Moments

I went to a communal missions meeting. I haven’t done that since we have separated. It was good, being there was fine. Leaving hurt. That was the time we spent talking about things, bantering and laughing and looking forward to getting home to relax. Together. Now I go home alone, and not to my own home, not yet. Not to my old home and today that hurts.

It hurts because I still have to grieve what we did together that I now do alone. The things that felt good, like leaving church and meetings and talking, laughing, and relaxing. That was taken, and maybe it was never even real to him. I don’t know.

It hurts because his last text to me was ‘game over’, and this was never a game to me.This was my life, and a life I wanted desperately with a man I love. It wasn’t a game and I worked hard to make things right, to make this work. This was a life I wanted and saw as something beautiful in the beginning. And I was a game? Ouch.

I didn’t respond to the text. What do I say? What would it matter to him anyway? And that hurts as well. Having to grieve alone because what I am grieving is the one who once upon a time, although not at the end held me in my grief. And that is one more thing to grieve. And it is important that I do, because the only way to move on, and grow, and learn my worth is to go through the process. The moments of anger and grief are part of the journey and God is big enough to hold me through them. Process.

In the process I will hold tight to the promises of my Abba, and I will allow myself to hurt from the loss that is very real and very large. I will grieve and process and find myself at peace again knowing God has this too. And in the morning I will face tomorrow knowing my Redeemer has this too.

Promise in the storm

There are these moments, the moments when my heart feels as if it is going to explode and I wish it would. The moments when the storm of life’s circumstances has become so large you feel as if you will simply drown in the increasing swell of the waves. Those moments when I want to scream “God I do NOT want to hurt anymore!” Moments you would do anything to get out of, but the only way is through.
These moments mounted for years, small moments leading to larger moments that like waves that seem to start slowly only to build violently beyond what you can navigate. The grand finale of pain and betrayal. Not a beautiful finale one hopes for, but the kind that crushes your spirit. As you are caught in a tide that throws you against the sharp rocks violently leaving you broken and bleeding and crying for help. Salt water surrounding you washes over the wounds sending more pain into your already wounded spirit.

Broken. Crying. Alone, the one who was supposed to help comfort you won’t. He extends his hand as if to help, but when you reach to grab it he nonchalantly drops you onto the sharp rocks again. Purposefully onto your most exposed wound. The source justifies it with your tentativeness, your lack of trust.

You cannot get comfort from the source of your pain. Even if the inclination and the hope is that the situation will change, the smaller moments led to this and denial is no longer an option. The wounds have exposed and deepened old wounds, new wounds emerge and the hurt, at random moments, seems unbearable.
These have been my moments, years of my moments. A seemingly calm sea, with waves that increased slowly at first so I thought I could navigate them. At the end with a momentum I never expected.

And then it is, on the beach, broken and wet, covered in sand crying to Abba for help and deliverance that comfort is given. A promise from the One who never breaks His promise.

I read the promise, and my first inclination was to reject it as for me, since my head says “This is about Zion and Israel, theologically this is not about me.” But it is, and it is hope not just for the future, but for today.
“Although you have been forsaken and hated, with no one traveling through, I will make you the everlasting pride and the joy of all generations. You will drink the milk of nations and be nursed at royal breasts. Then you will know that I, the LORD, am your Savior, your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob. Instead of bronze I will bring you gold, and silver in place of iron. Instead of wood I will bring you bronze, and iron in place of stones. I will make peace your governor and well-being your ruler. No longer will violence be heard in your land, nor ruin or destruction within your borders, but you will call your walls Salvation and your gates Praise.” Isaiah 60:15-18.
My Savior reaches his hand out to me with a promise not to drop me. He tells me the purpose behind the pain will be His glory, that in all of this He has a purpose for me. He tells me that my Redeemer has me and will be seen even in this. He tells me to seek my comfort in Him.

I want to respond

The text reads “I just thought you should know I love you.”
The words have always been I love you, the actions have been, let me rip your heart out.
The most recent words were “I will love you forever.” I think he may have gotten February and forever confused.

“I love you.” I want to respond.
I want to say why yes that explains the gaping wound in my heart, the ache of wanting that to be truth and knowing that it isn’t. It explains the Caitlyn Nunes Smith affair, the Ada Autrey draw, and the late night texts to Miss Audrey Jones that said how beautiful she was and that you could talk to her all night. The women whose names I don’t recall. You know them. It explains the flirting, the inappropriate friendships, the porn. I love you.

We were married, I meant forever. I believed being Mrs. David Frazier meant something. Now I have to look at the truth, and I don’t see it in your words.

The truth is I worked hard to make things work. I didn’t always do well, for too long I went along with pretending everything was okay, that your unfaithfulness was a slip and it was over. That doesn’t work for me, especially not over and over again. The truth is I am worthy of honesty, integrity, and faithfulness. I am worth the truth.

I was the one that should have been in the circle of intimacy, that you shared your life with. Not everyone else. I was the one that should have been a priority. Not Tori, who needed “work” done at her house, or who’s car broke down at two in the morning. I should have never come after your “friends”, or even your family.

I love you. That was a covenant, made with me and God. It was broken, I did not break it.

I love you, and as much as I want that to be true and be comforted by that I know that statement is going to hurt me if I do. I have a choice, I choose not to be hurt. I choose to be worthy of truth and faithfulness, integrity and to walk in this truth. I choose to say no to deception and walking into something that will cause me pain. I choose healing.

Texting

I know the rules. These men don’t change.
Still, somewhere in the depths of my heart I wanted to believe he could. I wanted to believe, yes, it could take a long time. I was never sure I could trust him again, but I wanted to.
I walked down the aisle thinking “This is it, he loves me, he loves the Lord. We are going to be a beautiful couple that glorifies and serves God.”
I knew we had issues. We both came with baggage.
I did not know that I would end up with a few good memories and a mangled heart.
I did not know that he would always choose someone or something over me. Right to the very very end.
He cried he was changing, he was right with God, he wanted to be the exemplary husband to love and honor and cherish me.
He texted her how I didn’t trust him, had his passwords, copied their conversations.
He didn’t tell her that he cheated and stole and liked porn. That it was recent and THAT is why I had the passwords. He didn’t tell her that he had lied to me about having ANY connection to her or conversations, and THAT is why I copied the conversations.
He texted me, come over be with me.
At the same time he texted her “you’re beautiful I could talk to you all night.”
And he didn’t see a problem with that.

The worst part? That brings out a crazy in me. I WANT him to see, to understand, how hurtful that is. How wrong it is (on both their parts, yes Miss Audrey Jones, you KNEW David Frazier was a married man and you crossed boundaries a Christian woman shouldn’t!). I hate that part of me. But the truth is she comes with him. To get rid of her I must completely let go.

Now? Seven years, gone. Tossed aside, without regrets by him at all. Big Crocodile tears to give to his next victim. Poor thing.
I had hoped deep in my heart their could be healing, and there will be for me.