Those are the words I spoke to a woman, whose marriage was rapidly deteriorating.
I watched as my words landed. Observing her eyes widen, and her mouth open as if to protest, but nothing came out. She looked shell-shocked at my brashness. Confused, how a woman like myself, that is such proof of God’s miraculous restoration, could say such a thing to her. It’s not at all how she expected me to respond.
But for the record, I’m not the least bit sorry about it.
Continue reading I’m sorry, but your perfectly restored marriage will never be handed to you.
Last week, I found myself gasping for breath as I wept. Deep and heavy and messy mourning, like something died. Like something died a long time ago, but I didn’t grieve… Like, I never allowed myself to grieve.
Never, in a million years, did I expect the tears to come.
I’m alright, I thought. I just need a little fresh air, a nap, maybe a podcast or something, I said, thinking that would lift my spirits after a series of off-days last week.
But as I sat listening to the downpour outside my window that day, I realized for the first time in a long time, it was so much deeper than that. It’s as if I had been running so hard and so fast from something, for so long, and on that dark and rainy day, it – finally – all caught up with me.
You could hear my cries down the hallway.
Continue reading You don’t have to run from your feelings in the name of faith, anymore.