Well, if in my head I carry around my top ten list of shaming moments, today I’m going to share one with you. I’m sharing this because I don’t ever want to give you the impression that I am a divorce goody-two shoes, that I don’t have my messes going on in the background of my life. I’m not and I so totally do.
People’s experiences of divorce run the gamut from amicable to embarrassingly messy. On a scale from one to ten, mine probably fell around the seven mark, even as Christians. Though things have definitely and gratefully settled and quieted down lately, it has been one of the saddest and most humiliating and degrading stretches of my life.
About two years ago, I went to the police station and asked for a Notice of Trespass. I did this so that I could feel emotionally safe. It stated simply that the recipient of the Notice could not come on my property until otherwise notified.
I didn’t do this to hurt or to punish. I did this simply for my own peace of mind. And it helped tremendously. Not to go all nazi-feminist on you (again) – because I don’t mean it that way – but I took back power that was rightfully mine. Peace fell over me with this decision and I moved forward.
But here’s where my shame kicks in. Because a few months later, I received a call from a police officer that a Notice of Trespass had been taken out against me. My attorney suggested it was probably retaliation as he knew my character but that the only thing to do about it was to follow it.
I read a copy of the report. This, basically, is what was said about me: “Every time she comes on the property, she is hostile and I don’t want the children to witness that.”
Now, I could justify that sentence left and right. I could tell you that in the months since moving out, we had only been on that property at the same time once, and that I was not hostile at that time and I have someone who could back that up. I could point out that there were only two other times we had interactions, and both of those times I was trying to hand something off…one time was even something that had been requested.
But you know what? None of that really matters. Because, for the most part, sweet ones, you don’t really know me. And this could just be another case of he-said/she-said. And you just have to take my word for it that I didn’t go bat-crap crazy on my accuser. But for all you know, I totally did.
And it doesn’t really matter because that’s what is, to this day, in my file. Though I wasn’t arrested, I have a piece of cyber-paper sitting in my file somewhere that states that someone considers me hostile enough to ask the police to make sure I stay away.
Shame. Shame. And more shame. And if I sit with this too long (as in, ten seconds or so), with that signed statement, with those horrible words, with my deep shame, it can paralyze me.
So here I am, attempting to break the spell just a little bit. As one of my best friends said to me once, “Truth good…secrets bad.” If I say this thing to you outloud…that someone thinks I’m too hostile even though I do not believe I am and that I’ve been reported basically…it loses just a bit of its sting and its power over me. And if I say this thing outloud, then maybe if your divorce has not been pretty, even as a woman who is trying to follow Jesus as I am, just maybe you can breathe a bit easier that even in the ugliest moments, sweet girl, you are not alone, and there’s someone out there who understands.
So take that, satan. Take that, enemy. You don’t win. I know my heart. My friends know my heart. My children know my heart. My family knows my heart. But most importantly, Jesus knows my heart. And he knows that this judgment passed on me is not true. It’s just not true. And even if only Jesus knew that, it would be enough to take away the shame.
But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. –I Corinthians 4:3-