Somehow my despairing mind had allowed me to fall asleep on Saturday night, February 19th back in the first year of the new millenium, 2000. My plan had been rehearsed out in my numb mind and the stage was set to ensure that only my husband and our 1 year old son would be at home with me on Sunday morning. My 17 year old son at the time was up on a local mountain attending his winter Christian youth camp, his older sister had left the nest in an unprepared, angered hurry a couple months earlier and we were not on speaking terms. I went to sleep believing that this second time around at single parenthood would be a much easier scenario than before.
My first divorce in 1982 came on the heels of being a victim of domestic violence in a life of crime on the run with my first husband and toddler daughter. I was 7 months pregnant with my second child, with a rock bottom self esteem and maybe only two loyal friends who still decided to stand by my side afterward, besides my parents who took me back in under their nurturing wings. This time, eighteen years later, as I was prepared to ask my 2nd husband for a divorce the next day, I rationalized that I was a strong woman, self-built from the dungeon up, with a solid career who was valued in the company; loved and respected by many. I justified that our 1 year old son, James needed a mom who felt the value she deserved by her man instead of witnessing the recurring wounded broken heart of a neglected marital relationship that was growing in its indifference rather than in love.
I was ready to start a new life. A life with true love as a part of it.
As the dawn broke on that Sunday, it was pouring down a hard, fast rain that is infrequently experienced in our region of Southern California. As I lay there with an empty place in the bed next to me (my husband being a pre-dawn riser even on his day off work), my darkened mind came to a break in the clouds and an overwhelmingly urge came upon me with such positive clarity. I felt that I needed to go to church that day before confronting my husband with the divorce talk.
Church had not previously been any part of our 11 year marriage, except for Christmas and Easter traditional services with my parents at my grandmother’s church an hour drive away.
I found myself declaring to my husband Jeff that I was going to take myself and baby James to church that morning without talking about anything else. To my surprise, Jeff said he would come along also and so we decided to attend the same church that our teenage son Bryan had already been very involved with for two years, Calvary Chapel Menifee. I had been pondering and admiring his consistent peace and joy in our home, even in the midst of some stressful tension there, for a few months. I reasoned that he must’ve gotten it from that church.
We dressed in our “nice, church” clothes, since all we had known before was Christmas and Easter services at a traditional United Methodist church. Much to our surprise upon exiting our car at the High School gymnasium-turned-into-a-Sunday-holy-place was to find most everyone in casual jeans, sweatshirts and rain boots. We likely stood out in the large crowd and was greeted by a former boss friend of mine who did not hold back her welcoming shock that we were even there. After she kindly helped us get our baby to the nursery, we thought it best to sit toward the back for an easy escape. The contemporary worship band started and the room quickly turned very uncomfortable with uninhibited arm raising, hollering and dancing in place that seemed to me like maybe this supposed “gymnasium-turned-holy-place” was instead actually the High School dance venue. I was conflicted in my spirit and I wanted to run out, but then a lyric grabbed my heart and held me in its grip. It talked about God loving me even though He knew my broken and wandering heart.
I could not comprehend my hot tears on my face. “Why am I crying?!”, I wondered.
The young pastor began his sermon and as me being a member of the Spellbinders Speaking Club at my company, I was very impressed by his skillful delivery. I wasn’t paying attention much to the content of his eloquent speech, but he was a master at public speaking and so I was gleaning from him…until I actually heard some of the words of his message…the only ones I can recall to this day so clearly. He started listing off some of the very behaviors that my husband was engaging in at home and I was shocked at that exposure out loud…and then I began to recognize some of my own behaviors in that list…and then came the punchline. “When you stand before Your maker at the end of your life, will you be confident or ashamed?” The full gospel message was shared.
I learned for the first time, with an understanding like never before that day, what true love is and where it is found…and I learned what forgiveness really was all about and why it was necessary. I was broken and humbled.
The pastor invited those who wanted to receive Jesus Christ into their hearts and accept His forgiveness to come forward. My heart made the leap across many laps into the aisle running with arms open to be in God’s embrace, but my feet felt glued to the ground and paralyzed, unable to make a move. I couldn’t pick up my cement block feet even as the second call to come forward came…and then the unthinkable happened. The pastor actually proclaimed, “someone in here feels glued to the floor and yet needs to come. Pick up your feet and come now!” I was freed!! I could move! I actually did climb over feet and laps at that moment and I made it to where all the others stood in broken, awe at what Jesus had done for us. As my swollen, tear-filled eyes were closed to imagine my embrace with God, I felt a very real arm come around my waist. I looked to find my husband, sobbing too, as he too responded to the call. I hadn’t even looked at him or taken any notice of him during any of the worship or the message…and so I was alarmed that when I looked at him right then, at the altar of the Lord, bowed together in such broken humility…all I could see was true love and forgiveness within his soul. I forgave him. In that moment, the slate of every wrong that I had been tracking against him and that was being shamed against me was wiped clean.
A new life indeed was started. An eternal one. Together with my husband. True love lives in us. We are forgiven.
Radical transformation has taken place once we made the choice to obediently follow God’s lead and make some needed, radical changes. Some of those changes were difficult and they hurt, such as cutting off some long-standing friendships or walking away from hobbies and habits that would hinder rather than help our new life. The road of transformation in Christ is long, winding and lifelong, with many obstacles to overcome, but it is the free way!! The toll price has been paid for us by the blood of Jesus Christ and His resurrection buries the cost of every obstacle in its own grave forevermore. We can live victoriously no matter the pain, sorrow or celebratory circumstances. Love covers all. Gratitude uncovers grace.
In keeping with God’s goodness and compassion, after certain segments of His working masterpiece of us was ready to His liking, He has loosened the hold on some areas and given us back some desires that we had initially had to let go of, but now are able to manage well in the freedom that He allows and this time with a pure motive and heart.
Life in Christ is the best! God never gives up pursuing after us to reach the next level of the race to the Prize. His Holy Spirit urges us forward just as He did me on that Sunday morning of doom dawned to light.
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