You know that somewhat sympathetic, hollow look you give a new acquaintance when you find out they are divorced? Certainly you don’t judge outright, but you wonder whether your new friend really took marriage seriously? I used to do that, too.
Like many bright-eyed young brides, I spoke confidently of never letting divorce be an option. Marriage is a permanent union of husband, wife, and God, and no amount of difficulty would ever disrupt that bond.
Our story could have had a happy ending; that is, no ending at all. But in a vicious cycle, my husband – my high school sweetheart – became addicted to pornography, became depressed, and wandered from his faith.
He refused to see a counselor. I would find him sitting in a dark closet and could think of nothing to do but sit in silence with him, hoping at least my presence would be a comfort. But he continued to spiral downwards.
Finally, he returned from a business conference and told me that he had made a mistake in marrying me, that I deserved better than him. I was confused and devastated.
A week later, things became more clear when a stranger told me the truth: my husband slept with a girl he met at the conference and had promised to leave me for her.
I confronted him. He lied. He realized I already knew. He apologized. He said he wanted our marriage more than anything. I read a pile of books on how to restore a marriage after adultery. He slept with the girl again. He lied again.
Heartbroken, I desperately sought the advice of family and friends. Our counselor and our pastor both advised me that there was little hope for a turnaround in his behavior or his attitude. After seven years of marriage, we divorced.
God hates divorce (Mal. 2:16); believe me, so do I. The one should not become two.
The road returning to singleness is a rough one. I have never experienced deeper, more anguishing emotional pain, searing to the point of physically aching. My husband was my best friend, my lifelong love. He abandoned our marriage, he abandoned me.
I cried more in one month than in the rest of my life put together. My identity was lost; I thought my life was over.
Months later, I still saw myself as discarded, damaged goods. It didn’t help that a churchgoing Christian in my new town rescinded his offer of a date when I told him I was divorced – he informed me that there were plenty of nice, attractive, intelligent, non-divorced Christian women, and that men in the church could afford to be choosy. Ouch. In the face of this, having friends to remind me of my self-worth was a lifesaver.
Did I acquire deep wounds from this experience? Yes. But I also, remarkably, grew in ways I never anticipated.
Yes, the obvious - because I have been through it myself, I am now better able to comfort friends who are suffering and lonely (2 Cor. 1:3,4). But I learned far more from this experience than just compassion:
I am strong.
I initially felt like damaged goods... and damaged I was (and still am)! I came to realize that although some in the church might view me with a scarlet D, others would instead see and appreciate the strength of character that had been developed in me through this trauma. My faith and reliance on God is much stronger now than when my life was picture-perfect (Romans 5:3-5).
And when I married six years later, I could enter the commitment with the confidence that I won’t crumble when life gets difficult. There is value going into surgery with a doctor who has practiced medicine for years - even if a bit worn-down, she sure beats the fresh, well-rested student with only book-learning to guide her scalpel!
I am weak.
Reeling from the pain of my husband’s unfaithfulness, I heard, for the first time in my life, direct words from God. Actually, I felt their deep truth rather than hearing the words themselves: “This is how I feel when you wander from me”.
God’s tone was not at all accusing; it was sorrowful. Having seen the person I loved break his promise and discard a loving relationship against all common sense, I learned how God feels when I turn away from Him (as in the parable of the prodigal son).
God shares in my suffering.
Isaiah tells an amazing story about God and His people (Isaiah 63:9): “In all their distress he too was distressed.” I have to repeat it: “In all their distress he too was distressed.” I clung to this verse that first year. I had always pictured God comforting and guiding from a distance. I had never considered that, in a personal way, God was as hurt and disappointed as I was!
God knows what it’s like to be deeply wounded. He seems to have a special place in His heart for those who, in addition to struggling with their own sin, must also live with the consequences of others’ sin. What a remarkable thing to have God Himself as a comforter for our suffering, but also a companion in our suffering.
Mal. 2:16
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mal.%202:16&version=NIV
2 Cor. 1:3,4
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Cor.%201:3,4&version=NIV
The parable of the prodigal son
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%2015:11-32&version=NIV
Romans 5:3-5
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+5%3A3-5&version=NIV
Isaiah 63:9
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah%2063:9&version=NIV
