A Gentle Persuit

Divorce is ugly.  In the days right after I left my first husband, I experienced some of the most potent ugliness from friends at church.  I do not believe that they intended me harm.  In fact, I do believe they thought that they were being motivated by their love for me.  Unfortunately, some of the words uttered and emailed to me were sharp daggers that ripped swiftly through my spirit.  And healed with agonizing slowness.  The scabs would occasionally get ripped off, and the wounds would bleed fresh.  But eventually, they did heal.  With deliberate care and prayer and a God who is far bigger than my reluctantly forgiving self, the wounds healed.  And now the scars are fading.

When I left my husband, I also left my church home.  I knew immediately that I would move back to the Houston area to be near my family.  I’d been cut off from them in many ways for years, and I knew that I needed them.  I didn’t think it was fair for me to continue to try to worship at the same place with the man I was divorcing.  It is a good church.  With good people.  And I wanted him to have that support system.  I felt like staying there would cause people to feel like they had to choose sides.  And that wasn’t fair.  I was going home.  That was one reason I walked away.

The other reason was fear.  I was afraid of judgment.  I was afraid of people looking in with judgment on a situation they knew absolutely nothing about.  I was heartbroken and spirit broken and grieving from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and I did not want to look into the eyes of people who were supposed to love me and see judgment.  And disappointment.  I could look into the bloodshot eyes in the mirror and see all of that I could bear and more.  Shame.

Someone actually said those words to me.  “Shame on you.”  Such a terrible thing to say.  I did feel shame.  I was a failure.  At the most important calling of my life.  And no amount of prayer and faith had healed or fixed the brokenness of my marriage.  And when I hit the breaking point, I left.  

It didn’t matter that I was leaving for good reasons.  It didn’t matter that staying would have destroyed me.  All that mattered is that I left.  And good church of Christ girls like me didn’t do that.  But I did.  Shame on me.

And then I left my church family too.  Because after the initial loving wounds inflicted, I couldn’t bear to stay for more.  More judgment.  More platitudes.  More condemnation.  So I didn’t give them the chance. 

I know now that I also didn’t give them the chance to surround me with love.  To embrace me with forgiveness and acceptance.  To sit shivah with me as I mourned the death of my marriage.  And a piece of myself. 

Later, much later, I let a few people in.  After the divorce and the move back to Houston, I’d visit my second home occasionally and eventually shared my heart with a chosen few.  After some of the initial wounds were healing.  After I began to forgive myself.  After experiencing love and support of family.  After the faithfulness of a few of my non-church friends.  Only then.  I opened up with a few and shared my heart.

And I did experience love.  And forgiveness.  And understanding.  And compassion.  And grace.  And my spirit healed a little more.

Healing is a process.  And sometimes moments of healing come in such unexpected ways.

This afternoon, I received a graduation announcement in the mail.  Such an ordinary thing. 

I didn’t recognize the Amarillo address, and the sender’s name wasn’t included, but the monogrammed sticker on the flap should have given it away. But I was stumped.

My best friend’s son is graduating, but that was the wrong school.  My other friends whose kids are graduating I’m not as close to. 

When I opened it up and looked inside, I understood.  And I cried.  This young man was my student when I was a 5^th grade counselor years ago.  Seven years to be exact.  The most devastating year of my life.  And I’m not sure I’ve spoken with him in the last six years.  I’m not really sure he even remembers much about me.  He wasn’t a kid in trouble.  He wasn’t in need of counseling.  He was one of those great kids with great parents who really didn’t need me at all. 

He might have thought to send me an announcement, but I kind of doubt it.  I’m pretty sure it was his mom.

His mom is a pretty special lady.  She was not a super close friend when I lived in Amarillo, but she was a friend.  We spoke at church.  We spoke at school.  She occasionally asked my advice about her oldest son, my student, and later asked my advice on behalf of someone else.  Long after I’d moved away.

What makes her so special to me would seem rather ordinary to most.  But for me, it’s extraordinary.

During the process of my divorce, I occasionally ran into this lady at school.  She always smiled.  If I saw her around town, she said hello.  Sometimes she hugged me.  When I moved away and finally joined the world of Facebook, she sent me a friend request.  She liked my comments and occasionally responded to my pictures.  I did the same with hers.

I’ve watched her boys grow up on Facebook, and she has watched me live.  Grow.  Heal.  Transform.

She never once asked me why I left my husband.  She never looked at me with judgment.  She might have been curious.  But she didn’t ask.  She didn’t start a conversation innocuously and then maneuver it toward the big questions so many people felt compelled to ask.

She quietly, subtly loved me.  She treated me with kindness.  With respect.  With quiet tenderness.  She asked for my advice long after I walked away.  She valued me.  She accepted me.

I’m not sure why she sent me the announcement.  Possibly because her son was my student so many years ago and somehow knew that it would mean something to me.  And it does.  Because he is precious.  It was incredibly thoughtful.  But it actually meant way more than that for me. 

She didn’t strike out at me all those years ago.  She didn’t quietly carve me out of her life as some did.  She also didn’t let me just walk away.

She followed me.  She pursued me so subtly I didn’t realize she’d done it at all.  Until today.  Maybe she didn’t do it on purpose.  Maybe she is just that kind of caring and gentle and kind.  Probably.  She most likely doesn’t know at all the way she gently nurtured my healing spirit.  But she did.