Undone

One year, four months, seven days. That’s how long it took me from finding myself separated to filing for divorce. It was brutal. Not something I would wish on anyone. But one thing I’ve learned is that the path of descent is also the path of growth. Our pain has a much larger potential for bringing about real transformation than any thing else in our lives. But we never go silently into the belly of the whale. Jonah had to be thrown over the side of the boat. We don’t naturally take the path of descent, the path of death, of grief, of loss. But it is these paths that lead to resurrection, to growth, to new life, to transformation.

Nothing about getting a divorce is fun. Driving to the courthouse yesterday the magnitude and finality of it all came crashing down upon me. I tried as best I could to let it crash because I knew going all the way through this process was the only way to real healing on the other side. I thought about the hopes and dreams for a future that were lost. I thought and grieved for the family that has been altered and will never be quite the same for my boys. I thought about the love I had, and a friendship that died a death, never to be the same again.

The whole process in some ways attempts to insulate you from all this and in others points out the stark realities of the path being traveled. There’s what feels like a bazillion papers to sign, fill out, and get just right that at some point it begins to feel more like you are trying to do your taxes than end a marriage. On the other side as you walk into the courthouse, procede to empty your pockets and go through a metal detector, wait in line with others attending to their business with the court, the true weight of the failure of a marriage becomes absolute, real, and unavoidable.

My name was called and the clerk took my prepared documents, reviewed them, asked me to swear to their accuracy, made copies, stamped them and sent me to the cashier. With laden eyes I walked a hallway to pay the appointed fees. Then I took the long trek back to the clerk. My copies were done and this portion of the process was over. It total it took maybe 15 minutes.

I made it back to the car and allowed myself to break against the shore upon which I now found myself. I wept for the loss, for the pain, for the hurt, for the past, for the future, for my kids and for my former spouse. I wept that I couldn’t find a way to fix it for me, for her, for them. And I wept as I continued to ask God to help with the process of breaking us apart. It’s so unnatural and foreign. But there is still that feeling of protection, of care, of worry for another person that you spent so much of your life with. As a husband you try to do what’s best, to put your wife and kids above your own wishes and desires, you try to protect them from all harm and pain. I wept that I wasn’t able to protect and I gave her back to him. He has her now and God will be that for her going forward and I asked him to continue to break that bond. Marriage is a bond so far beyond the sheet of paper you sign and can get undone. There are all the other things, the connections and bonds spiritually, emotionally and physically that filling out a few papers isn’t capable of handling nor undoing.

It’s a strange thing, how something so painful also brings healing. Subconsciously I’ve been avoiding this day for a long time. Because I knew what it meant, the door it was, the difficult path it was going to be to walk. But through all of this I have found God to be with me. He has been so close beside me all the way, beyond my comprehension. It is true that he draws near to the broken-hearted. He’s been there behind me, just an ever present presence, sure and steady. He’s been there through so many of you. Through kind words of encouragement, through a listening ear, through shared meals and activities, through hot sweaty runs that pushed me to know I could go another mile, further than I ever had before.

So here I stand, completely and totally unsure of what the future holds, without a true glimpse of what it looks like. But something I’ve learned is that before you can truly see, you have to admit that you are blind. There’s a story where Jesus asks a blind man if he wants to see before healing him. Unless we are willing to admit we can’t see, to go to the place where we don’t have all the answers and the future is unsure, until we go there, crazily enough, we remain blind. In fact Jesus pointed out to all the religious leaders in this story that they were the ones truly blind because they were so sure that they could see. Too often we think and hang on to our half-seeing instead of embracing our blindness and crying out “yes I want to see.” I can’t see the future, I can’t see what even today is going to bring me. But God I wanna see and I’m looking forward to the future you have for me, eyes wide open.