Positive.

I've had a wonderfully freeing week, and I think the majority of that freedom has resulted from my decision to allow God to remove the chip from my shoulder. It seems so easy sometimes to hold onto hurt, to constantly remind ourselves of the pain inflicted on us by another, and to allow that memory to color our present relationship with that person.

In reality, it's not easy to live like that.

And honestly, it's not really easy to choose to release that grudge to God, either. But it sure is freeing.

And a bit confusing.

While I have always tried my best to be cordial whenever interacting with my ex-husband, I've changed my attitude this week and have worked on being positive. Sometimes I even find myself bordering on friendly. Let me be honest here: by no means do I go out of my way to talk to him. And if this situation were a little different--if there were no children involved--I would probably be doing everything I could to stay as far away from him as possible. But, thankfully, there are children involved, and so the bottom line is that, at most, I pretty much have to see him 2-3 times a week. And so (I think) I've decided to make the best of it.

Right now, making the best of it consists of greeting him in our driveway when he returns the kids and, after loving on my babies, asking about their day, listening to the things he chooses to share with me about his current life, talking a little about the silly things the kids do and say, and attempting to refrain from making any negative comments. It takes about ten minutes.

And it's so much easier than being angry on the inside.

Even though emotions still run close to the surface for me, I'm learning how to guard my heart when it comes to my relationship with him, and it's made all the difference in the world. Simple (and sad) things, like not expecting him to be completely honest with me, have helped. That doesn't, of course, mean that I think it's okay to be dishonest, but it does mean that I have started to put this relationship into perspective.

Here's where it gets tricky, though: I don't want him to take my friendliness as an indication that I think divorce was the right decision. I don't want my positive attitude to be misconstrued as acceptance of the situation. And I don't want to get in the position where I find myself interacting with him in a positive manner because I think it will bring him home.

The truth is, sometimes I do want him to come home. Sometimes, though, I can't wait to meet somebody new. A lot of the time, I look into his eyes and see a stranger staring back at me. Talk about surreal. And all of the time, I want to act and speak lovingly, out of the overflow of my heart, while also guarding that baby with everything I've got.

And, even though I keep it to myself, there are times when I just want to make sure he knows he made the wrong decision.

I feel confident in saying that, right now, it's not my place to point out his mistakes.

Relinquishing control to God also means learning to trust Him, even when it doesn't make sense. And it doesn't make sense, at least not to me, to act as friendly and caring around my ex-husband as I have this past week. It feels a little like he's off the hook for his decisions way too easily.

It also doesn't make sense, though, for God to sacrifice His one and only Son for me; especially when I hurt and reject and disappoint Him on a daily basis. Talk about getting off easy.

Except that the crucifixion wasn't easy. It was death.

And perhaps this, my choice to be positive, is just a little taste of what it might be like to die to my own wants and desires. Perhaps this is what it might feel like to die to myself, so that Christ might live in me.

Even though it hurts a little, it really is freeing.

David.

Here's what I've been mulling over lately:

"May the LORD judge between you and me. And may the LORD avenge the wrongs you have done to me, but my hand will not touch you."

It's from the book of 1 Samuel, and the words belong to David, the future king of Israel. He is speaking to Saul, the current king, who also happens to be the man behind the plan for having David killed; Saul even attempted to kill David himself a little earlier in the story. David, of course, is well aware that Saul tried to kill him once, and he's also been told that Saul is still seeking his death. He's out hiding from Saul. And isn't it interesting that when David actually has the chance to turn the tables and kill Saul first, he doesn't take it.

He could have killed Saul any number of ways, too. The Bible actually says that David did, in fact, sneak up on Saul and cut a corner of his robe before David himself became "conscience-stricken." David had the perfect opportunity to kill the man who was after his own life. He had the perfect opportunity to have his men kill Saul as well, and instead of issuing the command to take Saul's life, he forbade his men to attack the current king.

Now I'm not crazy at the thought of standing in judgement before God one day. Apart from the blood of Jesus, I wouldn't stand a chance. And, even though I'm certain I'll spend eternity with my Father, I also know I'll be called to stand before His throne one day and account for each and every decision in my life. Talk about humbling.

I'm not interested in asking God to judge between me and my ex-husband. I've experienced enough in my life to know that even when I think what I long for is justice, it's actually mercy I so desperately need. (I also have a really good friend who planted that thought in my head and in my heart quite a few months ago.) I am interested, though, in learning how to take my own hands out of the vengeance equation.

Honestly, I'm not sure if I can stand with David and say that my hands will have no part in payback. I'm not sure I'm ready to stand with David and ask my men to back down. I'm not even sure if, given the opportunity, I wouldn't cut a little more than the corner of a robe. I'd like to be able to say that I would respond as David did, but I think I'd be lying to myself. And I'm tired of lies, remember?

What I do know is this: my prayers for the next few days, weeks, maybe months are going to be focused on letting go. Letting go and letting God. That sounds like such a cliche', like something people say all the time and don't really mean, or maybe don't even really understand, but I want it to be true in my life. I want it to be true in this situation.

I want to be able to stand before my "men," my friends and family, and order them off the attack. I want to be strong enough and confident enough to end any and all negative talk surrounding the people and circumstances that have impacted my life. I want to be strong enough and confident enough to not start any negative talk, too.

I didn't realize until I began writing how strongly I cling to the thoughts and words of others. Sometimes I derive my strength and worth and confidence from the fact that other people think the two of them made some crappy decisions, too. And I love it. I find solidarity and support in those opinions.

I think I'd rather find solidarity and support in Jesus.

And honestly, even though it's easy to convince myself that I'm the one who needs to make him understand the error of his ways, that I'm the one who needs to hold him accountable and open his eyes to all the pain he's caused both himself and his family, that I'm the one who needs to help him see that this decision is so far from God's plan for his life, the bottom line is that I've tried it all, and none of it worked. So now it's time for me to get out of the way and let God do his thing.

And who knows what the future holds? Reconciliation? Restoration? Maybe.

Maybe not.

I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm learning to be more than okay with that.

I'm excited to see what God's going to do with my life, with my story.

Relinquishing control is going to be my opening chapter.

Loved.

I was loved tonight, and my soul has been changed as a result.

My children and I had the opportunity to attend a cookout hosted by some dear friends and incredible mentors. The cookout itself was intended for the members of one of the small groups that exist within our church and their families, but because of the role I play within this ministry of ours, I, also, was invited to attend and bring my family. While I knew everyone in attendance, and most on what I would consider a "friendship" level, I was not necessarily an "insider" in this situation. While I felt extremely welcome and wanted, being an outsider afforded me an exciting perspective on the entire evening.

As a result, I was able to sit back and observe God's intricate, purposeful work. I was able to see all the ways in which His hand has moved to bring this particular group of ladies together in order to not only study His Word, but to also simply "do life."

It was beautiful.

And I was reminded, in my yearning for someone to "do life" with myself, that I am truly already blessed with many of the things for which I find myself asking.

I was loved tonight, in a genuine and authentic way, and I know it's not the first time and certainly not the last time it will be true for me. And it honestly felt like home.

I was loved simply because of the invitation to be a part. I was loved in the conversation and food and laughter and stories. I was loved because I was able to witness a man of God take my child under his wing and share his home, his life, his faith, and his love with my sweet boy. I was loved because I know that my family and I have been prayed for within the walls of that home more times than I'll ever realize. I could feel it. I was loved because at the end of the night, I saw my little guy give big hugs to our host and hostess, and I know, because I am his mother, what a truly special gift that is from him. I was loved because I had the privelege of hearing my son make up songs all the way home about the evening and the people he'd just experienced, and I know that means they left an impact on his little heart. I was loved because the people we experienced left an impact on my heart.

And God, I couldn't be more thankful. Forgive me for failing to recognize the ways in which Your hand is at work in my life, and thank You for all the many people, those I was with tonight as well as those whose thoughts, prayers, calls, and comments permeate my existence, you have given me with which to "do life."

I am truly grateful.

Truth.

I long for Truth. I strive to seek Truth in all I do. I work hard to be truthful with myself and others. I hold fast to the belief that it is Truth, indeed, that will set me free.

And I am so tired of being lied to.

I understand the power of perception. I understand that my take on this divorce and all that has led up to it is much, much different than that of my ex-husband's. I also understand that the reality of this situation most likely exists somewhere in the middle, somewhere between his point of view and mine.

But I pray, quite frequently, for God to reveal Truth to both of us, and for Truth to be revealed to her, as well, because I believe that it is only when we are willing to face the Truth, and, in turn, allow ourselves to be showered in grace that personal healing will truly happen.

But again, I'm tired of the lies.

They frustrate me, they hurt me, they anger me...and they still catch me off guard.

I honestly don't think I'm out of line in asking for honesty. I'm not questioning him about his personal life; I never ask about what goes on when he's on his own. I am merely, and appropriately so, concerned about the whereabouts of my children.

It's actually deeper than that, though. While I do want to know where my children are when they're with him, what I really want is to be able to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's going to be open and honest with me in all things related to our babies. And I'm just not there yet.

I know my kids are safe when they're with him. I know they have a good time when they're with him. I want them to have a relationship with him. But if you've never been a position in which you are, ultimately, forced to release your kids for extended periods of time to someone who has hurt your heart in unimaginable ways, then I'm not sure how to realistically describe the emotions I experience each time I release them into his hands.

And I definitely don't know how to describe the emotions I experience when my almost three-year-old tells me his day ran a little differently than the way his father described it. And I definitely don't know how to describe the emotions I experience when I confront his father, not for the first time, as to why he isn't truthful with me when it comes to experiences the kids have while in his care, only to have him hang up and refuse to finish the conversation. And I most definitely don't know how to describe the emotions I experience when I allow it to finally sink in that my children are, in fact, spending time with my ex-husband and this other woman on what seems to be a consistent basis.

(I don't, of course, truly know how much or little (if any) time my children are spending with her, but the possibility seems to very strongly exist. I do, however, refuse to put my child in the middle; I'm sure there will come a day when he shares with me who plays with him, and when and if he does, I pray I will have the strength to respond in a way that does not diminish him. Until then, I will not incessantly question him about his "playmates.")

There just simply are no words. Or perhaps there are a multitude of words, all jumbled together into one big experience: jealousy, peace, hurt, strength, anger, confidence, frustration, love, fear, PRAYER. That's more like it.

I'll continue to pray for Truth. And truth. I don't understand my ex's motivation for lying anymore. We're divorced, he's free (or is he?), and there's no way we'll be able to "co-parent" effectively without a little honesty.

Truth, please, Father. Truth and grace. I know I won't make it without those.

Responsibility, Accountability, and Forgiveness.

Every time I relay the story of the past ten months of my life, no matter how few or how many details I give, I always make it a point to mention the fact that I know there were (and are) so many things I need to work on when it comes to relationships. There are, more specifically, so many things I need to work on when it comes to marriage relationships, and there are so many mistakes, bad decisions, careless words, sins that I need to own up to in my interactions with my husband.

Not an easy thing to do. Especially when the response I most often get after telling my story--from very well-meaning people, mind you--is, "Don't beat yourself up. We all have things we need to work on when it comes to relationships." And I know that's true. After all, I believe that we all fall short of the glory of God, and that there is not one of us, apart from Jesus, without sin.

And no matter how squarely I put the decision to divorce on the shoulders of my ex-husband, I do not believe that I am a "victim" in this particular situation. Let me be clear: I did not make the decision to divorce. I did not file, I did not want him to file. I made it absolutely apparent that I was willing to do whatever it took to uphold my commitment to him, and I did everything I knew how to do to save my marriage. And oh, how easy it would be if that's where everything ended.

But it's only where things get complicated.

Because I know, no matter how things look to the outsider, what things I did and didn't do in my marriage, and I am well aware of the part I played in his final decision. I also know, though, that by admitting my mistakes to him, to myself, and to my God, and that by asking forgiveness and earnestly seeking repentance, I have begun to make steps in the healing process.

I believe this, and it has messed me up in such a good way: "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives ."

Like I said before, it is so difficult to admit that the situation I'm dealing with is, in part, a consequence of my own sin. Let me be clear: I do not believe that God is punishing me for poor choices. I do not believe that divorce or my husband having an emotional affair with another woman was ever in God's plan for my life. I do not and will not ever admit to choosing/wanting/initiating this divorce, because I know that's not a choice I made. I do believe, though, that I'm not perfect. I do believe, without a doubt, that during my almost eight-year marriage I said and did many things that were not loving toward my husband and that also did not bring glory to God, and I need to take responsibility for those actions and the consequences that resulted because of the choices I made.

I also believe, though--and praise God!--that if we confess our sins, God is faithful and will not only forgive us, but will also purify us from all unrighteousness.

And that's exactly what I want for my life.

So while it seems so much easier to play the victim, and while it seems so much easier to just let everyone think it's all his fault, I simply can't do that. I long to live in truth. I long to be forgiven and cleansed. I long to be made whole. And His Word tells me that the only way to do that is to confess.

And so I have, and it's been freeing. Amazingly, and by the grace of God, I am learning how to take responsiblity for the choices and decisions I made while at the same time separating myself from the choices and decisions he made. And that, friends, is called healthy.

I am so thankful for the Word of God in my life. I am thankful for the way it speaks to me, comforts me, and challenges me. I am thankful for the way it cuts me to the core, stretches me, and replays itself over and over again in my heart and mind.

I am thankful for the way it reveals my sin, and I am thankful for the forgiveness and healing it promises.

I am thankful for all that I have learned, and for the ways in which I have grown during this season of my life. I am praying, even now, that I'll have another chance to do this marriage thing right. I am praying for the opportunity to be a wife that brings glory to God through the way she loves her husband.

And I'm praying that God would continue to refine me, no matter how painful the process seems.

Co-Parenting.

Here's what he said to me:

"There's a lady in my group who is so good at 'co-parenting' with her ex-husband that her children don't even know they're from a broken home."

In all fairness, I started the conversation by suggesting some thoughts I had that might help us better parent our children consistently. And I do, with all that I am, want to figure out how to have a relationship with him that will always be beneficial for our two sweet babies.

This, though, is how I responded to his comment:

"I never, ever want the kids to think that divorce is okay."

I hesitated to say it, but it's true. I don't care how well we get this whole "co-parenting" thing down (and I pray that we do get it down), I don't ever want my children to think that divorce is an acceptable answer to their marital issues. I don't ever want them thinking that divorce was an acceptable answer to my marital issues. I want my kids to know and believe and hold fast to all that is written in the Bible, and I want nothing more than to learn how to be appropriately transparent with them; to be honest about my flaws and shortcomings and sins in a way that glorifes God and helps them grow in their own relationships with Him.

I want them, though, to know that this "broken family" is not what covenant looks like, no matter how well they think their father and I can "co-parent."

So how do I teach them those things without sabotaging the relationship they share with their earthly father? I mean, I'm aware of the fact that these conversations are years and years away for me, but the implications of my future words weigh heavy on my heart now.

God, give me wisdom. I so desperately need it.

And bless my children with wisdom and a knowledge of You that surpasses their age. May they always have a desire to seek Truth, and may they thirst after Your Word with their entire being.

Amen.

Contentment.

And then nights like tonight happen.

Nights where my children and I have absolutely nothing on our calendar. Nights where I leave work and head to the sitter's, excited to see my babies but also dreading just a little the evening ahead; not because I don't want to be with my kiddos, but simply because I know it will be just the three of us, all night long, and sometimes, frankly, I don't have the energy for that.

But then I walk through the door to pick them up and I see their smiles and feel their excitement, and we make it home and my little guy is so excited to help with the small things, things I consider chores, like bringing the in the trash can and measuring the sugar for the sweet tea, and my sweet baby girl smiles so big her dimples show, and we start to fall into a routine, and things are good.

And then I try to play baseball with my son outside in our backyard while sweet pea watches from a blanket in the grass, and we eat dinner at the kitchen table while talking about what shape the "cheesy noodles" are, and we have popsicles for dessert before heading upstairs to splash around in the bathtub and play with the trains and read and read and read before finally saying good night, and I smile as I close the door to my children's rooms, after kisses have been given and prayers have been said, and I realize, I am content.

For a split second, I allow myself to wonder if he even realizes what he's missing.

And then I choose to let the thought fade away, because I refuse to be robbed of this contentment I have found. I remember Paul's words, and I meditate on the fact that the secret of being content is simply realizing that "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength," and so I press on.

I know what it is to have a husband, and I know what it is to be without, and I am learning the secret of being content.

I'm Lonely.

This is probably the most difficult thing for me to admit, both to those around me and to myself.

But it's true. I am lonely sometimes, mostly when I'm not actually alone.

And the loneliness has been a strange thing for me to navigate, mainly because it has brought to light so many of the contradictions that make me, well, me.

For example: I am fiercely independent. I process information quickly, I don't often hesitate when it comes to making decisions, I am comfortable with large amounts of responsibility, and I enjoy leadership roles. I am also an introvert; I possess a need deep within me to be alone at some point each and every day. I very literally need that time to remain sane.

I also, though, long for companionship. My heart aches for intimacy. I believe I have a God-given desire to know and be fully known, and I am thankful for God's promise that one day I will experience relationship at its finest. I will know, and I will be fully known, and I'll be loved just the same. And how beautiful it is to know that even now, even as I sit here on my sofa and pour my heart onto a computer screen, I can rest confidently in the fact that I am already known, and already loved, and that it has been that way for a long, long time.

Little do we realize, though, the power that we, as humans, have to shape perceptions of relationship.

I believe, with all that is in me, every word written in the paragraph above. I cling to the promises of God found in the Bible. I hold fast to the ways in which I've seen the power of Jesus alive in my life.

And yet, the desire for earthly relationship, and, more specifically, the desire for the husband-wife relationship, still permeates most of my thoughts. Is it because I have a vision in my head of what I think a marriage is supposed to look like? Is it because I've tasted the sweetness of a marriage relationship and therefore now know what I'm missing? Is it because, by the grace of God, I've learned more about marriage in the last nine months than I did in the entire seven and a half years I was actually a wife?

I do not have the words to describe how much I genuinely love and appreciate my friends and family. My life has very literally been upheld by people who love me, care about me, and would do absolutely anything to support me. I know they have given up time with their friends and families to call me, to hang out with me, to help me bathe the kids, to feed me, to listen to me gasp and cry and weep and wail, to hear my complaints, to fast and pray with me, to play with my children, to care for my children...you name it, and it has been a blessing given to me by God through friends and family.

But, at the end of the day, and as it should be, I'm the one sitting at my kitchen table eating dinner most nights with an almost-three-year-old and a one-year-old. I'm the one carting my kids home from the church softball game without a husband next to me in the passenger seat. I'm the one who wants nothing more than to collapse into bed at night and find myself wrapped up in my husband's arms. I'm the one with stories from my day that seem to be spilling out of my mouth, and yet they're not being heard. I'm the one who tucks my babies into bed each night, all the while remembering, faintly, that this used to be a task I shared with someone else.

I used to share my life with someone else. The good, the bad, and the ugly. There was someone here with me, and I thought we were in it together; I thought we were in it for the long haul.

I feel like I've been cast aside, thrown away, told that I'm not worth the fight.

I feel like things got tough and he quit.

And, every once in a while, I'm lonely.

Direction.

"God, help me to be open to whatever direction You want to move in my life."

It's the first conscious thought that slips through my mind every morning, without fail. It's a prayer, a pleading, for guidance from my Father. Guidance in my words and actions, definitely, but also guidance in my thoughts and in my heart. Because, quite simply, I don't know what to think, and I don't know what to feel. I don't know how to exist in this situation.

And oh, how I long to do so much more than exist.

But here's where I struggle:
I have no idea what God has store in for the rest of my life. Absolutely no idea.

And while I do trust Him, because I know that His plans for my life are so much greater than anything I could ever ask or imagine, day-to-day living is not always so cut and dry.

For example, I am very aware that every second of every day I am making a conscious decision to live as if my ex-husband will never, ever be a part of my life again. It's a decision I wrestled with for weeks, maybe even months, and it's one I made only after many conversations with some very godly people, and after even more long nights of prayer. And while, to the outsider, it seems like the obvious choice to make (he did, after all, divorce me), I don't know how to make myself stop loving him.

But I also know that in order to maintain my sanity, and maybe, more importantly, parent my children to the best of my ability, I cannot allow the door to that relationship to remain open in my heart and/or mind. Words cannot even begin to describe the damage done to my heart when I allow myself to hope for a certain reaction from him, only to realize I've been lied to yet again. It simply makes my heart hurt.

There is more, though. I still believe that my family could be restored beyond my wildest imagination. I believe I serve a God who is in the business of working miracles, and I believe that my relationship with my ex-husband is not beyond repair.

I also, however, believe, that there could be a beautiful vision in my Father's eyes of my life with someone new, or maybe even a life without a husband. While I will never believe that God's plan for my life included divorce, I do know that God is still good, and that He is still working on my behalf, even if things don't seem to be going my way right now.

And that's the tension of faith, isn't it? Living in this world, but not being of this world. Trying to reconcile the last few paragraphs is next to impossible, and yet, somehow, it's what I'm learning to do. It's how I'm learning to be. It's my reality.

And so God, help me to be open to whatever direction You want to move in my life. Open my eyes so that I might be able to see the ways in which You are moving all around me, working on my behalf. Give me clear guidance, and help the desires of my heart become the desires of Your heart. Amen.

I Begged.

Begging is not becoming, or so I'm told.

Unfortunately, I've spent the last nine months of my life begging. Begging my husband to discontinue a relationship with another woman. Begging my husband to return home so we could work on things. Begging my husband to talk to me, to let me in, to tell me the truth. Begging my husband to choose me, to choose our kids, to choose our life together.

Begging God to restore and redeem my marriage.

And none of it came to fruition.

And so here I sit today: a newly divorced woman, a now single mom to two young children, trying to make ends meet on what I refer to as my "child support budget."

Some days I sit peacefully, some days I have confusion and hurt and anger raging inside of me. Some days it's easy for me to believe God's promise that His plans are not to harm me, some days I struggle. Some days I make it through my waking hours without missing the father of my children at all, and some days the memories of our life together seem to spill into everything I do. Some days I rest calmly in the fact that not only will God never leave or forsake me, but He also won't leave or forsake my children, and some days I worry constantly about the negative effects of my little babies being shuffled from one home to the next. Some days I feel strong and confident, and some days I obsess over what it is about "her" that intrigued my husband enough to leave his family.

Every day, though, I am fully aware of my new reality.

And every day I am faced with a multitude of decisions and reactions in response to this new reality and all that it entails.

This is my journey.

It won't be easy, but I believe it will be worth it.