my scarlet letter

I still wince every time I say divorce. Since it's not finalized yet, it'll be a while till I say ex-husband. But I'm pretty sure I'm gonna feel queasy the first time I have to say it out loud.

There are words in my now-almost-daily vocabulary that I never imagined saying with any great frequency. I feel like I'm in a John Grisham novel when I say things like my attorney, litigation, and counterclaim. But then I remember it's not a courtroom drama. It's my life.

And I just have to shake my head.

The D-word is by far the hardest though.

I feel a shameful sting in the word divorce. I hear the unspoken judgments, like What's wrong with her that made her husband leave? and She's used goods and even simply Tsk tsk.

I hear them because my heart has been that condemning of others.

My good Christian upbringing left me judgmental. Pious. Spiritually stuck-up. Without realizing it, I've looked down on those who were divorced. I've unconsciously viewed it as the ultimate failure. Practically unpardonable---not in God's eyes but in the Church's.

And now here I am, walking around with a red D on my chest for the world to see. And I feel not only the weight of others' judgment, but also the historical weight of my own.

How horribly arrogant I've been!

I hope to someday be able to say divorce without hanging my head in shame, or feeling the need to justify it with an explanation, or wincing as I hear it megaphone my insufficiencies. I hope someday my heart fully believes that my divorce doesn't define me and that I am enough because He is enough.

In the meantime, the D-word will remind me of my own need for repentance.

And that only God is judge.

i still we on myself

I still we when I talk. Even though I haven't been a we for more than a half a year. I can't help it. I've been a we for almost a decade. We started Thrive together. We led our staff team together. We did almost everything together. We were we.

Now I am I.

And I have to retrain my tongue. Because many of my responses are automatically plural. "We started Thrive eleven years ago..." "That's one of our favorite places..." "Usually when we travel in the States..."

Each time I slip, I cringe inside. Not because I made a mistake. But because of what it represents.

Loss.

Rejection.

Pain.

But just as my wedding ring tan line eventually faded away, my habitual we will slowly dissipate as well.

Until one day I'll realize I haven't we'd on myself in quite a while.

it's not all his fault

My marriage was always hard. Our relationship was challenging right from the beginning. We fought. A lot. I always chalked it up to the fact that we were a cross-cultural couple. And we pioneered a ministry together from the ground up. And we worked side-by-side every single day.

It was harder than I ever imagined it would be.

While I'm learning to only own what's mine to own, I just need you to know: I have plenty to own.

I can be extremely impatient and easily frustrated. I made Niel feel small with my critical words. I could be downright mean at times.

I didn't communicate well. I see-sawed between bottling up and exploding. I didn't always let him into the deepest parts of my heart. I didn't often share my most honest thoughts.

I see now that I was seeking to find my happiness and value in my husband, instead of in God. And that contributed largely to the downward spiral of problems in our relationship.

The breakdown of my marriage extends further, deeper, than Niel's affair. I grew lazy, complacent, and selfish, and stopped putting in the effort my marriage needed and deserved. The effort my husband deserved.

Staring my sin in the face wrecked me. It left me broken before the Lord, desperate for His forgiveness and grace. It also left me broken before my husband. I wept in repentance as I apologized to him. Repeatedly.

I believed that despite all our failures, our marriage was still worth saving. It would take a lot of work, but so does anything we're passionate about. I knew restoration was possible and completely worth the effort. My heart broke when Niel disagreed.

As I began picking up the pieces of my life, I became more determined than ever to be open and teachable. I desire to live from a repentant heart. I want to be quick to see and own my sinfulness. And I'm committed to learn new ways of responding. New ways of living.

My beliefs determine my thoughts which impact my actions. So I'm starting at the beginning to change my foundational beliefs. My thinking and my actions will eventually follow.

It's a slow-going, lifelong journey.

But one I know is so worth it.

Because, I'm beginning to see, I'm worth it.

i wish it was just about the sex

"It didn't mean anything. I didn't really love her. It was just about the sex!" Hollywood's portrayal of adultery always includes that explanation. But when my husband's infidelity came to light, he didn't say that.

In fact, he said the exact opposite.

He told me he loved her differently, more deeply than he had loved me. That their relationship was special and intimate in a way we'd never experienced. He said he doesn't love me anymore.

And that he isn't sure he ever really loved me at all.

I wish it had just been an affair that "meant nothing". Sheer, unadulterated (!) lust would've been easier on my heart. But my story didn't come from a Hollywood script.

And even if it had, I know adultery never means nothing.

But what caused the deepest ache inside me is this: My husband chose to share the intimacy of his heart with a woman other than me.

I wish it had just been about the sex.

But it wasn't.

i want to live free

I'm sitting here in Starbucks, puffy-eyed. My heart feels raw. Exposed. Tender. I just spent two hours crying like I haven't in a long time.

In a counseling session. Sigh.

When I first started going to counseling almost a year ago, I was so anxious about each visit. Now, without even really thinking about it, I start my sessions by taking off my shoes and pulling my feet up on the couch. I feel comfortable, even when we're tackling a difficult subject. It helps tremendously that I have a therapist I respect and love. I've said for a while now that if my counselor is the only reason God has me in Atlanta during this season, it's completely worth it.

Today's session was different than usual. My counselor led me in a time of healing prayer, asking God to help me face and then finally let go of the events that have deeply wounded my heart. And I'm not just talking about my husband's infidelity and abandonment. I'm also talking about childhood aches that have shaped my entire life.

It was hard, to say the least.

I cried. I forgave. I released. I surrendered. I asked the Lord to bring His freedom into the darkest corners of my heart.

I don't want to be an Indian giver. I don't want to take back what I've placed at His feet. I don't want to pick up again the burden of guilt and shame that He's taken from my hands. I want to live free.

I WANT TO LIVE FREE!

Sorry for yelling, but, well, that needed to be said loudly.

I don't know a formula for living wholly surrendered. I don't know the strategy to avoid taking back from God what I just gave over to Him. All I can do is continue to choose to live free. I have to keep making the choice to let go, to walk in forgiveness, to not embrace the guilt and shame that has become so second nature.

I'm praying for awareness. That I would recognize my old patterns the instant I slip back into them. So that I can, in that moment, choose freedom. Choose faith. Choose obedience.

This living sacrifice wants to stop crawling off the altar.

Because only in complete surrender am I fully free.