casting my cares

"Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you." I know that. Cognitively. He cares for me. He cares about what I care about. I should cast my anxiety upon Him. All too often, though, I subconsciously take the word cast to mean the same as it does in fishing. I give it to God, but I'm still hanging on to the other end. As far as I throw it, as much as I give it over, it's still attached to me. Because I'm holding on tight.

"But I gave it to God..." I try to convince myself. Meanwhile I'm poised and ready to reel it back in whenever I want. And reel I do. I decide to take it back from God's hands. Which means I think it's better off in my capable hands than in His.

Oh to be so smug.

I looked up the word cast in the dictionary. When it's not referring to fishing, it means to get rid of, to discard, to throw off or throw away; to hurl or fling.

I need to let that sink in a bit. I need to let it sink in a lot.

When I give something to God, I need to hurl it at Him (He can handle the blow), get rid of it (forever), throw it off me (with as much vigor as I can muster). And then I need to leave it there. For good.

Sigh...

"Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..."

I'm trying...

[originally posted on this day two years ago]

it's not all his fault

My marriage was always hard. Our relationship was challenging right from the beginning. We fought. A lot. I always chalked it up to the fact that we were a cross-cultural couple. And we pioneered a ministry together from the ground up. And we worked side-by-side every single day.

It was harder than I ever imagined it would be.

While I'm learning to only own what's mine to own, I just need you to know: I have plenty to own.

I can be extremely impatient and easily frustrated. I made Niel feel small with my critical words. I could be downright mean at times.

I didn't communicate well. I see-sawed between bottling up and exploding. I didn't always let him into the deepest parts of my heart. I didn't often share my most honest thoughts.

I see now that I was seeking to find my happiness and value in my husband, instead of in God. And that contributed largely to the downward spiral of problems in our relationship.

The breakdown of my marriage extends further, deeper, than Niel's affair. I grew lazy, complacent, and selfish, and stopped putting in the effort my marriage needed and deserved. The effort my husband deserved.

Staring my sin in the face wrecked me. It left me broken before the Lord, desperate for His forgiveness and grace. It also left me broken before my husband. I wept in repentance as I apologized to him. Repeatedly.

I believed that despite all our failures, our marriage was still worth saving. It would take a lot of work, but so does anything we're passionate about. I knew restoration was possible and completely worth the effort. My heart broke when Niel disagreed.

As I began picking up the pieces of my life, I became more determined than ever to be open and teachable. I desire to live from a repentant heart. I want to be quick to see and own my sinfulness. And I'm committed to learn new ways of responding. New ways of living.

My beliefs determine my thoughts which impact my actions. So I'm starting at the beginning to change my foundational beliefs. My thinking and my actions will eventually follow.

It's a slow-going, lifelong journey.

But one I know is so worth it.

Because, I'm beginning to see, I'm worth it.

i wish it was just about the sex

"It didn't mean anything. I didn't really love her. It was just about the sex!" Hollywood's portrayal of adultery always includes that explanation. But when my husband's infidelity came to light, he didn't say that.

In fact, he said the exact opposite.

He told me he loved her differently, more deeply than he had loved me. That their relationship was special and intimate in a way we'd never experienced. He said he doesn't love me anymore.

And that he isn't sure he ever really loved me at all.

I wish it had just been an affair that "meant nothing". Sheer, unadulterated (!) lust would've been easier on my heart. But my story didn't come from a Hollywood script.

And even if it had, I know adultery never means nothing.

But what caused the deepest ache inside me is this: My husband chose to share the intimacy of his heart with a woman other than me.

I wish it had just been about the sex.

But it wasn't.

i want to live free

I'm sitting here in Starbucks, puffy-eyed. My heart feels raw. Exposed. Tender. I just spent two hours crying like I haven't in a long time.

In a counseling session. Sigh.

When I first started going to counseling almost a year ago, I was so anxious about each visit. Now, without even really thinking about it, I start my sessions by taking off my shoes and pulling my feet up on the couch. I feel comfortable, even when we're tackling a difficult subject. It helps tremendously that I have a therapist I respect and love. I've said for a while now that if my counselor is the only reason God has me in Atlanta during this season, it's completely worth it.

Today's session was different than usual. My counselor led me in a time of healing prayer, asking God to help me face and then finally let go of the events that have deeply wounded my heart. And I'm not just talking about my husband's infidelity and abandonment. I'm also talking about childhood aches that have shaped my entire life.

It was hard, to say the least.

I cried. I forgave. I released. I surrendered. I asked the Lord to bring His freedom into the darkest corners of my heart.

I don't want to be an Indian giver. I don't want to take back what I've placed at His feet. I don't want to pick up again the burden of guilt and shame that He's taken from my hands. I want to live free.

I WANT TO LIVE FREE!

Sorry for yelling, but, well, that needed to be said loudly.

I don't know a formula for living wholly surrendered. I don't know the strategy to avoid taking back from God what I just gave over to Him. All I can do is continue to choose to live free. I have to keep making the choice to let go, to walk in forgiveness, to not embrace the guilt and shame that has become so second nature.

I'm praying for awareness. That I would recognize my old patterns the instant I slip back into them. So that I can, in that moment, choose freedom. Choose faith. Choose obedience.

This living sacrifice wants to stop crawling off the altar.

Because only in complete surrender am I fully free.

i want to get this right

I have wrestled through each of these posts as I've begun telling my story. I've spent hours writing and rewriting. I've had a friend look them over and make changes. I've slept on them and come back to make more edits the next morning. It's been hard to write them because it's forced me to sit in the hurts all over again. It's been difficult because of the responsibility I feel to the ministry I love, and my desire to represent her well. And it's been impossibly hard because of the weight I feel in how I speak about Niel.

I feel an undeniable tension between wanting to remain honoring of my husband and sharing authentically about what happened and how it's affected me.

I'm laboring over every word I write because I need to get this right. I want to get this right.

And yet I know that without me dressing it up at all, the truth is ugly. It's shocking. It's devastating. Even in the simple telling of facts in the most tactful and respectful way possible, it can seem like I'm being malicious.

But that certainly isn't my intention.

I hope my true heart shines through my words even as I share about the worst season of my life. I pray that in my transparency, you can see more than just my pain. I hope you can also see the love I still have for my husband and my unshakable desire to honor him even in this.

It's been a scary thing for me to feel so vulnerable and exposed by putting my raw heart out there for the masses to see and give their two cents on. But while it frightens me, I crave authenticity. It's been the single greatest intentionality of my blog---to foster authentic community. To share transparently and in doing so, make others feel safe, free, and comfortable to be transparent in return.

So I am committed to continue writing honestly and authentically about my story, while remaining mindful of how my words affect and reflect my ministry and my husband.

And I will continue to choose to honor him.

Because ultimately I desire to honor Him.