Forgiveness, or Denial?

I felt coerced. Unfree to say no. 

When I was asked for forgiveness, there was nothing to say but yes. If yes is the forced response, can it ever really be true? 

When our kids were young we went through a childrearing course a couple of times. One of the things they taught is that when an apology is due, the perpetrator should ask for forgiveness. For a long time, we practiced this as parents and taught our children to ask for forgiveness as well. 

Until we learned that making amends, or apologizing, should be done without expectation from the person I have wronged or hurt. When I thought about the times that I have been asked for forgiveness and realized that I never felt free to ask for time to process or to say no, it became clear to me that requiring the person I have wronged to say they forgive me is inappropriate. And if there is no room for saying no, then the forgiveness is either a lie or coerced . . . both of which render it impotent. 

Forgiveness is a gift. It can't be earned or coerced. Trust is earned. Forgiveness is done independently of the perpetrator. An apology or amends is helpful and right in a lot of circumstances, but forgiveness is not dependent on either one. 

Trust and forgiveness are often mixed up. Trust is earned, forgiveness is a gift. Unearned trust is not forgiveness, it's denial. Equating forgiveness and trust is dangerous, and requiring trust (while calling it forgiveness) without earning it is manipulative and unequivocally disqualifies the demander of being trusted.  

A good apology recognizes what I did, how it affected the other person and what I hope to do differently in the future. This requires premeditation about what I did, why I did it and how I am going to work toward a different action going forward. 

Lies Marriage Books Told me

I have read a lot of 'how to be a good wife' books. They have helped me to varying degrees, but either the content of the books or my perception of them led me down dark paths of despair when I followed the instructions of the book and didn't get the result the author promised. I'm not going to reference any specific books, because I don't want to disparage a book that might be helpful to someone else, with another set of issues and character defects. The thing I wish that I had done differently is talked to a wide variety of older women, particularly ones who had dealt with the same issues themselves. 

Without further adieu, here are three lies I learned from 'how to be a good wife' books:

1. Men are simple. As long as they are fed and have plenty of sex, they are good. Maybe some men are simple, but believing this led to a long journey of me being diligent about fulfilling those two needs and feeling utterly devastated when all of our problems were not solved. Michael is every bit as complex as I am, with needs beyond food and sex. He has a need for conversation, feeling safe in relationships and non sexual physical touch among other things. Men are human beings too, with complex histories, family relationships and thoughts.

2. If I'm not happy in my marriage, it's all my fault. Yes, it's not my husbands responsibility to make me happy, but I wasn't happy in my marriage because there were very real, wrong things in it. When I reached a pit of despair I shared those wrong things with other people and they helped us deal with them. Deciding to be happy in the middle of what was happening in our marriage was like sitting on a dung heap and talking myself into being happy instead of getting off the dung heap. 

3. It's the responsibility of wives to keep their husbands attention and it's the responsibility of other women to not draw it. If you want to know what the Bible says about how men should delight in their wives you'll have to do your own study. I will say this: it doesn't qualify any of it with how the wife looks. Years ago I lost a bunch of weight, at several points other women said things like "I bet your husband is all over you now". I smiled and replied in the affirmative, but this confused me. Our sex life didn't really change. For a while I thought there was something wrong because his desire hadn't increased to any noticeable degree, and these women seemed so sure it had. But apparently I just married a good man. Michael has loved me at all shapes and sizes. Am I advocating for spouses to let themselves go? No. But I am saying there is more to desire and attraction than what media and porn would have us believe. 

Secondly, while I believe it is my responsibility to dress modestly, I believe it is also the responsibility of men to control their own eyes and minds. None of us get to live in a world devoid of temptation. It's each of our responsibility to flee from that temptation. Men can decide where their eyes and minds go. They are human beings who are capable of controlling themselves. Believing that other women bore responsibility in my husbands ability to keep his eyes and mind to himself created an unfair resentment of and competition with other women.

Changing what I believed about all three of these things has freed me up to delight in and have compassion for my husband. It's also given me the freedom to check my own self, deal with my own stuff and for him to do the same. 

Holding Space in Between

Poles of opinion compel us, 

pick a side and choose a team,

it's comfortable in the black and white,

in the mix and camraderie of a crowd. 

Standing our ground in the gray 

as emotions and reactions attempt to entice

us to one pole or the other

and definitive and clear comfort of black and white.

Holding space in the in-between place 

watching as the people standing with us

gradually give in to the pull of polarity

for protection against the stones being hurled

by those in the black and white.  

It takes courage and steadiness to stand in the gray,

to hold our ground in the winds of doctrine,

to remain planted in place as the streams of water erode

the ground around our roots. 

We are rooted, 

we are planted, 

and we are firm,

we are holding space in the between place

because it's the right, but not easy, thing to do. 

If You're Thinking I am Sad

I've kept it mostly to myself. 

In the beginning of my Dark Night of the Soul, I wrote about my experience a little bit. But as I felt misunderstood, I stopped and decided that until I had fully processed what I was going through and could feel secure in what I knew I was experiencing, I felt like I couldn't handle input from other people who weren't walking through it with me. 

So, I have about 6 years worth of things I've been processing and going through and writing about: thoughts and feelings I've worked through and healed from, but I'm just now sharing. 

Life is complicated, and walking through it alone is hard. The last six years have largely been filled with things I've walked through, worked on and healed from on my own with God. Even though I'm just now sharing it, most of what I'm sharing I've processed and healed from and now I'm sharing it because I feel ready.

I could only share easy things, light things and happy things. But that wouldn't be true. 

The Bible is filled with the experiences and feelings of real people, and they aren't all upbeat or happy. 

Christians walk through difficult things, have complicated feelings and are sad sometimes. And that's right and okay. It doesn't mean I'm not trusting God, it means I'm real. 

Over the last six years, I have listened to Hurt by Johnny Cash too many times to count because it felt like somebody could see me and understand what I felt. I also listened to Unchained because I love the line "it's hard to see the rainbow through glasses dark as these, maybe I'll be able from now on, on my knees"

Loving and trusting God doesn't mean I never have bad feelings or experiences, it means I love Him and trust Him through them.

to the little girl I used to be

 

To the little girl I used to be who looked on while she wasn't chosen, 

I choose you. 

To the little girl I used to be who lied to get attention,

you have mine, and you don't need to earn it. 

To the little girl I used to be who acted impulsively and often regretted it,

you're not the only one, and it's okay. 

To the little girl I used to be who felt left behind and unpreferred,

it wasn't your fault and had nothing to do with you. 

To the little girl I used to be who was told to shut up,

please keep talking. I want to hear what you have to say.

To the little girl I used to be who needed reassurance and lost the friend when she asked,

it's okay to need reassurance, it's okay to take up space, you didn't mess things up. 

To the little girl I used to be who was pinched by the big girl,

I know that hurt and I'm sorry. 

To the little girl I used to be who did the same thing to another girl,

I forgive you, and I love you.

To the little girl I used to be who was called a dog and treated like trash,

don't believe them. 

To the little girl I used to be whose clothes weren't good enough,

beautiful flowers don't need pleasing frocks to wear. 

To the little girl I used to be who promised herself she would be "somebody" to prove all the people, who thought she was nobody, wrong,

you have nothing to prove. 

To the little girl I used to be who spent hours hiding in her bedroom pretending the people she knew thought she was something special,

you already are something special, even if other people didn't notice.

To the little girl I used to be who felt unloved, lonely and depressed,

you are worthy of love, attention and friendship. You don't need to lie. 

To the little girl I used to be who thought she was too fat, too ugly, too evil, too stupid and too needy,

you aren't. 

To the little girl I used to be who did things she wasn't proud of because she felt desperate for love, connection and feeling cared for, 

Ah, to you sweet girl, words are not enough. To this precious girl I used to be, I give my compassion, endless overt affection and delight, and all the forgiveness that a daughter of the woman at the well is due. 

To the little girl I used to be: You are beautiful and sweet and lovely and pure and smart and fun. You have ADHD, which explains the impulsiveness and propensity to lie. You did what you thought you needed to do in the moment to get the love, connection, and attention you needed. That doesn't make you evil, it makes you human. There is nothing wrong with you. You are a normal little girl. I love you, and I forgive you for the lies you told. But more than that, I accept you. I see you, and I think you are the coolest. 

The Trap

Locked in a room I don't want to be in, 

searching diligently for a way out,

I lied, but the door locked tighter,

My face grew hard and I pretended not to care,

but the walls pressed in. 

I silenced my voice, but the door remained locked. 

I was vigilant for opportunities to be nice,

but still the lock persisted.

The longer I've remained stuck, 

the smaller I've tried to become,

the less I've tried to need, 

the quieter I've learned to be,

the slighter I've shared the real me,

until the only person who knows I exist is the man who shares my life and bed.

None of it worked. 

No matter what I did, the doors remained closed. 

The more I tried to solve the problem, the more it stayed the same. 

I could hear the crowd outside laughing and enjoying a party, 

but I was locked inside. 

I can't remember when or how I came to be trapped,

and I can't remember whose fault it is. 

I've asked for and received help, 

but I was still trapped. 

I attended "How to get untrapped" meetings, 

but I was still trapped. 

I hired a professional de-trapper,

but I was still trapped. 

I wrote in my journal, 

but I was still trapped.

I've gone for a walk, taken cold showers, and seen my doctor,

but I'm still trapped. 

I've become a pro at processing feelings, 

stopped telling lies and 

grown in a million ways . . . but I'm still trapped. 

But I'm still trapped inside this closet. 

Is it my life's work to get out of being trapped?

To be the person God intended me to be?

Or is it my life's work to figure out how to make the best of being trapped?

I don't know.

My next step is to cut off one of the things that I think is keeping me stuck. 

It feels like I'm getting closer to be free.

Grief is Not Jealousy

We've never been close,

They belong in a sea of people,

I am other than,

Bound by blood that isn't thicker than water,

We share freckles, lineage and passiveness. 

It's not jealousy, or greed. 

Grief. 

Grief at the reminder of my otherness. Grief that I am once again not chosen. 

Like a blade of grass under a magnifying glass on a bright, sunny day, my soul is singed by knowing. 

I am found wanting. 

I'm not a preacher, or a preachers wife. 

I'm not a baseball player, or a fisherman,

I'm not a neighbor, or a nurse. 

I’m just me. 

A singer and a poet.

A dreamer and a grower.

A binger and a loser.

I'm just me.

A flawed human being. 

A wildflower basking in the sun. 

A try hard and a people pleaser.

A rebel and a liar. 

I'm just me. With the blood that isn't thicker than water, freckles and otherness.

And I'm okay. Unchosen and unknown. Grief is human, and okay. 

Praise God that human choosing isn't a factor in His choosing.

The Branch

Following years of hanging on, I slipped and fell

from the cliff that had been threatening to consume me.

In terror I grasped for anything to break my fall,

I found Their Branch. 

They held me there in safety. 

With white knuckles and eyes clinched shut,

I clinged to Their Branch,

grateful for it's strength and protection,

for peace and quiet after years of turmoil and strife

For space to confess and confront my sin.

Until one day, I started to choke, flail and gasp for air

I opened my eyes to discover water rising

I was going to drown. 

This also came with another stark revealing,

my feet were on the ground,

they had been on the ground for a long time,

but I had continued to hold onto Their Branch, with white knuckles and eyes clenched shut,

even though it was time for me to stand on my own. 

I didn't have to drown, 

I could walk away. 

But I wasn't alone there, 

The soul knitted to my own had to go with me.

So I waited, as I continued to choke, flail and gasp for air. 

With heavy hearts we walked away. 

From our support system,

The support that had seen us through trials, 

and the laying aside of the sin that was entangling us.

The community who prayed with us, 

held our hands, taught us how to break patterns, 

who donated their skill and labor to replace the shag carpet in our home.

But had also kept us stuck. 

As we walked away and I could breath again, 

I sifted through what remained

some wreckage, some fruit, some . . . unlabeled debris,

the emotional fallout,

to find the truth.

It has felt like walking alone through a haunted forest by moonlight,

trying to decipher truth from malevolent shadow,

finding brightly lit homes where the people around me connect, 

but I am left standing outside wondering how to get in. 

Doing the right thing doesn't exclusively feel good, 

or lead to connection, 

but it is still the right thing. 

So I put one foot in front of the other, 

and trust that either in this world or the next, 

The truth will be clear and the shadows will be gone. 

A Poem of Lament

To start this series from the beginning, click here.

Alone in the wilderness,

I built a fire, constructed a shelter 

and surrendered to life there

waiting for my name to be called through the trees. 

Utterly alone, 

I thought I heard a voice, 

my name being called through the trees,

saying it's time to go home. 

It was a sound mirage, 

So I've learned to live life alone in the wilderness

Slowly building a life there,

surrendered to what is. 

I don't know if I will ever hear that voice, 

the one telling me I'm safe, and it's time to go home,

My soul hovers in the middle place,

between despair at being lost in the wilderness and trusting that I will eventually make it home. 

Like a Bubble Boy, I exist in the invisible wilderness bubble,

I see other people, but I'm alone there. 

I hear other people, but I'm alone there. 

I speak to other people, but I'm alone there. 

I am spoken to, but I am alone there. 

And that's the worst kind of alone.

But this I know,

He who formed the trees I rest in,

and built me in my mother's womb,

Hears my voice as it calls His name through the trees.

The God who brought me to this place, will take me home. 

Grief: Not Belonging

I don’t belong, but it isn’t anyone’s fault. Not theirs. Not mine. I just . . . don’t belong. They aren’t my people and I’m not theirs.

And that's okay. But sometimes it's not.

I've learned that they know. They know I don't belong. There is a cognitive and verbal acknowledgment that I am "other". I am left out, and left behind in favor of others. 

I accepted this abandonment based upon the premise that it wasn't intentional, that they didn't know what they were doing. 

Questions surface within my heart about what their knowing means about me. What is wrong with me? 

Shame overwhelms me. I have caused this. I must be unworthy of love.

And then the truth bursts in like a cowboy in a saloon. It began long before I could have had any culpability in it. 

The truth is that it has nothing to do with me. The preference for others is not about me. It can't be, because they don't know me well enough to make that judgment. This assignment of otherness isn't based upon some characteristic of mine that is found wanting. It's based upon a lack of knowledge. 

So, what now?

Acceptance. 

Even if they know they prefers others, they probably don't know what this has done to me. They probably don't know that this has left me alone and vulnerable. They don't know that like a sheep left behind in a wilderness, I was taken out by the roaring lion seeking to devour me. 

Even if they know there is favoritism, they don't know what it has cost me. And they don't know what it has cost them. 

So, I accept what is. I forgive them for the favoritism, and I forgive myself for the things I did when I was vying for their affection. 

I don't belong, and I don't know whose fault it is. It isn't theirs, and it isn't mine. I just . . . don't belong. 

How Bad Marriage Counseling Helped Save our Marriage

(I'm sharing this with Michael's permission.) 

It felt excruciating, and I couldn't see past the current circumstances. 

Each time my mind would run the gamut of possibilities, and I tried each one on. I imagined what it would be like and feel like to take whatever steps I saw as possible. What would it be like to get a divorce? 

I didn't allow myself to just think of the relief of not being linked to this person anymore. I imagined the hard things. I imagined sending my children off to spend the weekend with their dad and some other woman. 

As I allowed myself to explore the possibilities, I always came back to "the best possible scenario is making this work". And if I am going to make this work, I'm not going to settle for making it work. I'm going to make it good. 

I did that for years before he really started making an effort to change things. For years, I was the one reading books. I was the one trying to get better. 

And the truth is, with only me working with intention, our marriage got exponentially better. 

Even when we went to marriage counseling after being married for 13 years, when the counselor asked us to each rate our marriage, Michael rated our marriage much higher than I did.

He didn't know what marriage could be like, he thought that not fighting was the limit of what marriage could be. He didn't know that we could live in intimate communion. And honestly, I didn't yet know what it could feel like and what it could be. 

Funny enough, bad marriage counseling was the catalyst for a revolution in our relationship. The counselor unfairly blamed me for some of Michael's issues, and that triggered Michael to clearly see that I was not to blame. His drawing that conclusion helped me to understand that I wasn't to blame as well. This shift allowed me to let go of his part of things, and provoked him to step up his game. 

(Don't get me wrong. Originally, I was the source of a lot, and maybe MOST, of our problems. But I had been working so hard for so long that I had improved things as much as I could without him making the same commitment to the marriage. But even at this point in our marriage, I still blamed myself for everything.)

Here are some things we've learned:

1. A lack of conflict is not a sign that things are good. There is conflict in good marriages. The only way to have true communion is by showing up as our authentic selves. Being authentic can lead to disagreement, and that's okay. 

2. One person working on themselves can make a big difference in marriage. 

3. The first step to a good marriage is each partner working on themselves. This is more effective than pointing out the other persons faults. The only person I can change is myself. 

4. The most effective way to change my spouse is through prayer, doing my best to fulfill my own role, and honestly and lovingly communicating my needs and boundaries outside of moments of conflict. 

5. The best marriages have conflict. One or both partners are hungry, annoyed, triggered, tired, stressed, etc., sometimes and may not react in the absolute optimal way. It's okay to disagree, argue and have times that don't fit into Hallmark movies or "happily ever afters". It doesn't mean the marriage is bad. Maybe we need to work on things, However, we probably won't ever be able to work on it enough that there are absolutely never ever times when we disagree. 

For us, I think the benefits we received from bad marriage counseling is a very real manifestation of God working all things for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. He used bad marriage counseling to help us build a better marriage. I don't recommend bad marriage counseling. Get good counseling, but if it's not available to you . . . get what you can.