In my last post, I shared that this week held two anniversaries for me, and that though what I’m currently slogging through is painful and filled with much waiting and little calm, I was going to choose to honor my marriage through mulling over sweet memories and praying for my children and their father.
Twenty two years ago, at this moment, I was downtown Chicago hearing a Greek waiter yell, opa! while fire danced on the most amazing cheese I had ever tasted.  I wore a dress that he had chosen.  I was nervous and excited and knew that night that I already loved him.
I have dredged up one memory after another this week, doing my best to only pull out the good ones.  I have even heard myself laugh outloud a time or two.  And I have prayed prayers over my children and their dad this week in a much more intentional and focused way.  I want so much for my children to have a wonderful life, to not repeat my mistakes, to let the place they find themselves in to be usable in the hands of God.  I want them to have strong, healthy relationships with their dad.  I want them to enjoy each other’s company, to miss him when they’re with me, and to miss me when they’re with him (or, I suppose the healthier wish would be that they don’t miss either of us at any time, but I’m not quite there yet in my mothering).  I want them to be able to communicate well with both of us, sharing their hearts and feeling truly heard and understood.  I want health and wholeness for all four of us, even in our separate corners, and I have prayed these things – and more – over us this week.
But as the story goes, sometimes, when you’re doing Kingdom work, it’s going to feel like you’re walking uphill against the wind and seem harder than it needs to be.  And this week has been no exception.
I have had unsettling dreams, little bits and pieces that I can barely remember but that leave me sad and filled with longing.  I received an email riddled with accusations that left me feeling cold, and that I get to spend the weekend defending.  I shared part of my story today to a group of women, ironically on this anniversary, and had to make myself say the words that I really do believe (that God has no plan B’s, that he uses everything, that I’m not alone) but that I really didn’t feel so much this week.  And I had to send my kids off for another weekend, after an immature-on-both-our-parts argument on the front porch just like old times.  A bitter reminder that this is our new life.
So, tonight, I sit alone.  I can hear the clock tick because there’s no typical teenage commotion in my background.  I remember the table where we shared our first couple’s meal.  I remember the butterflies.  I remember the eyes of the man I knew was my future husband.  And I hold those thoughts close to me tonight, believing that prayers will be answered in ways I can’t yet see.

If this post encouraged you, you would benefit from “Unraveling: Hanging onto Faith through the End of a Christian Marriage”, found here or “Living through Divorce as a Christian Woman”, found here.

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