“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:12, NIV).
I secretly love office supply stores. (The secret is out!) I love organization. I love sticky notes and the perfect pen. I am happiest when I have a plan and am organized. If you want to set me back a few paces, see what happens when I can’t find something that is supposed to be in its rightful place. I guess this attitude displays some sort of medical condition—OCD, or whatever—but I am happy with my own labels… especially color-coded ones!
I get up early almost every morning and do a load of laundry. It’s kind of a rule in my house. I cannot start the day without getting something clean. There you have it. Part of it is because I have raised (and am not done yet) three children who absolutely know how to get a lot of clothing dirty, and they believe towels must only be used once. The other part of it is because I simply like routine and find comfort in having a plan. I also find comfort in getting the work done first so I can play and rest later.
As an adult professional, organization really helps me set boundaries between work and home. When I am organized at work, it prepares me in such a way that I can leave without bringing home a lot of extra prep work. I have never really bought into the myth that in order to be a good teacher, you have to stay at school until 5:00 past your contract day. There are some schools of thought that argue this as a necessary requirement for the most dedicated of our profession. However, I learned from a few teachers that the secret of a happy teacher is a well-prepared teacher. I don’t function well running behind all the time; therefore, I set myself up to succeed. I have learned that even if I don’t get to the plan in the day-to-day business of teaching—or even if the plan goes differently than I expected, which happens often in education—at least I’ve been prepared enough to be flexible. I can change things up instead of always catching up. I find I’m a healthier individual this way and am able to walk out the school door and take care of my personal business, like family.
After all of the trauma and failure in my personal business, though, I began washing and cleaning and cooking and trying my very best to make up for the lost time and stabilize the chaos. I forgave my husband. He forgave me. We began a process of healing. That was a good label for where we were. We had always been very good friends. Our friendship helped, but what got us through was that each of us sought after God. Individually, we made the decision to turn directly away from what we knew to be the wrong route, and we turned to face Him. We kind of got a little crazy—possessive crazy, romantic crazy, annoyingly crazy. But we began to learn about healing. We practiced doing a lot of things—or I did. My husband was mostly a free man.
This kind of bothered me like an itch that I couldn’t quite find to scratch. Russ had laid everything out and was now free—apparently healed. He had waited ten years to do it, but it was done. And now he was just plain happy. At first, I was so relieved to be forgiven and to see this new, free side of him that I just didn’t care about the garbage. I had a husband who was praying over me—with me—and reading his Bible. It was great. We went away together and spent time and money healing our marriage. We went into a little debt healing our marriage, but as our good friend said, “It is cheaper than a divorce.” So we played together, laughed, prayed, took classes, ate, drank, and tried to reconnect, recommit, and heal.
Russ was extremely gentle—never harsh. He was literally a different man. He took the time to listen to me, and he actually seemed to hear me. He spent hours just holding me while I cried. I would wake up crying and go to sleep crying some days. In the middle of the day, while teaching, tears would well up, but I would feel so relieved to have come through the worst. Songs and Scripture would cause tears. Actually, just about anything would cause tears. More often, during this time, they were tears of happiness, but there was a lot of sorrow.
I remember when Russ took me away for a weekend. In our hotel room, he brought out a bucket of warm water, and he knelt before me. He gently washed my feet. My heart and soul were still searching, but I knew I loved this man. He was doing everything he knew how to do. It was sweet and pure and amazingly wonderful, but it did not make me feel clean. I worked so hard to be healed. I wanted to be cured of this enemy: dirt. No matter how clean my house was or how many verses I memorized and internalized, I couldn’t quite get rid of it. It just wasn’t coming fast enough.
* * *
I memorized Scripture for each difficult time of the day. It was actually a really effective way for me to memorize. As I began to memorize, more and more verses would come for different times of the day. Philippians 4:13 was for 4:13 in the afternoon, when I felt like crashing. I’d go for a run, remembering, “I can do all things through [Christ] who strengthens me” (NASB). Proverbs 4:23 comforted me during my run, guarding my heart from disturbing thoughts and reminding me that I was guarded by God and I didn’t need to fear being seen by Rick, which up until then would make me feel naked and exposed after being involved with someone who I was really beginning to understand, only spelled destruction. It sounds silly, but it helped. Then as I read more, Philippians 3:12-14 became another favorite: “I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection! But I keep working toward that day when I will finally be all that Christ Jesus saved me for and wants me to be. No, dear brothers and sisters, I am still not all I should be, but I am focusing all my energies on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I strain to reach the end of the race and receive the prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us up to heaven” (NLT). I strained to reach Him. Still, somehow, I felt like I just wasn’t getting there.
I memorized Philippians 1:6b: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (NIV). I ached as I wondered when that day would come. I clung to Romans 8:1: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (NIV). But was I truly in? Did I really believe it? How could I not be condemned with everything I had done? I put my family on the line. I had always been a sinner. In my mind, I always would be. I just couldn’t shake it.
As I pursued God, I began to understand new things about sin, though. I read about our sinful nature and that sin is actually a noun that can be removed from us through the blood of Christ. I considered, though, what happens when it comes back. I had a severe internal battle going on. Why did my feelings of low self-worth always haunt me? I felt so much guilt—guilt about not getting to read my Bible; about feeling angry with Russ, who seemed to be so good now; and guilt about eating. I realized I was still afraid to eat. I knew something was still not quite right within me.
I suffered a severe setback when I learned I had a pelvic fracture. It was caused by overuse—running too much—and the early stages of osteoporosis. I had to quit running. I had to start teaching second-graders in a wheelchair. I was on crutches or in a wheelchair for eight weeks to immobilize the pelvis. For someone addicted to running, it was torturous, and being immobilized did nothing for my self-worth or healing. I read more and more about God and healing. I felt like He was literally testing me beyond my limit. The truth was that I couldn’t run to escape anymore. I had to directly face my pain.
In all this time, I couldn’t tell my parents or anyone in my family what was going on. It was awful trying to maintain a façade, but I couldn’t face any more judgment. I couldn’t deal with their reaction—the family gossip that would ensue and the feelings of inadequacy. I was scared of what would happen to me if they knew and how I would handle it. After all, I was handling everything by trying to control everything, and once they knew, there would be no controlling anything.
I finally passed my National Board Certification, and I earned my master’s degree. I could feel things wrapping up, and I could finally see God changing things within me. I began to see my students differently. For one thing, in a wheelchair, I saw them at eye level, and for another, I began to see how much of a gift each little one was. It was no longer just about the mental challenge of teaching them well and getting them to learn. It became much more about tending to their hearts as much as I could. I was beginning to feel like I could act as God’s hands and feet. I began praying with my friends often before work. I could vent with these ladies about my struggles. I could literally say anything with them and with my friend, Janet, and receive no judgment. That was essential. I wanted to get to a place where I would no longer need to talk about all of this, though. I wanted all of it behind me. I wanted to push it under the rug. I wanted to wrap it up and move on.
* * *
My girlfriends have a way of being tough but gentle with me. I have to say that I will be eternally grateful to each of them for the toughness they have displayed in my life. Each one fulfills a different role, and I wouldn’t trade any of them—even when they’ve had to say painfully hard things to my face. They confronted me on tough issues, like my weight: “How much do you weigh? Did you eat? You have a problem.” And they didn’t let me hide or wallow in self-pity: “Everyone has crap they have to deal with—you’re not the only one. Talk to a counselor. You have to deal with this!”
I didn’t want to dive back into the murky pit. I wanted to move on and be happy. My friends kept me moving on—moving forward. They held me accountable. I didn’t always see eye to eye with them, and I certainly didn’t always like what they had to say. But I am grateful now for their persistence. And I knew I still had issues. I wanted to be happy if I ate an ice cream sundae and not face a guilt trip at bedtime. I had an ideal weight in my head—you know, a certain number I had to stay below or I’d freak out. The truth is that on any given day, my weight would fluctuate three to five pounds, but if I got even close to that number, I’d freak out and strategize my next workout and day of eating. I did eat. I never stopped eating; I just ate less. My appetite has always been sporadic. With certain workouts it grew, and on some other days it was minute.
I decided that drinking could be part of the problem. Clearly, my body was never great at handling alcohol, and everything really bad in my life—or nearly everything—had involved alcohol. Even Russ’s deal with the other woman, it turns out, had been as a result of too much to drink. My deal had started with it and many others in my life had at least an element of alcohol. It was a factor, I decided, I should try and clear out. I gave it a half-hearted effort to no avail. At least, I reasoned, I was trying to do the right things and use wisdom.
During this time, Russ and I took a class at church about the life of Christ. Jesus told a story in the book of Matthew about the Pharisees who were all about keeping the outside of the cup (their outward appearance) clean while the inside (their hearts) was unclean. Their hearts were filled with impure thoughts and feelings that would then dictate their actions. I began to sense an undercurrent in my life—in our lives. Maybe that was what Russ and I were doing—scrubbing the outside of the cup. I began to realize we still had issues that needed clearing up, but I was afraid of the difficult journey we’d face if we decided to drag out all our baggage. Some of our closest friends told us—and we agreed—that everyone has junk in their trunk. So why couldn’t I move on? I knew I was saved. I knew I was forgiven and even healed. What exactly was my problem? Maybe that junk in the trunk needed to be cleared out. Maybe I needed to clean out the inside of the cup. I was just so tired of dealing with the drama and pain.
There were periods of time when Russ was extremely quiet or extremely possessive. Possessiveness, in my mind, was natural, but sometimes it bothered me. Then it bothered me that it bothered me. I wanted him to want me, but at times, I still felt I needed freedom and escape. I needed to get away. I still wanted to run away from the troubled feelings in my heart. I was still confused about how I had gotten involved with someone outside my family and how I could put another family at risk. I was confused about how sometimes I still craved attention. Why? What was that all about? I hated that I craved attention. I hated parts of myself, my personality, and my character: competitiveness, pride, extreme shame, guilt, anger, and selfishness. As usual, I wanted these areas fixed right away.
My friends still bugged me about my eating, so I finally stopped in my school counselor’s office one day and just asked her some pointed questions. “What if I am afraid to eat sometimes? What if I go to bed and feel guilty for eating something? What would be the normal result of these circumstances in a marriage?” I think I had her overwhelmed; she had never heard my story. I just dumped these loaded questions in her lap and asked for an opinion. “Should I maybe seek help?” I am sure I heard her thinking, Uh, yeah, dum-dum. After all, how could an intelligent, grown-up woman be so flipping messed up? But she was kind and professional and recommended I get some help.
* * *
Russ and I offered to help out in the marriage ministry at our church. I kind of found that amusing—us helping others with their marriages! But our hearts really went out for others who were struggling with turbulence or even nose-dives in their relationships. Also, as teachers, we could clearly see the toll that divorce takes on children. We hoped that sharing our own experiences and walking beside other couples might help prevent the children in their homes from the pain of divorce. We felt we had come through a difficult time that might enable us to serve in this way.
During our struggles, we took some classes at church that helped us persevere and grow closer to each other and to God, and we got to know the marriage pastor. He was younger than us but smarter. That was kind of irritating. After all, how could a younger person know more than us older, wiser people? That wasn’t the only irony that crossed my mind, though. How could I—a Christian person—be so messed up? How could Christian people do the things that Russ and I had done? Why didn’t Christianity work?
As the Lord continued to heal our marriage and we reached out to help others, I found I still had a lot of anxiety. I was very worried about running into wolf number five. Mostly I was afraid of how I would handle it. And I was mostly afraid because I still had unresolved feelings. I wanted closure. I wanted to tell him off—but I knew that was not what God or Russ would want. I was also very nervous about running into his wife. In my mind, I believed I had hurt her tremendously. I had betrayed her and her family by getting involved with her husband in any kind of a relationship. I didn’t know if she would boldly confront me in public. I wanted to protect my children—and hers—from such embarrassment. I had apologized to her, but somehow it just didn’t seem settled. Strange things happened that made me wonder.
Our daughter’s car window was smashed out one night while it sat in front of our house. During the day, I watched older people walk around all the glass in the street. I realized I should clean it up, and I headed out to take care of it. While I was sweeping and cleaning, “he” appeared and began talking to me. I was incredulous. Of course he knew Russ was not at home. He asked if my daughter was okay. My internal rage hit the boiling-over point. It had been so long since I had spoken or communicated with him, and all the pent-up anger was right in front of me. I was seething at this man. I asked him, “Why are you talking to me?” I reminded him that he had promised my husband never to talk to me. He responded with some lame excuse that he was just concerned, that we had had enough time, that we would continue to live in the same community, and blah, blah, blah. I knew that if I gave this man one inch, he would take a mile. I told him he was not a man of honor and that I wanted him far, far away from me. We walked away from each other, and I crumbled inside my front door.
Russ came home that night to a trembling, shaking, and practically hysterical wife. I hated the man. I realized I hated myself still. I told him everything about the encounter. My husband retaliated. He went to this man’s house and hit him repeatedly. I was terrified Russ would kill him. When he came home, he told me what he had done. It was like the drama became a full-blown, dreaded soap opera—a nightmare!
The police were called. I imagined my husband being arrested—rightfully—and our life as we knew it ending. But the police didn’t arrest Russ. They did tell both of us to call them if he ever approached us again. They asked for the condensed version of our story. I shared through tears and trembling that I had seen him wave when he drove by slowly. I had felt his stare. It made me feel like a piece of meat with a hungry wolf. The police officer shared that this man had denied approaching me at first and then changed his story. Once again, I saw him for the coward that he was. I was seeking help. I was trying to heal. What was his problem? I knew it would not be the last time I ran into him. I needed strategies to cope. And I needed my husband to heal as well. He could not go on with anger just below the surface. Something had to give. It was clear that we were not through the crisis; there was much work in our hearts yet to be done, and I was not yet safe.
Heavenly Father,
Make it plain. Make it apparent. Let the truth and the knowledge of who you are sink in deep. Make yourself known to her. Make yourself known to Russ. Help him to heal and seek you first. Help him to release his feelings of control over certain emotions. Heal the wolves. Teach them to repent.
Amen.
Comfort
“I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws” (Ezekiel 36:25-27, NIV).
Discussion Questions
1. Who is protecting the main character? What does protection mean? Why do you think she still doesn’t feel safe? Do you feel safe?
2. How does the main character view God? Read Matthew 23:25-26. “Washing the outside of the cup” means trying to follow rules and look good on the outside. How has this worked for her so far? Do you find yourself doing this? Read Galatians 3:21.
3. How do people cope with anger? Are anger and contempt the same thing? What happens when you hold on to anger? Is that okay in our culture? Does your heart truly long for reconciliation? Read Ephesians 4:26-32 and Matthew 5:38-48.
4. How do we truly forgive? Can the main character forgive herself? What is holding her back? Read Psalm 37.
5. What does it mean to be saved? John 10:10 reads, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (NIV). Do you have life to the full?
6. Who do you really believe God says you are? What do you honestly and frankly believe about God? Take time to think about what His words mean to you in John 8:42-47, 1 Corinthians 13, 1 Peter 2, 2 Peter 1:1-15, 1 John 3:1-5, 1 John 5, and Colossians 3:1.