t do that. No one hurts my son if I can help it. He is the first light of my life from my life. Flesh of my flesh. Bone of my bone.
Yes, my Abba likes me very much. As a matter of fact, He is very fond of me.
But how does my Abba feel toward those who have wounded His suckling babes?
The same way. Matthew 5:45 says, “…for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
Darn it!
What about the wolves who ravage His sheep?
Ditto.
We’re not talking about consequences here…for there are consequences to those who wound or ravage His little ones. I’m talking Love. The same way He loves me.
This one is so hard to swallow, but swallow this medicine I must. For this understanding is the same well that forgiveness feeds from. Tasting like compassion, this medicine becomes forgiveness when we allow it to soak into our spirit and soul.
Soaking takes time.
I have walked this same rocky terrain in my marriage for over 20 years. Even after multiple betrayals, I finally taste a bit of compassion. Forgiveness started its long journey through my soul; but it has so many more places to soak.
So why not wait to divorce? Wait to allow time for forgiveness to have its complete work? Because, unfortunately, it won’t change the behavior that keeps getting me in this mess. That is the understanding I came to the last time this happened 7 years ago; however, I was willing to be willing to stay if certain boundaries were agreed upon and followed. Yes, the little girl finally had the courage to say “no more.”
I’ve discovered even when we give forgiveness a road map through our soul, there are consequences to sin. This is where I am now - dealing with the consequences of another’s choices and sin.
It sucks.
But I am determined to allow the compassion to blossom and forgiveness to have its complete work; regardless of my husband’s change in his behavior. My forgiveness is not based on his behaviors. One of my new favorite quotes is, “The heartfelt compassion that hastens forgiveness matures when we discover where our enemy cries.”*
That is how I forgave my father. The Lord showed me where he cried as a young boy. The Lord is also showing me where my husband’s wounds have opened the door to deceit in varying forms. This doesn’t give him an excuse for the behaviors; but it does give me the door to walk through and offer a precious gift that my Savior modeled as He hung on that cross and looked upon those crucifying him.
I have a long road and a lot of soaking to do!
*Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I am my Beloved’s
I want to really understand this. That is the cry of my heart these days; along with healing, strength, wisdom and a plethora of other requests. But this one trumps them all. I am my Beloved’s.
I was raised with an alcoholic father who used his “liberties” as the authority figure in my life to tell me I was the sick one for setting boundaries. Then, as an adult, my ex-husband used the spiritual liberties granted him by man’s version of submission. Oh I don’t blame my ex-husband and father. I take full ownership of my crown called co-dependency and my scepter known as enabling. They are mine…temporarily that is until I figure out how to get rid of these pesky things.
But I really, REALLY want to grasp, grapple, press in, and absorb the concept of being His Beloved. I want to understand this as the foundation of my personal worth - not the opinions of man. I am probably my own worst enemy in this mistaken identity. I love what John Eagan said in his journal “We judge ourselves unworthy servants, and that judgment becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We deem ourselves too inconsiderable to be used by a God capable of miracles with no more than mud and spit. And thus our false humility shackles an otherwise omnipotent God.”2
I am more than mud and spit. I am in His image (I wonder if he has a dimple on his left cheek). Recently, I started defining myself to myself as one radically beloved by God and you know what? I have sensed a “falling in love” with my Jesus. I have truly felt a sense of intimacy with Him that I don’t remember feeling for a real long time.
Some in the church would believe me to be in rebellion; clearly not capable of such a close and intimate walk. That is something reserved only for the submitted and obedient (i.e. not divorced for non-Biblical reasons…whatever that means). I used to be one of those judgmental people. I am definitely reaping what I’ve sown. Ouch.
I’ve always had this sense of disappointing the Lord. Always afraid of what He really thought of me and my many hours of whiling away in an imaginary world. Then I remembered standing unobserved at the door of my children’s room watching them entertain Big Bird or Barney in some great plot or adventure. I would smile, turn, and leave them to their play, perfectly content with the fact that if they needed me or wanted to spend time with me, they would search me out. At which time, I would open my arms wide, envelope them completely, and savor the scent of blessed innocence in my beloved.
Is that how He sees me?
2Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
I was raised with an alcoholic father who used his “liberties” as the authority figure in my life to tell me I was the sick one for setting boundaries. Then, as an adult, my ex-husband used the spiritual liberties granted him by man’s version of submission. Oh I don’t blame my ex-husband and father. I take full ownership of my crown called co-dependency and my scepter known as enabling. They are mine…temporarily that is until I figure out how to get rid of these pesky things.
But I really, REALLY want to grasp, grapple, press in, and absorb the concept of being His Beloved. I want to understand this as the foundation of my personal worth - not the opinions of man. I am probably my own worst enemy in this mistaken identity. I love what John Eagan said in his journal “We judge ourselves unworthy servants, and that judgment becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We deem ourselves too inconsiderable to be used by a God capable of miracles with no more than mud and spit. And thus our false humility shackles an otherwise omnipotent God.”2
I am more than mud and spit. I am in His image (I wonder if he has a dimple on his left cheek). Recently, I started defining myself to myself as one radically beloved by God and you know what? I have sensed a “falling in love” with my Jesus. I have truly felt a sense of intimacy with Him that I don’t remember feeling for a real long time.
Some in the church would believe me to be in rebellion; clearly not capable of such a close and intimate walk. That is something reserved only for the submitted and obedient (i.e. not divorced for non-Biblical reasons…whatever that means). I used to be one of those judgmental people. I am definitely reaping what I’ve sown. Ouch.
I’ve always had this sense of disappointing the Lord. Always afraid of what He really thought of me and my many hours of whiling away in an imaginary world. Then I remembered standing unobserved at the door of my children’s room watching them entertain Big Bird or Barney in some great plot or adventure. I would smile, turn, and leave them to their play, perfectly content with the fact that if they needed me or wanted to spend time with me, they would search me out. At which time, I would open my arms wide, envelope them completely, and savor the scent of blessed innocence in my beloved.
Is that how He sees me?
2Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Imposter
I am an imposter. I freely admit it.
How embarrassing.
All these years I’ve thought I was something I was not. I hear your collective gasps. I know, I know. How can this be?
I didn’t realize it until I read the description of an imposter in the book, Abba’s Child.1
An Imposter:
• Is rooted in fear of human disapproval.
• Is afraid of abandonment, losing support, and not able to cope on their own.
• Is preoccupied with acceptance and approval.
• Needs to please others.
• Is often incapable of direct speech, hedging, waffling, and remains silent out of fear of rejection.
• Demands to be noticed and craves compliments. (I don’t care about compliments so much…just hand me a stage and a spotlight).
• Draw their identity from achievements and interpersonal relationships.
• Operates out of a fear-based center.
It explains a lot actually. Manning goes on to say, “The false self was born when as children we were not loved well or were rejected or abandoned.” My imposter was born that fateful day at poolside when demanded to unclothe.
Most of the time, my imposter covered itself/herself by means of chronic day dreaming. Now I’m really confessing my youthful sin. You see, this was my coping device. Like an alcoholic uses alcohol or a drug addict their drug, mine was getting lost in a world no one could see. No one could hurt me there. I created a wonderful place that I was in complete control.
I’m a big girl now (with a little girl still hiding in me) and I still haunt my old hidden world. Only now I try to use it for the good of the writer in me in the form of fiction. So, in a way, I took what the enemy used to keep me bound and I brought it into the light for the Lord to use for His purpose.
I guess you’d say I redeemed it.
Manning also states, “When we accept the truth of what we really are and surrender it to Jesus Christ, we are enveloped in peace, whether or not we feel ourselves to be at peace.” I covet this new world of peace. For decades I’d rebuked myself time and again for running to my trusted vice as if it was an evil sin. But now, I believe it was a gift from the Lord. I actually had a therapist tell me, after hearing my life chronicled in a painful diatribe, that my coping instrument probably kept me out of the looney bin (that is a medical term).
I must embrace this imposter as a part of myself and accept her for the place she held all these years. I think we should make friends with these imposters as they are a part of ourselves. To continually rebuke them is a form of self-hatred. Perhaps titles and imposters do have a place for a season…until we find our true self that is.
1Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
How embarrassing.
All these years I’ve thought I was something I was not. I hear your collective gasps. I know, I know. How can this be?
I didn’t realize it until I read the description of an imposter in the book, Abba’s Child.1
An Imposter:
• Is rooted in fear of human disapproval.
• Is afraid of abandonment, losing support, and not able to cope on their own.
• Is preoccupied with acceptance and approval.
• Needs to please others.
• Is often incapable of direct speech, hedging, waffling, and remains silent out of fear of rejection.
• Demands to be noticed and craves compliments. (I don’t care about compliments so much…just hand me a stage and a spotlight).
• Draw their identity from achievements and interpersonal relationships.
• Operates out of a fear-based center.
It explains a lot actually. Manning goes on to say, “The false self was born when as children we were not loved well or were rejected or abandoned.” My imposter was born that fateful day at poolside when demanded to unclothe.
Most of the time, my imposter covered itself/herself by means of chronic day dreaming. Now I’m really confessing my youthful sin. You see, this was my coping device. Like an alcoholic uses alcohol or a drug addict their drug, mine was getting lost in a world no one could see. No one could hurt me there. I created a wonderful place that I was in complete control.
I’m a big girl now (with a little girl still hiding in me) and I still haunt my old hidden world. Only now I try to use it for the good of the writer in me in the form of fiction. So, in a way, I took what the enemy used to keep me bound and I brought it into the light for the Lord to use for His purpose.
I guess you’d say I redeemed it.
Manning also states, “When we accept the truth of what we really are and surrender it to Jesus Christ, we are enveloped in peace, whether or not we feel ourselves to be at peace.” I covet this new world of peace. For decades I’d rebuked myself time and again for running to my trusted vice as if it was an evil sin. But now, I believe it was a gift from the Lord. I actually had a therapist tell me, after hearing my life chronicled in a painful diatribe, that my coping instrument probably kept me out of the looney bin (that is a medical term).
I must embrace this imposter as a part of myself and accept her for the place she held all these years. I think we should make friends with these imposters as they are a part of ourselves. To continually rebuke them is a form of self-hatred. Perhaps titles and imposters do have a place for a season…until we find our true self that is.
1Abba’s Child, Brennan Manning, NavPress, 2002.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Come Out, Come Out Wherever I am!!
This journey to shed oneself is painful.
I don’t like it.
But it is necessary if I want to really KNOW not only who I am, but who my new Husband and Abba is. Where did that little girl go? I remember her as being a bit of a tomboy, very verbose (my parents would say CONSTANTLY chatty), very strong-minded (my parents would say stubborn), and quite unconcerned with what others thought of my favorite tennis shoes with holes in them, the fact that I hated to comb my hair, or my muddy lizards named Cinderella (I named them all Cinderella…I don’t know why).
Where did she go? (Me not Cinderella) I think she went in to hiding the first time my father asked me to skinny dip in front of him. I vividly remember arguing with him, telling him “That’s sick! I will NOT do that. It is wrong!” I will never forget how I felt when he yelled back at me, “Well if you think it is wrong, then YOU are the sick one.”
I didn’t want to be the sick one. I wanted to be like every other tween/teen. I argued with dad some more, but the little girl retreated behind a wall and only peaked out to quietly proclaim her right to keep her clothes on. More words, more retreating…until finally the little girl was gone.
It wasn’t until I was in my thirties and my dad committed suicide that the impact of what he did really reached my soul and burned a hole right through it. For the majority of my life I didn’t want to be the “sick one”, so I gave in to just about every dysfunctional relationship that surrounded me. Financial and emotional abuse in my marriage, spiritual abuse in the church, and that never-ending fear of what people thought of me.
I think I’ve spent many of these dysfunctional years either wondering where God was or projecting on to God’s personality that of my abusers. I have seen Him in my minds-eye as a strict, harsh, disciplinarian who only gives us wonderful things when we do everything right or when we don’t sin “too much”. I’ve never really understood grace the way Christ intended it to be.
I want to.
I want to embrace it with the tenacity of a pit bull in a fight to the death. I want to understand and KNOW the Love of God in such a way that I don’t…no…I can’t waver when some pious, religious, self-righteous or just plain mis-guided Christian tries to explain why my decision to end my marriage is sinful. I don’t want to hear the continual recorder going round and round in my head saying, “You are the sick one,” when someone doesn’t understand or see the complete brokenness and inability to stand up and take it in my marriage because a chronic deceiver said, “I’m sorry,” one more time.
When I consider the judgment I will get when news of the divorce gets out, it is the same fear that rises in me when I heard those fateful words as a young girl. I don’t know why I think of those words, but I do. This is why the little girl hides.
I love what Brennan Manning says in his book, Abba’s Child. “Christians who remain in hiding continue to live the lie. If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others. We cling to our bad feelings and beat ourselves with the past when what we should do is let go.”
I have utterly and completely forgiven my dad for everything. How do I know this? Because, after I run to my Jesus, I want to run into the arms of my dad and tell him how much I love and missed him. Because when I think of him now, a sweet reminiscent smile graces my face.
You see, he was a frightened little boy retreating behind a wall only to peak out to quietly proclaim his right to not get beat in the garden shed by his dad. That is how I see him now. That is how Jesus saw him thirty five years ago.
Now…I’m off to find that little girl and bring her from behind the wall.
Come out, Come out, wherever you are!
I don’t like it.
But it is necessary if I want to really KNOW not only who I am, but who my new Husband and Abba is. Where did that little girl go? I remember her as being a bit of a tomboy, very verbose (my parents would say CONSTANTLY chatty), very strong-minded (my parents would say stubborn), and quite unconcerned with what others thought of my favorite tennis shoes with holes in them, the fact that I hated to comb my hair, or my muddy lizards named Cinderella (I named them all Cinderella…I don’t know why).
Where did she go? (Me not Cinderella) I think she went in to hiding the first time my father asked me to skinny dip in front of him. I vividly remember arguing with him, telling him “That’s sick! I will NOT do that. It is wrong!” I will never forget how I felt when he yelled back at me, “Well if you think it is wrong, then YOU are the sick one.”
I didn’t want to be the sick one. I wanted to be like every other tween/teen. I argued with dad some more, but the little girl retreated behind a wall and only peaked out to quietly proclaim her right to keep her clothes on. More words, more retreating…until finally the little girl was gone.
It wasn’t until I was in my thirties and my dad committed suicide that the impact of what he did really reached my soul and burned a hole right through it. For the majority of my life I didn’t want to be the “sick one”, so I gave in to just about every dysfunctional relationship that surrounded me. Financial and emotional abuse in my marriage, spiritual abuse in the church, and that never-ending fear of what people thought of me.
I think I’ve spent many of these dysfunctional years either wondering where God was or projecting on to God’s personality that of my abusers. I have seen Him in my minds-eye as a strict, harsh, disciplinarian who only gives us wonderful things when we do everything right or when we don’t sin “too much”. I’ve never really understood grace the way Christ intended it to be.
I want to.
I want to embrace it with the tenacity of a pit bull in a fight to the death. I want to understand and KNOW the Love of God in such a way that I don’t…no…I can’t waver when some pious, religious, self-righteous or just plain mis-guided Christian tries to explain why my decision to end my marriage is sinful. I don’t want to hear the continual recorder going round and round in my head saying, “You are the sick one,” when someone doesn’t understand or see the complete brokenness and inability to stand up and take it in my marriage because a chronic deceiver said, “I’m sorry,” one more time.
When I consider the judgment I will get when news of the divorce gets out, it is the same fear that rises in me when I heard those fateful words as a young girl. I don’t know why I think of those words, but I do. This is why the little girl hides.
I love what Brennan Manning says in his book, Abba’s Child. “Christians who remain in hiding continue to live the lie. If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others. We cling to our bad feelings and beat ourselves with the past when what we should do is let go.”
I have utterly and completely forgiven my dad for everything. How do I know this? Because, after I run to my Jesus, I want to run into the arms of my dad and tell him how much I love and missed him. Because when I think of him now, a sweet reminiscent smile graces my face.
You see, he was a frightened little boy retreating behind a wall only to peak out to quietly proclaim his right to not get beat in the garden shed by his dad. That is how I see him now. That is how Jesus saw him thirty five years ago.
Now…I’m off to find that little girl and bring her from behind the wall.
Come out, Come out, wherever you are!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Shedding Titles for a Testimony
I’ve come to believe all pastors and church leadership are suspect. Of what…well that depends. Pastor Tom was the only pastor in MY church history that truly deserved the title and role. His name is synonymous with integrity, grace, kindness, and a million other adjectives that really don’t do him justice. I describe him to people as “the Holy Spirit with skin on.”
He recently became my champion and my hero when, after months of being separated from my husband, I’d told Pastor of my decision to divorce. I remember sobbing in his office just a month ago saying, “I just can’t take it anymore, Pastor!” My husband, still holding out hope, told Pastor that he still loved me. I told him that wasn’t enough.
Pastor Tom, in his infinite – ok…finite, but great – wisdom looked at my husband and said, “What if one day you asked your wife to go jogging with you. While you were jogging you tripped her and broke her leg. You said, ‘I’m so sorry’ and she said, ‘I forgive you; however, my leg is broken and it needs time to mend. After it mended, you asked her to go jogging again and again tripped her and broke her leg. Again, you profusely apologized. She said, ‘I forgive you; however, it will take longer for my leg to heal. Then, when she was healed you asked her to go jogging a third time and again you tripped her and broke her leg. You, again, profusely apologize. She says, ‘I forgive you; however, my leg has been broken too many times and I can no longer jog with you.”
Then he looked at me and said, “What if we lived in a land that had a law stating you MUST jog every day? What if you went to the law-giver of this land and stated, ‘My leg has been broken too many times, I can no longer jog.’ The law says you must jog…but Grace says, ‘your leg has been broken too many times, of course you cannot jog.”
All the pain and heartache somehow had words that night. Words and a picture so vivid, it quieted my soul. It quieted my husband too! I think at that moment, he got it.
Yes, Pastor Tom had always been a great man, but that night he became my hero. In a later conversation when I told him of my fears of judgment from the Body of Christ, he said, “You will never hear judgment from me. I do not blame you for divorcing and if anyone speaks judgment to you send them to me.”
We buried my hero today. He died on May 20.
There is no earthly hero to champion me in the face of human judgment for what they call the great sin of “Divorce.”
At the funeral, a pastor gave a beautiful eulogy stating, “Tom was not about titles. He was about his life being a testimony.” That hit me between the eyes. I have lived my whole life seeking titles: Dance Teacher, Wife, Mother, Pastor’s Wife, Teacher/Speaker, Writer, Author, recently a Zumba Fitness Instructor. Now I was adding one…Divorcee. Ok, if you want to be really technical it would be Co-dependent Divorcee. Sounds more…trendy.
I have been hiding behind one or more of these titles for the majority of my life and somewhere along the way forgot who I am. When I first thought about starting a blog about this journey I was considering some pithy titles like, “I’m wearin’ Big Girl Panties Now” or “Christian, Co-dependent Divorcee seeks Sanity.” Something catchy, innovative, provocative. You know…a title to describe where I was at in life.
A title.
The last thing I need right now is a title. It is time to shed titles and search out my testimony. There is definitely a whopper buried under six feet of child molestation, being the daughter of an alcoholic, surviving a father’s suicide, two public ministry scandals, and living with a deceiver for the last 24 years.
I just have to dig a while to find it…and me.
He recently became my champion and my hero when, after months of being separated from my husband, I’d told Pastor of my decision to divorce. I remember sobbing in his office just a month ago saying, “I just can’t take it anymore, Pastor!” My husband, still holding out hope, told Pastor that he still loved me. I told him that wasn’t enough.
Pastor Tom, in his infinite – ok…finite, but great – wisdom looked at my husband and said, “What if one day you asked your wife to go jogging with you. While you were jogging you tripped her and broke her leg. You said, ‘I’m so sorry’ and she said, ‘I forgive you; however, my leg is broken and it needs time to mend. After it mended, you asked her to go jogging again and again tripped her and broke her leg. Again, you profusely apologized. She said, ‘I forgive you; however, it will take longer for my leg to heal. Then, when she was healed you asked her to go jogging a third time and again you tripped her and broke her leg. You, again, profusely apologize. She says, ‘I forgive you; however, my leg has been broken too many times and I can no longer jog with you.”
Then he looked at me and said, “What if we lived in a land that had a law stating you MUST jog every day? What if you went to the law-giver of this land and stated, ‘My leg has been broken too many times, I can no longer jog.’ The law says you must jog…but Grace says, ‘your leg has been broken too many times, of course you cannot jog.”
All the pain and heartache somehow had words that night. Words and a picture so vivid, it quieted my soul. It quieted my husband too! I think at that moment, he got it.
Yes, Pastor Tom had always been a great man, but that night he became my hero. In a later conversation when I told him of my fears of judgment from the Body of Christ, he said, “You will never hear judgment from me. I do not blame you for divorcing and if anyone speaks judgment to you send them to me.”
We buried my hero today. He died on May 20.
There is no earthly hero to champion me in the face of human judgment for what they call the great sin of “Divorce.”
At the funeral, a pastor gave a beautiful eulogy stating, “Tom was not about titles. He was about his life being a testimony.” That hit me between the eyes. I have lived my whole life seeking titles: Dance Teacher, Wife, Mother, Pastor’s Wife, Teacher/Speaker, Writer, Author, recently a Zumba Fitness Instructor. Now I was adding one…Divorcee. Ok, if you want to be really technical it would be Co-dependent Divorcee. Sounds more…trendy.
I have been hiding behind one or more of these titles for the majority of my life and somewhere along the way forgot who I am. When I first thought about starting a blog about this journey I was considering some pithy titles like, “I’m wearin’ Big Girl Panties Now” or “Christian, Co-dependent Divorcee seeks Sanity.” Something catchy, innovative, provocative. You know…a title to describe where I was at in life.
A title.
The last thing I need right now is a title. It is time to shed titles and search out my testimony. There is definitely a whopper buried under six feet of child molestation, being the daughter of an alcoholic, surviving a father’s suicide, two public ministry scandals, and living with a deceiver for the last 24 years.
I just have to dig a while to find it…and me.
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