faith in the key of plan b

I've experienced God's miraculous power in my lifetime. I've seen His divine protection and provision. I've watched Him do incredible things. But when my life crumbled around my feet a couple years ago, what God can do and what He was doing didn't line up.

God could have stopped my husband from cheating on me. He could have changed his mind about leaving me for the other woman. He could have saved my marriage, protected our ministry, and kept my heart from the deepest pain I've ever endured. He could have. But He didn't.

And I realized something simple yet extraordinary.

There's a difference between faith in what God can do and faith in who God is.

From my microscopic vantage point, it often seems like God's actions and inactions---what He allows---aren't consistent with His character. But I can't see the big picture from my tiny corner in the vastness of eternity.

Because the truth is, His character never changes. No matter what I'm experiencing in my life, God is loving, faithful, and trustworthy. He is just and merciful. He is Healer and Redeemer. And He doesn’t waste a thing.

Nothing---neither the best nor the worst that I’ve known---is wasted. Ever. Everything can be made new. Everything can be made whole. Everything can be redeemed.

Nothing is wasted.

Even when it doesn't appear that way right now.

My faith is supposed to be about much more than trusting Him to make everything work out according to my "perfect plan".

After all, He is more concerned about my holiness than my happiness.

So while life continues to unfold very differently than I'd ever imagined, I want to live with active trust in who He is, even in the midst of pain and brokenness.

Easier said than done, I know. The only way I can even think about making this shift is in moment-by-moment decisions of faith.

So right now, I'm choosing to anchor myself in the unmovable bedrock of God's character.

And trusting that what feels like Plan B (or maybe Plan F) is really His best for me.

Originally a guest post at Refine Us >

i am still standing

A year ago today, I heard those fateful words. "I've made my decision. I want a divorce."

I knew it before he said it.

I actually knew it months before he said it.

But still... Hearing him say it out loud...

The words fell like heavy stones, pinning me down. The air seemed to be sucked out from all around me. The sobs came quick and forceful. I could barely catch my breath as I scrambled to get out of the car.

It felt like I'd imploded.

Up until that moment, his words and his actions were never aligned. Now that they were, the fears and insecurities inside me seemed to solidify even more.

Every day I struggle with feeling unlovable and unwantable.

I battle the fears of abandonment and rejection.

I fight thoughts of being dispensable and replaceable.

I have days (moments, really) when my heart feels free from the death-grip of those messages. But this week---today---the weight of it all feels heavy and burdensome.

Yet despite the painful significance of this day, I am still standing. And I know that is no small thing.

Though the burden I carry feels unbearably heavy, I know I don't carry it alone.

I'm choosing today to let Him do the heavy lifting. He is "God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens." He can handle it just fine.

I'm aware of the veritable army of in-His-image burden bearers that surrounds me. We are told to "carry each other's burdens", and I have so many who are helping to carry mine.

Every prayer whispered and encouraging word spoken (or written), lifts a few pounds off my shoulders. Makes it easier for me to breathe. Helps me stay standing.

While there is much weighing on me, there is also much strengthening me.

As I take a deep breath, I realize that the weight of it all doesn't feel heavy and burdensome like I first thought.

It's surprisingly light and easy to bear when I remember that I am not alone.

the greatest regret of my life

Those months of being emotionally beaten and battered changed me. They turned me into someone I despise. Someone who is gripped by far too much fear.

I became scared to death of sudden changes in my relationships. I doubt people's intentions, trustworthiness, and loyalty. I fear that those I love and hold close are going to leave or replace me. I don't believe that I'm worth loving, even when others say I am.

Those four months left me indelibly scarred.

And in those fleeting moments when I am completely honest with myself, I am forced to admit:

I wish I'd loved myself enough to get out.

Somewhere in that four month period, I should have made the choice to leave.

But I was too afraid.

Afraid of the people who wouldn't understand my decision. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of not being the good, Godly wife. Afraid to stand up for me.

And while I knew what I would have told anyone else in my position, I couldn't bring myself to make that same decision for me.

So I stayed in a situation that was harmful and unhealthy. I allowed him to continue his cruel and intentional abuse of my heart.

I sacrificed me for the sake of us.

An us that didn't even exist anymore. An us that he'd walked away from a long time ago. An us that was an ideal rather than a reality.

While I ultimately desired restoration in my marriage, I shouldn't have clung to that hope at the detriment of my own heart.

Because it just about ruined me.

My greatest regret is that I didn't value myself enough to leave.

And yet I can't help but wonder...

If I were back in that position right now, knowing what I do, would I be able to make the hard choice to get out?

I honestly don't know...

Abuse (of any kind) is manipulative, controlling, and strangely "comfortable" like that.

And that leaves me feeling sick inside.

a living hell

The past few years have been, by far, the worst of my entire life. But my husband's infidelity wasn't the most painful part. Nor was the eighteen months of lies, or hearing him say he was leaving me for good.

The most agonizing part of it all is something I have difficulty explaining.

The four months from when his affair was exposed until he voiced his decision for divorce were unequivocally the most painful I've ever lived through.

He planned to leave me months before he made it official. And as I hung on, wanting to see our marriage restored, he deliberately and willfully messed with my heart.

He kept me on a string like a yo-yo, bouncing between two extremes. He'd push me away and then pull me back again. He'd tell me one day that he was willing to do the hard work of repairing trust and rebuilding our marriage, and the next that he'd never loved me to begin with.

Those months were a living hell for me.

I've blocked out many of the details of that time, but I recently read back through some emails I'd sent friends during those months. And I was horrified by what I read.

Horrified.

Being reminded of how cruelly I was treated made me sick to my stomach.

There aren't words that can do justice to the pain my heart endured at the hands of my husband. The English language simply doesn't run deep enough for that.

I wouldn't wish those things on anyone.

Not even the other woman.

And in the moments when I'm being most honest with myself, I have to admit:

I wish I’d valued myself enough to get out.

I should have made the choice to leave. But I was too afraid.

Afraid of the people who wouldn’t understand my decision. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of not being the good, Godly wife. Afraid to stand up for me.

And while I knew what I would have told anyone else in my position, I couldn’t bring myself to make that same decision for me.

So I stayed in a situation that was harmful and unhealthy. I allowed my husband to continue his cruel and intentional abuse of my heart.

I sacrificed me for the sake of us.

An us that didn’t even exist anymore. An us that he’d walked away from a long time ago. An us that was an ideal rather than a reality.

While I ultimately desired restoration in my marriage, I shouldn’t have clung to that hope at the detriment of my own heart.

Because it just about ruined me.

But yet here I am, another year-and-a-half later, and my heart feels more whole than I ever thought possible.

God is redeeming even this.

He doesn't waste a thing.

Everything can be made new. Everything can be redeemed. Everything can be made whole.

Even me.

bittersweet

Most of my friends are married. That's just what happens when you're married for 9 years. Even when you suddenly... aren't.

I love my married friends. Love them.

But if I'm being most honest, it's bittersweet to spend time with them and their husbands.

The Sweet--- I enjoy their men and have a blast when we're all together. I love watching my friends come alive in unique ways when they are with their husbands. I find joy in observing their interactions, of seeing the love between them in the smallest of things: unconscious gestures, a kiss on the top of her head, a hand-hold, him unloading the dishwasher while she cooks. I love seeing my friends treated well.

The Bitter--- I am painfully aware of what I don't have, of what I've lost. I ache even for things I now realize I never had to begin with. It makes me miss so much. I miss being held. I miss having endless history and still so much to discover. I miss having someone to call mine who loves calling me his.

I hesitate to say any of this because I don't want people to be self-conscious in front of me.

Just this weekend I shared these thoughts out loud with a married friend for the very first time.

I also told her that I don't want her to change anything.

I don't want people to walk on eggshells when I'm around or be less affectionate with their spouses.

Because there are moments when the bitter and the sweet collide in a beautiful symphony that leaves me hopeful.

I become hopeful for what could be, for what might be. I become hopeful to see and understand how I deserve to be treated. I become hopeful that I may get to experience that someday.

So, married friends, don't change anything when I'm with you and your husband.

And, single friends, listen closely for that beautiful symphony of hope when you're around married couples.

It's right there in the bittersweet.