Surely it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back. Isaiah 38:17
I didn’t plan to marry a man who would struggle to behave in loving and respectful ways towards me. I didn’t plan to be the wife that would weep alone, her husband’s heart unmoved by her tears and pain.
No matter what part my choices played in all this, I’ve struggled long and hard with the pain of it.
Today, I found out someone I love so dearly is hurting. In a social media post, she asked what others do when the pain is so great that you feel like even the voice of your cries are lost.
I thought about all the useless things I’ve done when I’ve hurt so deeply that my soul felt crushed to the dust, or how I flailed and choked when I felt such huge waves of grief that I thought surely I’d drown in it. Emotional eating. Alcohol to numb like a medication. Anti-depressants that did nothing to change my husband’s abuse. Sleeping pills. Anger and rebellion that hardened my heart until I’d crash and my heart would seem to shatter into lost irretrievable pieces.
Not lost to God. Every tear in His bottle. (You have taken account of my wanderings; Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book? Psalm 56:8)
What have I learned? (For an intelligent person, I can be a foolishly slow learner.)
To free fall into the arms of God. To trust Him to cover me with His wings. To fly, limp, or crawl, my usual bundle of muddied need, into His secret place of refuge.
I no longer try to unconsciously bargain with Him (Lord, I’ll try so hard to do the right thing, and in return You will make sure my kids are okay and come out of this unscathed.)
None of us come through this world unscathed.
The childish turning away when I was angry in my pain, as though my turning away from God would accomplish anything but to leave me feeling bereft of His love.
When I let go of Him, He held on to me.
I’ve felt like I’ve been wandering, not knowing who I am or where I belonged. No place felt like home. Now I know, He is my home.
When I was young, I didn’t see the extent of my pride, my propensity to judge, how I saw things in black and white, and I certainly didn’t see the torn, filthy rags that my soul was dressed in. In the strength of my youth, I didn’t see my total need.
Years later, I’m softer, getting wiser, more compassionate, less judgmental (have a ways to go here), and my courage rises not from what I used to see as my own strength, but from experiencing His strength. I long to be gold refined, and not hardened clay.
I fully expect to be tossed and torn, and continue to have weak and strong days.
And that’s okay. (blows a kiss to my friend K for this lesson)
He already knows about those days, so I’ll continue to let go and fall back into my usual helpless without Him place, because He is where I belong.