23
Changed

I helped Joel save the house from foreclosure. Although he didn’t say so, I knew he was grateful.

A week after I told Joel I would help him save the house, we went back to court. On the forms, he filled in low figures until I said, “I handled the accounts for the business. I know how much you and your company make.” My voice was surprisingly calm but firm.

He wrote his true income but insisted that I not receive any money from him for child support. He wrote NO CHILD SUPPORT really big across the court documents.

“I’m agreeing to this,” I told him, “only because I don’t want to have to pay you child support.”

The woman at the desk, who was either a Christian or an angel, took the forms. She didn’t say a word and keyed the information into the computer. When she finished, she looked at him and said matter-of-factly, “You owe her money.”

Joel insisted we both had agreed to no child support.

His insistence on no child support was to his detriment when we went before the judge.

A few weeks before we met with the judge, Diana and I moved into our small one-bedroom apartment and started attending St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in Hollywood, Florida. It was close to where we had moved, and I knew several church members there who were wonderful and supportive. I would eventually do my practicum with the Well of Sychar, their Christian domestic violence center.**

A few members of St. Andrews Church met with me for prayer. We pleaded with God for a just judge who would be unbiased and honest.

At court, the judge silently read through the documents. After he finished, the judge looked at Joel. “I understand you want to avoid paying child support?”

I didn’t say a word.

My ex-husband insisted that we had an agreement.

“You have no choice. You must pay child support to her.” He explained the law of the State of Florida: whichever parent earned more money paid child support.

Joel complained about his having a big mortgage.

“According to the laws of Florida, if you don’t pay child support, you will go to jail. You also want me to break the law by agreeing with you?” He paused and then said, “I’m not going to jail for you, and you’re not going to avoid paying her child support.”

Joel nodded, and I kept quiet.

“And to make sure you pay her, I’m going to tie it to your driver’s license. If you choose not to pay through the court, your license will be suspended.”

Neither of us spoke to each other until we were out of the courtroom.

God had answered my prayers. I hadn’t needed to argue or have a lawyer present. God had been my advocate and judge.

As we walked out of the courthouse, Joel asked if I wanted to have coffee with him. Although shocked, I said, “Yes, I would like to have coffee with you.”

By then Joel had calmed down. Instead of just coffee, he treated me to lunch. Although it felt awkward, he was kind and sweet to me. We talked for almost two hours. Even better, we talked in-depth—the way we hadn’t opened up to each other in years, if ever.

I could hardly believe we were sitting in a small French café across the street from the Miami-Dade County Courthouse. Especially after we’d just finished our final court hearing and God’s hand of mercy had turned events and hearts around.

We both had been humbled by the process of divorce; now we were being real. After years of struggling, everything was in the open, and there was no longer anything to gain or to lose. We were completely honest; it was emotionally exhilarating and overwhelming.

We were able to talk freely, and some healing took place between us, even though it came too late—at the end of a twenty-three-year marriage. I wish we had talked like this years earlier. Because the kids were taken care of and money was no longer an issue between us, we were able to communicate. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best it had ever been. Now I was ready for a wider ministry.

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**Later, I was the first participant for their Christian domestic violence center, the Well of Sychar. The congregation helped me to start my ministry to girls who came out of trafficking. One of the best things they did was to provide free and safe space for me to meet with those former victims.