COURAGE, BRAVEHEART

April 10th, 2019. Today is a hard day.

2 years ago today, I moved out from the tiny house my husband and I were living in together and I moved in with my sisters. It was the only thing I could think to do at the time. It was something I had to do – separate. From him. From feeling absolutely nothing anymore. From feeling apathy because the sting of pain and hurt and anger and every other emotion under the sun had swallowed me whole. And perhaps because in some ways, I didn’t care anymore. And not in the way you think (more on this later). I was sitting at the bottom of a dark pit, feeling absolutely nothing and that’s when I knew I had to go.

Some days I don’t know how I left. How I had the strength, and yet somehow…I did. What I cared about was getting healthy. I cared about seeing change. About recognizing this thing wasn’t working, this pattern we were stuck in for the past 10 years, and that we had to somehow break the cycle. I cared about Steve. About his well-being and the fact that I probably wasn’t helping the situation or being the best I could for him in the mental state I was in. I cared about working on and saving our marriage.

What I DIDN’T care about anymore were facades. I didn’t care about other people’s opinions. I didn’t care about walking on eggshells anymore or being afraid of hurting his feelings enough to ignore this giant thing. I didn’t care about what Christian people would think – especially considering he was a pastor. No. I could only focus on what the Lord thought, what He said, where He led. That and because the only other thing I COULD care about, the only thing I had strength left to care about, was getting myself healthy and in a right frame of mind again, so I could think clearly and would stop praying I’d get in a car accident. And so I went.

Fast forward to a year later, and Steve and I are readying for a weekend marriage intensive, to see where we stand after being separated a year and what next steps look like; be it hopeful steps towards reconciliation, or less hopeful steps towards divorce. A week after April 10th, 2018 came around and we had gone through the intensive, I had decided to move forward with divorce. This was the hardest decision I have ever made in my life. By far the hardest and most excruciating. You see, because I loved my husband. Deeply. More than anything. More than myself. And many a times, more than the Lord. This was part of the problem that needed a solution.

So today I was thinking back on this – I happened to stumble on an email he sent me about a year ago around this time, and I read through it. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I don’t know if it was helpful, but reading it after having had some time and space from it, gave me new eyes and a fresh perspective. And after reading it, I just felt sad. What a great loss. And how I wish things had changed. Wished they had turned out differently.

But in all the wishing and pondering, I cling to and remember that the Lord is faithful. That He will not lead me to the wilderness, to then turn and abandon me. So even though today is hard, even though memories can be painful and the hurt and emotions are still raw and tender, even after two years, I will continue to walk forward, one day at a time. One hour at a time. One moment at a time, if I must. I will continue to breathe. I must keep breathing. And know that in the midst of the hurt and heartache, God says, “I see you. Hold on, my dear one. Just a little bit longer. For I have good things in store.”

Resting in this today.