Imagine turning to your husband/wife, looking each other in the eye, holding hands, and delivering that sentence in unison to each other. Was a pimple was just popped? Did a light turn on? Did a new perspective unveil itself? Did you feel indignant?
Or did you disbelieve yourself?
No matter what your response, it probably evoked SOMETHING in you and I'll bet it was not comfortable or warm and fuzzy.
When I first was instructed to say that with Ron (in unison), my first response was to laugh uncomfortably and think, "Ya, right." This happened at the Family Life Weekend to Remember retreat for couples. Hundreds of couples in the room were saying those words to each other as instructed. There were nervous giggles all over the conference room. And let me tell you, my second response was an inward indignation. There was absolutely no way that I was more selfish than Ron. Dude had it down pat. It was All About Him, All The Time.
We were at the retreat at the urging of friends and after enduring years of a marriage no one should have survived. And it was still extremely fragile--having just endured some really grotesque stuff. It was a heartbeat away from being pronounced dead. Friends, a pastor, and sheer will were the glue at the moment. And the glue was not yet dry. The escape hatch easily accessible.
A few minutes later, they instructed us to get in that same position--turned toward one another, holding hands. They did preface it with, "This may be very uncomfortable or even foreign to some of you, but please try". Ron and I turned toward one another and held hands. I was glad they'd acknowledged that it might be difficult for some of us--because it was for me. They then said to say to one another, "You are God's gift to me." I said the words, but they were empty. I think Ron said them and meant them--but he was in a different place than I was.
As the weekend continued on, I kept thinking about whether I was more selfish than Ron. Impossible. And I finished the weekend retreat without moving an inch on the subject. The retreat did help our marriage. It did give us some tools and it did open our eyes to certain aspects of our marriage that we'd never truly looked into. And I can say also that, it really helped Ron to step up to the plate in many ways. But he needed to. I don't say that tongue in cheek or with any kind of I-am-better-than-he-is insinuation. Ron needed heavy guidance and direction and he got it. And he ran with it. And I'm not saying I don't have my faults--I just wasn't really clear yet what they were. Yet.
In the years since that first Weekend to Remember retreat, I have come to understand what, "You are the second most selfish person I know" means for me in my marriage. And it's embarrassing and hard to address because it makes me face squarely something about myself that is really unattractive.
I'm a manipulator in my marriage. If Ron does not perform in a manner that is pleasing to me, I withhold my affection in order to punish him. Isn't that ugly. Isn't that just reprehensible. And guess what, I'm still doing it. It's a fight every day for me to let go of my anger at my unmet needs and love Ron as God loves him--unconditionally. Yes. I am the most selfish person I know.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Forgiveness Part 2
And so....I decided to take a trip to Indiana to see Meggie. She was really struggling with being homesick while going to IUK. Now, this was quite a step for me. I HATE flying. Absolutely hate it. I'm not afraid of flying. I'm afraid of being trapped in that plane several miles up in the air, with nowhere to run. And where would I need to run? Hell, who knows...I just want to know that if I want to disappear, I can. Strange but true.
Ron and I flew out together. I will never ever, ever, ever forget Meggie's reaction when she saw me in the hotel parking lot. Her long hair flew across her face as she raced to get to me. She clung to me with a strength I didn't know she possessed. Our tears mingled on our faces and we just kissed and hugged and hugged. Precious memory.
We spent a blessed several days together, holed up in the motel, watching movies, playing cards, going out to eat and just basking in each others' company. But Meg was still in school, and so on one of my last days there I drove her to school, dropped her off and drove around the city seeing old haunts and of course, my old house.
As I drove around seeing old familiar places something began to overcome me--or come over me. Memories began flowing unrestrained through my mind and heart. And suddenly, I was so convicted of MY SIN in the failure of my first marriage that it was like a blow to my stomach. It hit me so hard, but yet so gently, that I knew it was God speaking to me. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I knew that my first marriage should never have ended. I knew that I had chosen to walk away from something sanctified, holy and ordained by God. I had broken a very sacred vow. And my heart broke in my chest. I had allowed my marriage to end. I had been so homesick and so determined to move back to Arizona that I left with my three precious children in tow with the smug knowledge that Mark would follow. Mark had told me he would--and I trusted that. But he did not--and I SHOULD have returned to my husband. I did not. And in choosing to follow my own willful desires, I ripped my little family into shreds and continue to feel the repercussions of that horrible decision to this day--18 years later. I was brought to my knees with this knowledge as I drove past my old house. I wept for what I'd lost. I wept for my selfishness. And as I wept and took ownership of my culpability in the failure of my marriage, God did an amazing thing in my heart.
In those moments of agony and heartbreak a still, small voice said to me..."forgive". And in that instant, every bit of rage, every shred of hatred, every mean thought, every desire for revenge, every malicious wish I'd ever had against Mark was gone, disappeared, vanished. In its place was a love so pure, so sweet, so innocent, so overwhelming, so perfect, so simple that I knew, again, that my Lord had spoken to my spirit--to my heart. My tears were now tears of joy--sheer, unadulterated, perfect joy. I was FREE. I was free from the burden of hatred, condemnation, and judgment. My heart felt nothing but love and joy. But more than anything, I felt forgiven and wanted to forgive. I knew that I had been forgiven, by my God, for my sin of divorce and all that it entailed--selfishness, willfulness, lack of trust...and on and on. And I knew that I was ready to forgive Mark for all the ugliness that had come between us in the ensuing years of our divorce. It just wasn't important any more. I cannot express adequately in words the lightness that I felt. It was like those ugly, demonic talons had released me and I was in a free fall into Jesus' arms.
Several months later, Mark came to visit Cassie and John just after EJ was born. It was during that visit, on my back porch, that I asked his forgiveness for my part in the failure of our marriage. He was gracious and willing--for which I am so grateful.
This lesson in forgiveness has stuck with me. It has helped me move on in other areas as well. And I am so grateful for all the God showed me in that trip to see my daughter. I'm so glad I was willing to endure the flight and discover a truth so powerful it changed the course of my history. Forgiveness rocks.
Ron and I flew out together. I will never ever, ever, ever forget Meggie's reaction when she saw me in the hotel parking lot. Her long hair flew across her face as she raced to get to me. She clung to me with a strength I didn't know she possessed. Our tears mingled on our faces and we just kissed and hugged and hugged. Precious memory.
We spent a blessed several days together, holed up in the motel, watching movies, playing cards, going out to eat and just basking in each others' company. But Meg was still in school, and so on one of my last days there I drove her to school, dropped her off and drove around the city seeing old haunts and of course, my old house.
As I drove around seeing old familiar places something began to overcome me--or come over me. Memories began flowing unrestrained through my mind and heart. And suddenly, I was so convicted of MY SIN in the failure of my first marriage that it was like a blow to my stomach. It hit me so hard, but yet so gently, that I knew it was God speaking to me. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I knew that my first marriage should never have ended. I knew that I had chosen to walk away from something sanctified, holy and ordained by God. I had broken a very sacred vow. And my heart broke in my chest. I had allowed my marriage to end. I had been so homesick and so determined to move back to Arizona that I left with my three precious children in tow with the smug knowledge that Mark would follow. Mark had told me he would--and I trusted that. But he did not--and I SHOULD have returned to my husband. I did not. And in choosing to follow my own willful desires, I ripped my little family into shreds and continue to feel the repercussions of that horrible decision to this day--18 years later. I was brought to my knees with this knowledge as I drove past my old house. I wept for what I'd lost. I wept for my selfishness. And as I wept and took ownership of my culpability in the failure of my marriage, God did an amazing thing in my heart.
In those moments of agony and heartbreak a still, small voice said to me..."forgive". And in that instant, every bit of rage, every shred of hatred, every mean thought, every desire for revenge, every malicious wish I'd ever had against Mark was gone, disappeared, vanished. In its place was a love so pure, so sweet, so innocent, so overwhelming, so perfect, so simple that I knew, again, that my Lord had spoken to my spirit--to my heart. My tears were now tears of joy--sheer, unadulterated, perfect joy. I was FREE. I was free from the burden of hatred, condemnation, and judgment. My heart felt nothing but love and joy. But more than anything, I felt forgiven and wanted to forgive. I knew that I had been forgiven, by my God, for my sin of divorce and all that it entailed--selfishness, willfulness, lack of trust...and on and on. And I knew that I was ready to forgive Mark for all the ugliness that had come between us in the ensuing years of our divorce. It just wasn't important any more. I cannot express adequately in words the lightness that I felt. It was like those ugly, demonic talons had released me and I was in a free fall into Jesus' arms.
Several months later, Mark came to visit Cassie and John just after EJ was born. It was during that visit, on my back porch, that I asked his forgiveness for my part in the failure of our marriage. He was gracious and willing--for which I am so grateful.
This lesson in forgiveness has stuck with me. It has helped me move on in other areas as well. And I am so grateful for all the God showed me in that trip to see my daughter. I'm so glad I was willing to endure the flight and discover a truth so powerful it changed the course of my history. Forgiveness rocks.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Forgiveness
It is such a relief for me when I extend forgiveness. That grudge gets so darn heavy after a while. And I don't even realize I'm being crushed under the weight of it. Clever, insidious deception.
Someone recently posted on FaceBook that, "Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." You KNOW it's true. And yet, we hang on to and nurse some grudges FOREVER. Why? Because it feels good. But why does it feel good? Negative feelings have an energy that is very powerful and make me feel very superior to whomever the grudge is against. My grudge allows me to believe I am a better person than the one I'm grudging. How incredibly ridiculous and contrary is that?
The opposite of grudging is forgiving. And the difference between their two energies is something that is kind of scary if you really take it to task and determine the source of the "energy". At first, for me, the thought of forgiving is repulsive. So I have to ask myself, why would forgiving EVER be repulsive??? And if I take it to the core, it's because I'm filled with what I believe is righteous indignation--that person DESERVES to be raked over the coals. And imagining that happening is so...satisfying. Oh ya. And for a few happy minutes I'm blissfully seeing their demise. Who Am I???? Yuck.
About three years ago I had an experience with forgiving someone that has had a profound effect on my life. It's hard to express what it's done to me. But its ramifications have been far-reaching and powerful in a way I could never have anticipated.
I went through an extremely rough divorce about 20 years ago. It came along with the ugliness that most divorces have...custody battles, custodial interference issues, children's loyalties being tested and all the ridiculous, stupid, selfish, horrible things that divorce brings out. Now, you'll only hear my side of this because that's what I have. I won't exaggerate or lie, but in order for anyone to fully comprehend and understand what happens years down the road, you have to understand what went on before.
We got married when we were 19. I got pregnant about seven months later. I lost that baby in its fifth month. I was so young, so scared and so immature. That event caused my husband to lose a lot of respect for me, I believe--because all I wanted at the time was my mother. It took me a long time to miscarry. I bled on and off for several months. Finally, a perfect little baby boy was born on December 5. He only lived a few hours. That devastating event took a heavy toll on a young and fragile union. Three years later we tried again and proceeded then to have a perfect little boy. My then-husband was moving up in the ranks at work and spent little time at home. I can't say I was ever especially interested in sex and rarely initiated it. My husband was, I realize now, a sex addict. Bad combo. Anyway, nine months after I had Ryan, I became pregnant with Cassie. During that time, one of my husband's employees lost her young daughter and we attended the funeral. My husband's assistant Karen, attended the funeral as well and we were both about six months pregnant, comparing our bellies and talking shop, enjoying the camaraderie that pregnant women have.
Jump ahead three years or so. The marriage is on the rocks. He becomes domineering and controlling and I turn into someone who allows that crap. He had complete control over the finances. My name was removed from the checking account but I was expected to pay the bills. The way I had to do this was to make a list of bills for him and he would write me a check to cover the amount. I'd go to the bank and get money orders for each bill--fifteen to twenty separate bills. I learned very quickly that if I wanted any pocket money, I had to pad those bills. And I did--with glee at getting away with it.
One night he didn't come home. I was used to him coming home late occasionally, but not just not showing up. I don't remember ever really having any suspicions that anything was going on. I think I did pack the kids up in the car and go looking for him. Finally around 3:00 a.m. he came home and he looked different than I'd ever seen him. He told me he "wanted out". There was not a moment's hesitation on my part. I said, "Okay". He moved out shortly after that--in with another woman, but wouldn't stop coming over. So I decided to move out. I moved into this roach-ridden apartment with my two precious babies and life went on.
In the meantime, Mark had been promoted and moved to Indiana to open up a manufacturing plant there. He and I began to communicate and pretty soon resolved to put our marriage back together. We'd never divorced, so it was simply a matter of my moving back to Indiana with him. Prior to agreeing to being together again, he felt he needed to divulge to me that he had another child. That child was the same age as Cassie. It was his and Karen's--his assistant. To this day, I'm pretty sure he told me that they'd had another child too, but my memory is foggy there. Doesn't really matter I guess. I think for Ryan's and Cassie's sakes, I let it just roll off my back after the shock of it wore off. Karen and Mark had chosen not to become a "family" and the affair was over. Actually, Karen was married too, and her husband was sterile. He believed that the baby Karen and Mark conceived was his miracle child.
We became a family and lived in Indian together for four years. Good years, I believed. I got pregnant with Meggie and gave birth to her on the first sunny day Kokomo, Indiana had seen in weeks. However, shortly before she was born, two weeks before Christmas, and right after we'd bought our home, Mark was fired. I imagine this was devastating to Mark's ego. It was certainly devastating to our budget. But, being the man he was, Mark hit the ground running and somehow we survived for another three years in Kokomo. However, I became critically homesick. Big Baby Homesick. I wanted to move back to Phoenix. I hated Indiana. And I'm sure I made it known. Finally, Mark sent me and the kids back to Phoenix to investigate those possibilities, find us a home and he'd follow after selling our home and closing his business he'd begun.
Well, he never followed. He met and married, and is still married, to Gerri. The divorce that ensued was bitter, nasty and long. He made a trip to Arizona to visit the kids and to take them back to Indiana for the summer later that year. The divorce was still not complete. At the end of the summer, he returned the girls, but kept Ryan. I had to move in with my parents for financial reasons and stayed there for quite some time. I eventually found a low paying job and moved my girls and me into the ghettos of Sunnyslope. The divorce papers went through and I lost custody of my precious son. I could not afford an attorney and I had zero funds to fight him. Ryan would now be separated not only from me for the remainder of his growing years, but also from his sisters.
For several years, a battle ensued. Child support was whittled down to $40.00 a week--and was rarely paid. He lied often and without conscience about his income. I didn't have money to pour into a divorce. I had to take what was offered. I did put up a good fight through the judge and occasionally won some small battle, but for the most part, I and my girls were the losers in this never-ending battle. He often threatened to fight me for custody of the girls--and I truly believe to this day that it was nothing but a threat meant to scare me because the girls just never seemed that important to him. I had to resort one summer to calling the Sheriff's office in Kokomo pleading custodial interference in order to get him to put the girls on the plane to return from their summer visit. And I think he did this just to be spiteful and mean. I know he loved his girls, but he and Gerri did not have the accommodations to house two more children. He resorted in the years to come to calling me an unfit mother, telling the courts I slept around and any other horrible thing he could think of to make me look unfit. It was awful. We fought nasty. He rarely paid his child support. The girls and I lived in poverty--enough to qualify for state welfare assistance. I only got to see Ryan once a year and I did not have the funds to fly to Indiana to see him. Mark managed to work up a debt of $4,000-$5,000 in child support within a couple of years and persisted in his unfounded attacks on my character and my mothering abilities.
I endured years and years of this. The children grew older, the battles changed in nature. Every summer was the fight to get my girls home. It never got easier until the kids were out of high school. But there was always some conflict. I know I was no angel, but I can say in all honesty that I never set out to cause trouble, strip someone of their dignity, or instill fear for the pleasure of it. I got nasty when I had to, probably said more in front of the girls than I should have and delighted when he experienced a set back. I wasn't a saint. I made some bad decisions. Decisions I still regret.
Eventually, I remarried (the reason for this blog in the first place), the children became adults, and my youngest decided to go to college in Indiana. I'm sure Mark used his powers of persuasion to coerce this and Meg didn't get along with Ron, so it was pretty much a done deal. I was devastated to say the least, but knew that Meg needed to follow her heart.
I also had found a church that ministered to my needs and became a child redeemed. My love for the Lord blossomed and I began to see things differently--through a different lens. My worldview had shifted. Meg left and Ron and I were actually empty-nesters. Cass had married and pregnant, and Ryan was living on his own in another city going to ASU.
I decided, because Meg was so homesick, to go and visit her in Indiana. She was living with her dad and step-mom so I knew this could be a little tricky.
I'll continue this tomorrow....
Someone recently posted on FaceBook that, "Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die." You KNOW it's true. And yet, we hang on to and nurse some grudges FOREVER. Why? Because it feels good. But why does it feel good? Negative feelings have an energy that is very powerful and make me feel very superior to whomever the grudge is against. My grudge allows me to believe I am a better person than the one I'm grudging. How incredibly ridiculous and contrary is that?
The opposite of grudging is forgiving. And the difference between their two energies is something that is kind of scary if you really take it to task and determine the source of the "energy". At first, for me, the thought of forgiving is repulsive. So I have to ask myself, why would forgiving EVER be repulsive??? And if I take it to the core, it's because I'm filled with what I believe is righteous indignation--that person DESERVES to be raked over the coals. And imagining that happening is so...satisfying. Oh ya. And for a few happy minutes I'm blissfully seeing their demise. Who Am I???? Yuck.
About three years ago I had an experience with forgiving someone that has had a profound effect on my life. It's hard to express what it's done to me. But its ramifications have been far-reaching and powerful in a way I could never have anticipated.
I went through an extremely rough divorce about 20 years ago. It came along with the ugliness that most divorces have...custody battles, custodial interference issues, children's loyalties being tested and all the ridiculous, stupid, selfish, horrible things that divorce brings out. Now, you'll only hear my side of this because that's what I have. I won't exaggerate or lie, but in order for anyone to fully comprehend and understand what happens years down the road, you have to understand what went on before.
We got married when we were 19. I got pregnant about seven months later. I lost that baby in its fifth month. I was so young, so scared and so immature. That event caused my husband to lose a lot of respect for me, I believe--because all I wanted at the time was my mother. It took me a long time to miscarry. I bled on and off for several months. Finally, a perfect little baby boy was born on December 5. He only lived a few hours. That devastating event took a heavy toll on a young and fragile union. Three years later we tried again and proceeded then to have a perfect little boy. My then-husband was moving up in the ranks at work and spent little time at home. I can't say I was ever especially interested in sex and rarely initiated it. My husband was, I realize now, a sex addict. Bad combo. Anyway, nine months after I had Ryan, I became pregnant with Cassie. During that time, one of my husband's employees lost her young daughter and we attended the funeral. My husband's assistant Karen, attended the funeral as well and we were both about six months pregnant, comparing our bellies and talking shop, enjoying the camaraderie that pregnant women have.
Jump ahead three years or so. The marriage is on the rocks. He becomes domineering and controlling and I turn into someone who allows that crap. He had complete control over the finances. My name was removed from the checking account but I was expected to pay the bills. The way I had to do this was to make a list of bills for him and he would write me a check to cover the amount. I'd go to the bank and get money orders for each bill--fifteen to twenty separate bills. I learned very quickly that if I wanted any pocket money, I had to pad those bills. And I did--with glee at getting away with it.
One night he didn't come home. I was used to him coming home late occasionally, but not just not showing up. I don't remember ever really having any suspicions that anything was going on. I think I did pack the kids up in the car and go looking for him. Finally around 3:00 a.m. he came home and he looked different than I'd ever seen him. He told me he "wanted out". There was not a moment's hesitation on my part. I said, "Okay". He moved out shortly after that--in with another woman, but wouldn't stop coming over. So I decided to move out. I moved into this roach-ridden apartment with my two precious babies and life went on.
In the meantime, Mark had been promoted and moved to Indiana to open up a manufacturing plant there. He and I began to communicate and pretty soon resolved to put our marriage back together. We'd never divorced, so it was simply a matter of my moving back to Indiana with him. Prior to agreeing to being together again, he felt he needed to divulge to me that he had another child. That child was the same age as Cassie. It was his and Karen's--his assistant. To this day, I'm pretty sure he told me that they'd had another child too, but my memory is foggy there. Doesn't really matter I guess. I think for Ryan's and Cassie's sakes, I let it just roll off my back after the shock of it wore off. Karen and Mark had chosen not to become a "family" and the affair was over. Actually, Karen was married too, and her husband was sterile. He believed that the baby Karen and Mark conceived was his miracle child.
We became a family and lived in Indian together for four years. Good years, I believed. I got pregnant with Meggie and gave birth to her on the first sunny day Kokomo, Indiana had seen in weeks. However, shortly before she was born, two weeks before Christmas, and right after we'd bought our home, Mark was fired. I imagine this was devastating to Mark's ego. It was certainly devastating to our budget. But, being the man he was, Mark hit the ground running and somehow we survived for another three years in Kokomo. However, I became critically homesick. Big Baby Homesick. I wanted to move back to Phoenix. I hated Indiana. And I'm sure I made it known. Finally, Mark sent me and the kids back to Phoenix to investigate those possibilities, find us a home and he'd follow after selling our home and closing his business he'd begun.
Well, he never followed. He met and married, and is still married, to Gerri. The divorce that ensued was bitter, nasty and long. He made a trip to Arizona to visit the kids and to take them back to Indiana for the summer later that year. The divorce was still not complete. At the end of the summer, he returned the girls, but kept Ryan. I had to move in with my parents for financial reasons and stayed there for quite some time. I eventually found a low paying job and moved my girls and me into the ghettos of Sunnyslope. The divorce papers went through and I lost custody of my precious son. I could not afford an attorney and I had zero funds to fight him. Ryan would now be separated not only from me for the remainder of his growing years, but also from his sisters.
For several years, a battle ensued. Child support was whittled down to $40.00 a week--and was rarely paid. He lied often and without conscience about his income. I didn't have money to pour into a divorce. I had to take what was offered. I did put up a good fight through the judge and occasionally won some small battle, but for the most part, I and my girls were the losers in this never-ending battle. He often threatened to fight me for custody of the girls--and I truly believe to this day that it was nothing but a threat meant to scare me because the girls just never seemed that important to him. I had to resort one summer to calling the Sheriff's office in Kokomo pleading custodial interference in order to get him to put the girls on the plane to return from their summer visit. And I think he did this just to be spiteful and mean. I know he loved his girls, but he and Gerri did not have the accommodations to house two more children. He resorted in the years to come to calling me an unfit mother, telling the courts I slept around and any other horrible thing he could think of to make me look unfit. It was awful. We fought nasty. He rarely paid his child support. The girls and I lived in poverty--enough to qualify for state welfare assistance. I only got to see Ryan once a year and I did not have the funds to fly to Indiana to see him. Mark managed to work up a debt of $4,000-$5,000 in child support within a couple of years and persisted in his unfounded attacks on my character and my mothering abilities.
I endured years and years of this. The children grew older, the battles changed in nature. Every summer was the fight to get my girls home. It never got easier until the kids were out of high school. But there was always some conflict. I know I was no angel, but I can say in all honesty that I never set out to cause trouble, strip someone of their dignity, or instill fear for the pleasure of it. I got nasty when I had to, probably said more in front of the girls than I should have and delighted when he experienced a set back. I wasn't a saint. I made some bad decisions. Decisions I still regret.
Eventually, I remarried (the reason for this blog in the first place), the children became adults, and my youngest decided to go to college in Indiana. I'm sure Mark used his powers of persuasion to coerce this and Meg didn't get along with Ron, so it was pretty much a done deal. I was devastated to say the least, but knew that Meg needed to follow her heart.
I also had found a church that ministered to my needs and became a child redeemed. My love for the Lord blossomed and I began to see things differently--through a different lens. My worldview had shifted. Meg left and Ron and I were actually empty-nesters. Cass had married and pregnant, and Ryan was living on his own in another city going to ASU.
I decided, because Meg was so homesick, to go and visit her in Indiana. She was living with her dad and step-mom so I knew this could be a little tricky.
I'll continue this tomorrow....
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
No Excuse Tuesdays and Friends in Distress
Tuesdays don't have an excuse. Mondays--well, they're MONDAYS; Wednesdays are Hump Day; Thursdays are almost FRIDAY; and Fridays--well, you get the idea. I think Tuesday's are the hardest day of the week to deal with.
I met with my accountability friends last night. It was a very, very difficult night. Recently, Melissa asked if Cari could join our group. Of course, I said, "Sure!" Cari is a brand new, baby Christian. Cari lost a her 2- year old son two and a half years ago in a horrible camping accident. I know that if I lost a child, I might as well die with them. Cari's pain is still so raw and so exposed. And she's so angry with God--a God that she's come to believe in recently. Her pain is so deep and searing that she doesn't want her baby to be in heaven with God--the God who allowed this to happen--or even caused it to happen. She'd rather him be a star in the heavens. I cried all the way home. I wept and begged God to intervene, to heal, to show Himself to Cari. And I trust and KNOW that He will. But she's got to get to a certain place for that to happen. And I'm not telling a grieving mother that her thoughts are wrong. God will deal with that. He's a big God.
I met with my accountability friends last night. It was a very, very difficult night. Recently, Melissa asked if Cari could join our group. Of course, I said, "Sure!" Cari is a brand new, baby Christian. Cari lost a her 2- year old son two and a half years ago in a horrible camping accident. I know that if I lost a child, I might as well die with them. Cari's pain is still so raw and so exposed. And she's so angry with God--a God that she's come to believe in recently. Her pain is so deep and searing that she doesn't want her baby to be in heaven with God--the God who allowed this to happen--or even caused it to happen. She'd rather him be a star in the heavens. I cried all the way home. I wept and begged God to intervene, to heal, to show Himself to Cari. And I trust and KNOW that He will. But she's got to get to a certain place for that to happen. And I'm not telling a grieving mother that her thoughts are wrong. God will deal with that. He's a big God.
Monday, April 11, 2011
It's a glorious struggle
I'm a journal-er. I've done it for the past 40 years of my life. And recently I was reading through them. I discovered that I tended to write more when I was struggling through some life event. And one huge life-event I've been involved with for the last 8 years has been my second marriage. It has been the most blessed and brutal time of my life. Even more brutal than my nasty, contentious, grueling divorce from Husband Number 1 (HN1). So, to follow through on my thought...I've journaled quite a bit over the last eight years--since I tend to journal when things are bad. And so my thoughts are that someone just HAS to benefit from my experiences. They cannot have been for nothing.
It's amazing that I'm still married. Most people would not have remained in this situation. No, he doesn't beat me, drink heavily or do anything overtly damaging. He's a wounded man. I'm a wounded woman. And together our wounds add up to something that would have bled most marriages to death. But, by the Grace of God, we're still married, still hanging on for dear life and still committed to making this work.
My marriage would probably have ended within the first 3 months if not for a couple of key people and circumstances. First of all, at the time, I was part of an accountability group (AG)--three women (including myself) who met once a week to build one another up, confess our sins, and soak in the Word. Yes, I am a Christian. A young one, comparatively speaking. I've only been a believer for slightly longer than I've been married. These friends held me together in times of intense distress. They helped me put one foot in front of the other when all I wanted to do was backslide, hide or run the opposite direction. When I think back on what I put those ladies through, I am amazed they are still my friends. :O) My pastor and his wife were also key to preserving this marriage. So, that's the setting for the story ahead. If you're a "believer" in Christ, I hope these words don't shock you--because the story takes turns that aren't very "christian". And if you're not a believer in anything "God", then I hope this story will help you to rethink that. Because, without God, I'd be divorced and utterly without a tremendous story of redemption to tell.
It's amazing that I'm still married. Most people would not have remained in this situation. No, he doesn't beat me, drink heavily or do anything overtly damaging. He's a wounded man. I'm a wounded woman. And together our wounds add up to something that would have bled most marriages to death. But, by the Grace of God, we're still married, still hanging on for dear life and still committed to making this work.
My marriage would probably have ended within the first 3 months if not for a couple of key people and circumstances. First of all, at the time, I was part of an accountability group (AG)--three women (including myself) who met once a week to build one another up, confess our sins, and soak in the Word. Yes, I am a Christian. A young one, comparatively speaking. I've only been a believer for slightly longer than I've been married. These friends held me together in times of intense distress. They helped me put one foot in front of the other when all I wanted to do was backslide, hide or run the opposite direction. When I think back on what I put those ladies through, I am amazed they are still my friends. :O) My pastor and his wife were also key to preserving this marriage. So, that's the setting for the story ahead. If you're a "believer" in Christ, I hope these words don't shock you--because the story takes turns that aren't very "christian". And if you're not a believer in anything "God", then I hope this story will help you to rethink that. Because, without God, I'd be divorced and utterly without a tremendous story of redemption to tell.
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