I’ve been wondering lately if anyone who looked at my life would wish they were me. My guess is no, and here’s why.
I am a Christ-following woman whose almost nineteen-year-old marriage has ended.
It’s been a hard road. So much was thrown at it in an attempt to fix it…counselors and recovery groups and prayer and anointing oil and mentors and books and sermons and you name it, we did it. Iwould not have envied me so I seriously doubt anyone else did either.
Ahh, but here’s where I get a bit concerned. My life as a follower of Jesus is supposed to be a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God. But as the person walking through the past couple decades, there appears to be very little delight that would be a gift to God, nor be an attraction to those who don’t know him yet.
In fact, my fear is that the way my marriage has gone and the messy way I have walked all of this out may have actually deterred people from looking for God.
If that’s what happens to someone who loves Jesus, no thank you.
But here’s what someone on the outside looking in perhaps couldn’t intuit on their own.
My life is a beautiful life. There is beauty every day. Every day now through my hard marriage ending, and every day then as I moved through the thick of the pain and into healing.
Yes, some moments found me lying on my bathroom floor, sobbing, begging Jesus to end my marriage or end my life.
Yes, some moments found me curled up in bed, not believing that my relationship had become so far beyond strained that it was now officially unsalvageable…that a group of men called elders could look at it on paper and say, “Released. Reconciliation does not seem possible.”
Yes, some moments found me on my therapist’s couch or my mentor’s couch or in the rooms of recovery groups, and who does that just for the heck of it?
Yes, some moments found me attempting to explain to my children why Daddy was moving out, why we were divorcing, why we were moving.
And yet…and yet I’ve seen God move.
He freed me from years and years of torment, most of which I didn’t even realize was as bad as it really was until close to the end.
He freed my mind from obsessive thoughts, trying to untangle and solve an unsolvable problem, constantly wondering what was truth. I don’t need to think about that anymore.
He freed me from believing all the lies that I had taken on as my truth…that I am not worth fighting for, that I am an idiot who can’t take care of herself.
God is moving.
He is bringing healing to my soul, to my mind. He is bringing healing to my children. He is bringing healing to the way I think and speak and act. He is bringing healing to my life in the form of joy and gratefulness and laughter.
And here’s what else I’m seeing now as I look back. God was always moving. I was not alone on that bathroom floor, on those couches, in those conversations. He was moving then. To bring me strength. To bring me direction. To bring me wisdom.
God is moving. He is bringing me back to life. And that is something that I know is a sweet aroma to God, and I pray, a bright light to those watching me.