Continued from here...
I used to think that I knew a lot of stuff for sure. Now, I'm unsure about a lot of things.
But there is one thing about which I am absolutely certain.
God can turn death to life.
I had to die to learn how to live. Our old marriage died to make room for the new marriage. And I absolutely am not the source of this unearned new life. It must be God. There is absolutely no other way to explain how I could be in this place in my life otherwise. For most of the past three years I was angry with God and not praying that he would heal me. But being the ever faithful, loving higher power God is, God put the right people in my life at the right time to carry me. The fact that I am a person who experiences joy is the work of God.
This new life God has given me is different than I ever imagined. But in a deeper, more beautiful, more human way.
I have no clue why my husband chose recovery when most husbands don't, why I was lucky enough to be surrounded by the best therapists and 12-steppers out there when many women struggle to find good help, and why our marriage came back to life while others fade away. It is not because I made all the right decisions. It is certainly not because my husband made all of the right decisions.
Which brings me back to the point of the story. Conversion. Or reversion. Maybe.
We're finding ourselves in a season of new beginnings. Our new beginnings, through a string of well placed coincidences, has led us to once again embrace natural family planning and learn healthy intimacy through the Creighton model.
That's how we went from feeling that natural family planning was the source of many of our problems to feeling as though it is a precious gift that heals pain.
That's my story. I don't know if I told it well. I don't know if it will be meaningful to anyone but me. But I feel like I have a responsibility to carry this message forward to others. And this is one way to carry the message.
God can turn death into life.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Tipping Point
I don't have many triggers anymore. They are so infrequent that sometimes I forget what it feels like. And then I remember.
Yesterday's phone call from my mom started off innocently enough. She had a quick question to ask. Could she borrow the leftover fabric from my wedding dress for a display at church?
Before I could even respond, the tears took my breath. So unexpectedly. My mom immediately backtracked, apologizing for asking about the material. I reassured her that she didn't hurt me in any way by asking for the material.
It's just that the mere mention of the fabric from my wedding dress started a chain reaction of negative feelings.
My mom is an amazing seamstress. When I got engaged, she offered to make a custom one-of-a-kind dress. It was stunning, and it was the perfect dress for me. Simple, modest, with a vintage feel. My dream dress. It took many trips for her to complete it (we didn't live near each other), and we spent so much time together. When she finished the dress, there was quite a bit of extra fabric left over. I decided to have her store it in her basement so that I could use it for a baptismal gown some day.
So when my mom mentioned the fabric yesterday, my emotional reaction wasn't just about the fabric. It was about losses. The dress that was beautifully designed with love that sits in my parents' basement because it's too hard for me to have in my house. The wedding photos that were either destroyed or tucked away because I feel sick when I see them. The fabric, that was supposed to be sewn into a baptismal gown for a little baby girl some day. Fabric that now somehow feels tainted.
Everything surrounding our marriage day is now clouded with the knowledge that my husband was an addict the day he married me. He lied to my family, friends, priest, and me. He had already had sex with other people while we were engaged. While my mom and I excitedly worked on that dress and talked about my bright and happy future with my soon-to-be husband.
I am happy in my life now. But I still grieve the losses.
Yesterday's phone call from my mom started off innocently enough. She had a quick question to ask. Could she borrow the leftover fabric from my wedding dress for a display at church?
Before I could even respond, the tears took my breath. So unexpectedly. My mom immediately backtracked, apologizing for asking about the material. I reassured her that she didn't hurt me in any way by asking for the material.
It's just that the mere mention of the fabric from my wedding dress started a chain reaction of negative feelings.
My mom is an amazing seamstress. When I got engaged, she offered to make a custom one-of-a-kind dress. It was stunning, and it was the perfect dress for me. Simple, modest, with a vintage feel. My dream dress. It took many trips for her to complete it (we didn't live near each other), and we spent so much time together. When she finished the dress, there was quite a bit of extra fabric left over. I decided to have her store it in her basement so that I could use it for a baptismal gown some day.
So when my mom mentioned the fabric yesterday, my emotional reaction wasn't just about the fabric. It was about losses. The dress that was beautifully designed with love that sits in my parents' basement because it's too hard for me to have in my house. The wedding photos that were either destroyed or tucked away because I feel sick when I see them. The fabric, that was supposed to be sewn into a baptismal gown for a little baby girl some day. Fabric that now somehow feels tainted.
Everything surrounding our marriage day is now clouded with the knowledge that my husband was an addict the day he married me. He lied to my family, friends, priest, and me. He had already had sex with other people while we were engaged. While my mom and I excitedly worked on that dress and talked about my bright and happy future with my soon-to-be husband.
I am happy in my life now. But I still grieve the losses.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)