Saturday, October 27, 2012
The Enemy of Preference
Some people prefer vanilla over chocolate (I still can't understand this).
Some men prefer blonds to brunettes.
I prefer flavored coffee over regular.
But when the Lord started nudging me to a new church different from the denomination I'd served in for over 20 years, I said, "But Lord, I prefer this denomination. I have grown up in, led worship in, and even preached in this denomination." I married, served, raised children within the walls of this denomination. It was like a part of my family.
So the Lord watched and waited. I fussed.
Then one Sunday when road construction kept me away from my preferred church, I decided to go to the other one instead. I slipped into a seat in the back as the visiting pastor gave his opening statement, "Preference will keep you from your destiny."
I was stunned. The pastor went on but my attention was riveted by that one statement. I pondered and marinated it in my soul and spirit for the rest of the service.
When service concluded, I was chatting with a mother when her two sons approached us. Like a slow-moving funnel cloud, the gift of discernment and knowledge swirled to the surface and I was able to see a gifting mantle on each boy. When I mentioned this to the mother, she started crying. "Yes! That is such a confirmation. Thank you!"
For years, my spiritual gifts lay dormant; not because of some dark hidden sin, or I was in the wrong denomination, but because I was in a season of fire burning, healing, and rest. I needed to let the Holy Spirit work without the distraction of ministry and active gifts.
My whole married life I was known within my preferred denomination as my Ex's wife. All ministry came out of being his wife.
Not just by being me.
Now as I sit in my new church, just being me and being known as "me", the door of possibility swings open before me. Just like the mythical Phoenix, I am rising from the ashes of my past a new creation. The old me is still there - only refined by fire and pressed like fine grapes in a wine press.
I don't know what lay ahead, but I do know that I could have missed an important road on my journey by the enemy called "preference."
Friday, October 19, 2012
Trash Becomes Treasure
“Without your wounds where would your power be? One broken
human being ministering to another can bring more healing to this world than an
angel who has never known pain, fear, betrayal or addiction.” Abba’s Child by Brennon Manning.
In the last few months, the Lord brought a precious friend
into my life that helped heal one of the great unanswered questions I’ve had
for the last 24 years. Many questions haunted my heart like whispering shadows,
but this one was the nagging, whining child that got much of my scattered
attention. “Why did my ex do what he did over and over knowing it was ripping
his family apart?”
This email from my friend addressed that whiney child’s cry.
“You ask after
24 years why can't he come clean and move into the light. The easy answer is he
doesn't want to. THE REAL REASON GOES MUCH DEEPER. If he keeps the secret,
control becomes his lifeline. He has wounded everyone who loved and/or trusted
him, he has lived a life as a hypocrite, the shame and guilt are like a noose
around his neck. The more he struggles, the tighter it gets till he just gives
in and it becomes a self coping pattern that he has had for a long time.” Then he encased the truth in
a nutshell. ”The
heart of David wanted to obey God and did, but he and his family suffered
the consequences of his sin.”
As I
read this, the last vestige of hurt melted in the wake of this visual. It
struck a deep cord of slumbering compassion buried in self-pity, offense and
pain. I’ve heard it said, “Hurting people hurt people.” There is my answer. How
many times do we demonize others because of pain inflicted by a wounded soul
with a self-administered noose around their neck?
I
proclaim myself guilty.
This
precious, self-acknowledged, surrendered addict helped me see the broken
humanity through my addicted ex’s eyes. What a gift! My hardened hurt melted
and became pliable empathy in the Master’s hand. Compassion shaped itself into
a beautiful crown of forgiveness completing a healing that started years ago.
And
it took another addict to show me.
Not
a self-help book…
Not
a therapy session…
Not
a well-orated sermon…
Not even Oprah...
Not even Oprah...
…but
another broken human being who has wrestled with God, the author of Truth, surrendered
to Him, and who now walks with a beautiful limp.
Who
am I to judge another’s brokenness as stinking refuse? Brokenness, surrendered in
the Master’s hand during a spiritual wrestling match, is life and healing to other
broken souls. As my new friend says, “God used my garbage and made it my gift.”
Do
you know what happens when we take our garbage and put it at the foot of the
Cross and light it on fire?
The remaining
ashes become the main ingredient in our new-found anointing.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Rising from the Ashes
God sends us through a Holy Fire for a purpose. He never wastes a hurt. He also never wastes an opportunity to set ablaze that which doesn’t serve Him.
So why do we hate sitting in ashes?
For a short season of my life, I was really into gardening and one of the things I learned was that ashes are very good for the soil and bring the pH back into balance. Some of the most beautiful spring flowers came from rain-soaked soil filled with ashes during the fall and winter.
During the intense blaze of my Holy Fire came an utter sense of quiet in my spirit and soul. Not the kind of quiet that is welcome after a cacophony of noise; but the kind that screamed of loss. I no longer heard the Lord’s prophetic voice. I couldn’t sense the Holy Spirit’s prompting. I couldn’t see what my future looked like. I couldn’t feel my destiny in my spirit.
This frightened me more than I can explain. It was as if I had forgotten my name - my identity.
I wonder if this is how amnesia victims feel.
It was a hollow cavern that echoed for infinity in my spirit. I had no desire to discipline my spirit into submission. No desire to pray any deeper than, “God minister to…God bless…God heal…” The intercessor was in a burned out stupor. The insightful prophetic was deaf and mute. The Word sat and stared back at me as if in another language.
It was a nothingness. The only thing present was a vague knowing that I wasn’t alone, and an understanding that above the nothingness, He watched and waited. The past was a shadow that didn’t loom or lurk – it was merely present. It didn’t shout, gesture, or condemn. It just was. Present to the degree that it reminded me of who people saw me as and what I was known for.
For most of my life, the sense of destiny and fulfillment was always in front of me – just out of arms reach – but still in front of me like a carrot dangling, enticing, promising. Yet, for the last 18 months, I sat on my laurels in the wake of this nothingness with my dreams and hopes burning to the ground. For months, I felt guilty because I had no vision, no hope, no dreams.
During my Job season, I learned a valuable lesson – don’t go sifting through the ashes after a Holy Fire. You get burned. I don’t know how many times I sat in the midst of my ashes sifting for a piece of my burned up dreams and hopes and each time, I scorched my fingers.
Why do we persist in sifting through ashes for burned up dreams?
Because we tend to focus on who we were…not who we are. God’s destiny for you and me does not exist in the ashes. It exists in the glorious by-product of seeds sown in soil that has been fed with the ashes of our past and then rain-soaked.
Each time I sifted through the embers, the Lord in His infinite Mercy and Grace reminded me, “Child, your destiny does not lie in the ashes. Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold I will do a new thing. Now it shall spring forth. Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Is 43:18-19.
I feel the seeds rising through the soil, pushing through the ashes. There is a road just up ahead.
I see it. I feel it.
So why do we hate sitting in ashes?
For a short season of my life, I was really into gardening and one of the things I learned was that ashes are very good for the soil and bring the pH back into balance. Some of the most beautiful spring flowers came from rain-soaked soil filled with ashes during the fall and winter.
During the intense blaze of my Holy Fire came an utter sense of quiet in my spirit and soul. Not the kind of quiet that is welcome after a cacophony of noise; but the kind that screamed of loss. I no longer heard the Lord’s prophetic voice. I couldn’t sense the Holy Spirit’s prompting. I couldn’t see what my future looked like. I couldn’t feel my destiny in my spirit.
This frightened me more than I can explain. It was as if I had forgotten my name - my identity.
I wonder if this is how amnesia victims feel.
It was a hollow cavern that echoed for infinity in my spirit. I had no desire to discipline my spirit into submission. No desire to pray any deeper than, “God minister to…God bless…God heal…” The intercessor was in a burned out stupor. The insightful prophetic was deaf and mute. The Word sat and stared back at me as if in another language.
It was a nothingness. The only thing present was a vague knowing that I wasn’t alone, and an understanding that above the nothingness, He watched and waited. The past was a shadow that didn’t loom or lurk – it was merely present. It didn’t shout, gesture, or condemn. It just was. Present to the degree that it reminded me of who people saw me as and what I was known for.
For most of my life, the sense of destiny and fulfillment was always in front of me – just out of arms reach – but still in front of me like a carrot dangling, enticing, promising. Yet, for the last 18 months, I sat on my laurels in the wake of this nothingness with my dreams and hopes burning to the ground. For months, I felt guilty because I had no vision, no hope, no dreams.
During my Job season, I learned a valuable lesson – don’t go sifting through the ashes after a Holy Fire. You get burned. I don’t know how many times I sat in the midst of my ashes sifting for a piece of my burned up dreams and hopes and each time, I scorched my fingers.
Why do we persist in sifting through ashes for burned up dreams?
Because we tend to focus on who we were…not who we are. God’s destiny for you and me does not exist in the ashes. It exists in the glorious by-product of seeds sown in soil that has been fed with the ashes of our past and then rain-soaked.
Each time I sifted through the embers, the Lord in His infinite Mercy and Grace reminded me, “Child, your destiny does not lie in the ashes. Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold I will do a new thing. Now it shall spring forth. Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Is 43:18-19.
I feel the seeds rising through the soil, pushing through the ashes. There is a road just up ahead.
I see it. I feel it.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Shedding Hurts
It’s been nearly a year since my last “shedding”. I wish I could say I’ve been leaping and twirling my way through healing since my last post. Instead, I’ve woven a cocoon and wrapped myself in self-protective layers. Some have brought healing, others pain.
The funny thing about being in a cocoon is you can only feast off of what you bring into the cocoon. Instead of the makings for a beautiful butterfly, I brought the makings of a moth.
I’ve spent the last year nursing my wounds in my self-made cocoon. At least that is what I thought I was doing. I was actually feeding a monster inside me with poison. All of this poison was fueled by my sense of justice. I deserved justice for my pain, heartache, and loss of all my hopes and dreams. I searched my areas of influence looking for a judge for this trial and finding none, became my own wounded, festering judge and jury. Then I brought all his sins to trial.
How you ask?
With my tongue.
I have spewed, hurled, spit, and vomited the diatribe of my pain to all who would sit or stand still long enough to listen. To the victim of a crime, justice tastes sweet. But when the kind of justice I wanted didn’t manifest, my vindictive dialogue of my ex’s deceit and actions fed a monster inside me. It has many names, is bigger than unforgiveness and infinitely darker and deeper:
The most obvious one – bitterness. After all, you can’t spew and hurl without the proper catapult for words and pain. It just doesn’t work as well.
Next – resentment. Every victim should be allowed to have it. Dreams, hopes, plans and the like are destroyed, so resentment steps in and sets up shop.
Then - judgment. You can’t have justice without a judgment. I pronounced him guilty on all charges in every conversation. I hurled and shared every secret sin I knew of and all the ways they hurt me.
These things were wrapped up in their own cocoon – entitlement. I was entitled to my dreams, hope, and future…so with all destroyed, I was entitled to my brand of justice.
These are some of the ugliest titles I’ve ever carried with me. There are many more – self- pity, hatred, vengefulness, etc, - all worthy of their own blog entries for another time.
You would think that a seasoned “mature Christian” woman like myself would see the writing on the wall and purge these things early on; but entitlement got in the way. Just like my ex felt entitled to his secrets, I felt entitled to my pain with all its accoutrements.
Cocooned in my entitlement, I’ve clutched these pains while crying out to my Jesus to “take this and make something beautiful!”
He couldn’t.
You see, the only thing that renders the Lord impotent in creating a beautiful future is us clinging to an ugly past. It takes away His power and authority from our destiny.
So I give up my right and entitlement to spew about my ugly past, my ex, my pain; and I give up my right and entitlement to clutch all the ugly titles that come with it.
I set it at the cross..,
Wait for holy fire…
Then watch as He takes ashes and makes something beautiful.
Isaiah 61:3a, “To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that He may be glorified. And they shall rebuild the old ruins, they shall raise up the former desolations, and shall repair the ruined cities…”
The funny thing about being in a cocoon is you can only feast off of what you bring into the cocoon. Instead of the makings for a beautiful butterfly, I brought the makings of a moth.
I’ve spent the last year nursing my wounds in my self-made cocoon. At least that is what I thought I was doing. I was actually feeding a monster inside me with poison. All of this poison was fueled by my sense of justice. I deserved justice for my pain, heartache, and loss of all my hopes and dreams. I searched my areas of influence looking for a judge for this trial and finding none, became my own wounded, festering judge and jury. Then I brought all his sins to trial.
How you ask?
With my tongue.
I have spewed, hurled, spit, and vomited the diatribe of my pain to all who would sit or stand still long enough to listen. To the victim of a crime, justice tastes sweet. But when the kind of justice I wanted didn’t manifest, my vindictive dialogue of my ex’s deceit and actions fed a monster inside me. It has many names, is bigger than unforgiveness and infinitely darker and deeper:
The most obvious one – bitterness. After all, you can’t spew and hurl without the proper catapult for words and pain. It just doesn’t work as well.
Next – resentment. Every victim should be allowed to have it. Dreams, hopes, plans and the like are destroyed, so resentment steps in and sets up shop.
Then - judgment. You can’t have justice without a judgment. I pronounced him guilty on all charges in every conversation. I hurled and shared every secret sin I knew of and all the ways they hurt me.
These things were wrapped up in their own cocoon – entitlement. I was entitled to my dreams, hope, and future…so with all destroyed, I was entitled to my brand of justice.
These are some of the ugliest titles I’ve ever carried with me. There are many more – self- pity, hatred, vengefulness, etc, - all worthy of their own blog entries for another time.
You would think that a seasoned “mature Christian” woman like myself would see the writing on the wall and purge these things early on; but entitlement got in the way. Just like my ex felt entitled to his secrets, I felt entitled to my pain with all its accoutrements.
Cocooned in my entitlement, I’ve clutched these pains while crying out to my Jesus to “take this and make something beautiful!”
He couldn’t.
You see, the only thing that renders the Lord impotent in creating a beautiful future is us clinging to an ugly past. It takes away His power and authority from our destiny.
So I give up my right and entitlement to spew about my ugly past, my ex, my pain; and I give up my right and entitlement to clutch all the ugly titles that come with it.
I set it at the cross..,
Wait for holy fire…
Then watch as He takes ashes and makes something beautiful.
Isaiah 61:3a, “To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord that He may be glorified. And they shall rebuild the old ruins, they shall raise up the former desolations, and shall repair the ruined cities…”
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Abba's Child
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.
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.
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.
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