Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt

by Paul, Christi

  Your purpose isn’t connected to how worthy you feel. It’s connected to God’s grace. You may not be able to identify your purpose, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t working behind the scenes, moving the game pieces around to bring it to you. In those moments, your only job is this: keep the faith. Hold on to hope. And don’t let tough times steal your joy. That, too, is a choice.

  And so, through Melissa’s death, I chose to believe I had a God-given purpose—something he had created me specifically to fulfill.

  There was a third lesson too: that every good-bye counts. I had missed my good-bye with Melissa. I wasn’t about to miss it with P.A.

  Fortunately, my news director was understanding. Without blinking an eye, he said, “Go home, Christi.”

  I made it back in time to sit by P.A.’s hospital bed. I held his hand and told him he’d always be my second little brother. He lay there, unable to move or talk or even open his eyes, but whenever we talked to him, he’d start breathing a little heavier and his heart rate would go up. I’d whisper something to him and then watch for any sign of movement. Though there were no outward responses, the lines on the monitors would flutter every time. It was comforting to know he could hear us.

  After a couple of days, he was taken off the machines. I ache to think that as he lay there, unable to move or communicate, he was probably wishing he could take it all back. Wishing he would have chosen differently that night. It’s what we all wished.

  And there it is again—that profound lesson about choices. Once we make them, we’re tied to them, and the consequences will follow us. But we also need to know that each day we get the chance to choose all over again. And believe me, there’s hope in that.

  I was about to make one of the biggest choices of my life—to get married. And the consequences, I would soon find out, would be steeper than I ever imagined.

  Chapter 3

  Being Angry Doesn’t Give Anyone License to Be Cruel

  Justin and I started dating the week after P.A. died. You might be keen enough to see where this is headed. If so, you’re a step ahead of where I was at the time.

  After all that had happened, Justin seemed to be the place of comfort and security I was looking for.

  There had been an undercurrent of sparks between us after several months of working together. We often hung out after the shows, grabbing a bite to eat with the gang. He was a classy guy—nice to everyone, always including people. He had a quick wit—a kind of dry sense of humor where he would make fun of someone in a way that didn’t seem demeaning, just comedic. And he had a good sense of style.

  One night when we were out, I looked at him as he was talking to a colleague, and I suddenly realized how handsome he was. His sandy brown hair was a little mussed up, and his navy wool coat was unbuttoned and hanging over his shoulders. His khaki pants hung just to the edge of his loafers.

  Our eyes locked for a second, and we just smiled at each other. We both knew something was happening between us, but we weren’t sure where it was going. The day before Valentine’s Day, Justin took advantage of the holiday and amped it up. Nothing official had happened between us yet, but I think we could both feel it coming. I opened the door of my apartment to find a beautiful bouquet of roses. It simply said, “Thinking about you. Love, Justin.” My heart swelled as I placed the flowers on my dining room table and stared at them.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. My plan when I came to West Virginia was to work my tail off and then move on to a bigger market. I wasn’t there to find love. But it seemed it was finding me, whether I was looking for it or not.

  All thoughts of roses, Valentine’s Day, and love were put on hold, though, when I got the call about P.A. the next day.

  As I was driving to Ohio, my phone rang. It was Justin, calling to check on me. “Are you okay, Christi? Is the drive home going all right?” It was evident that this man cared about me, that he wanted to be there for me. And that felt good at such a vulnerable time.

  After P.A.’s funeral I returned to West Virginia, and Justin and I started dating. We spent almost all our time together outside work—going to movies, going out for dinner, attending get-togethers with friends and colleagues.

  One day we were in his apartment cleaning up for a party he was hosting. The radio was blaring as I set things out in the kitchen and he tidied up the living room. Just then one of my favorite songs came on: Natalie Merchant’s “Wonder.” Justin knew I loved it. He grabbed my hand, pulled me over to him, and danced with me right there in the living room. Together we belted out, “They say I must be one of the wonders of God’s own creation!” It was such a tender moment . . . holding hands and dancing around as we sang to each other. I laughed at the way he shook his shoulders up and down and spun me around. I felt like he was singing all those words directly to me—that I was his “wonder.” With the sting of P.A.’s suicide still so raw, I wanted to do all I could to hold on to the people who mattered to me. And there was no doubt now that Justin mattered to me.

  A couple of months later, Justin interviewed for a job in Boise, Idaho. The night after he returned, he took me to dinner, and as we sat in the booth, I listened to him gush about the station there and the people he’d met. He was sharp and determined, and I knew Boise would be lucky to have him. For his part, Justin was hopeful about his chances of landing the position.

  As I was processing all he was telling me, he suddenly dropped something that nearly made me fall out of my seat. He squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes.

  “I don’t want to go to Boise without you,” he said. “If I get this job, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

  I was stunned. We’d been dating only four months! But when I thought about it, I didn’t like the idea of being without him, either. As I went home that night, I couldn’t quiet the thoughts swirling in my head. Can I go to Boise with him? Can I walk down the church aisle and marry him? Was I ready? Was he? I didn’t know for sure, but I knew I was happy to have him in my life. Happier than I’d been in quite a while.

  I was sitting at a table in the break room the next night when Justin walked in and pulled up a chair next to me.

  “I got the call,” he said.

  “The call?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’m going to Boise!” He was beaming.

  “Oh my gosh! Congratulations!” I hugged him tight.

  When I pulled back to look at him, I saw tears in his eyes. I had never seen such a tender look on his face. Then he took my hand and said, “Will you go with me?”

  For the sake of full disclosure, I have to tell you that I hesitated for a minute. For one thing, I wasn’t really sure what he meant. Was this a marriage proposal? He didn’t say it formally, but I guessed it was. He’d told me the night before that he wanted to marry me and take me with him.

  I just sat there looking at his eyes, still full of tears and love, and after a couple of seconds I gave the only answer that seemed possible to me at the time. I said yes.

  About an hour later I was on the phone with my mom. “I think I’m getting married and moving to Boise!” I said.

  “Whaaat?”

  You can imagine the jolt that was for her—and for the rest of my family and friends. This was all happening so fast. Most of them had never even met Justin.

  I barely blinked, and that tiny snowflake of a moment that had floated between Justin and me in the break room snowballed into something big. A full-fledged wedding.

  Over the years I’ve gotten better at recognizing those moments when God clearly has a hand in things—those moments when He gives us a chance to make a different choice. Some people see those experiences as coincidences or unexplainable circumstances, but I’ve come to recognize them as a nudging guidance. He allows certain things to come into our lives as a way of leading us toward His will for us or away from something that’s not part of His plan. And how have I learned this lesson? Mostly from the times I failed to listen.

  This was one of those times.


  Several days after Justin and I got engaged, I was in my apartment packing up my things to move to Boise when the phone rang. It was the news director from the NBC affiliate in—of all places—Cleveland. He offered me their weekday morning and noon anchor position. The money was twice what Justin would make in Boise, and it was, by all standards, an incredible opportunity. It would be a jump from market size 161 to 13 at the time. And for me, it was nothing short of a dream come true. This was the job I’d been working toward ever since I got into the business—in Cleveland, at that very station I’d hoped for, as the morning and noon anchor. And on top of that, I’d be close to my family and friends. I was on cloud nine.

  But . . . what about Justin? Would he agree to go with me? I had already told him I’d go to Boise.

  I told the news director in Cleveland I had to think about it—that I’d just gotten engaged and this would significantly rattle our plans. He was understanding and told me to let him know by the end of the week.

  A few hours later I found myself sitting on Justin’s couch in complete confusion. My cloud nine immediately turned dark when Justin flatly refused to go with me. He offered no congratulations, no excitement on my behalf. Just anger.

  “How could you even consider it?” he shouted. “We’ve already made our plans!”

  “But, Justin, if I was ready to pack up and go to Boise with you, why won’t you consider making a move for me? Surely you could get a job in Cleveland once we got there!”

  His words blasted me. “I’ve already accepted the job in Idaho! I can’t renege now! If you want to take the job in Cleveland, go ahead. But we’ll be finished! There’s no way this will work long distance.”

  I don’t remember what else he said as his yelling tirade continued. But I do remember, after listening to him rant as long as I could handle, I finally jumped in. “Justin. I don’t need your criticism right now! I need your understanding.”

  He quieted down then. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. But why can’t you just come with me like we planned?”

  He never said it outright, but it was obvious I had a choice to make. The man . . . or the job.

  Back at my apartment I stared at the moving boxes, half-packed. I could easily move them all to Cleveland rather than Boise. I thought about what it would be like to be near my friends and family again. I could get a cute little apartment, volunteer to do some charity work, and take the job I’d always dreamed of. What would it be like, I wondered, to wake up my parents each morning from their TV screen?

  Then my mind shifted to Boise. I pictured getting a place to live with Justin and wondered whether I’d be able to find a good job in television there. After weighing all the pros and cons, one thing became clear to me: there were many reasons to go to Cleveland. Justin was the only reason to go to Boise.

  For four excruciating days I vacillated about it. Do I choose the job? Or do I choose the man?

  I remember sitting in my bed one morning as the end of the week crept closer and closer. I knew my window for accepting this job was getting smaller with every tick of the clock.

  I thought about P.A. and how short life is. What did I really want? Did I want a career, or did I want to be married to this man I’d fallen in love with? I could feel my heart leaning more toward Boise. But I couldn’t ignore one glaring trepidation about Justin: his anger. Sometimes when he flew off the handle, his cursing got out of control, and his tone was so venomous it rattled me. I’d only seen it in full force one time. That should have been enough, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. We all have bad days, right? That’s how many of us tend to rationalize bad behavior, not knowing we’ll end up paying for it later.

  It had happened one night in the newsroom, before Justin and I were even dating. There was a heated discussion between Justin, one of our producers, and me. I don’t even remember what the argument was about, but at one point I stood up and said, “Okay, look, this is crazy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” Then I looked directly at the producer and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I turned around to Justin, who was in an edit bay. “Justin, I’m sorry,” I said.

  He turned around, pointed at me, and screamed, “F--- you!” with a poisonous edge I’d never heard before.

  The producer and I were both in shock. She stepped in. “Hey! Enough, Justin!”

  He simply turned his back to us, mumbling something under his breath. I didn’t know what else to do besides walk away. I’d never seen anyone react like that before—and certainly not to an apology.

  This scenario was nagging me now, the night before I had to give my decision to the NBC affiliate. Justin and I were sitting on his couch, and I felt like I needed to bring it up. “You know, Justin, the one thing that worries me is your anger. I can’t forget that night you cursed at me in the newsroom. I don’t understand why you get so enraged sometimes, and I don’t want to be the target of that kind of hostility. I don’t deserve it.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I was just stressed out. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  He said all the right words. But the thing was, he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were darting all around the room.

  The choice was right there in front of me. The job . . . or the man.

  You guessed it. I chose the man.

  Years later I realized I’d made that decision partly out of fear. The fear of being alone. The fear that Justin was right—we wouldn’t make it if I took the job. So on some level I went with him not because I believed we would always be together but because I feared we wouldn’t be if I didn’t go.

  Not quite the picture of emotional health, huh?

  But I also married him because I loved him. And I thought he loved me. In my mind, that outweighed any opportunity Cleveland could offer.

  The next thing I knew we found ourselves in a whirlwind of engagement parties and wedding plans and preparations to move to Boise.

  Shortly after we moved, a weekend anchor position became available at the station Justin worked for. I got the job.

  I tried to convince myself that everything was working out. I was in Boise, I had a job, and I was getting married in two months.

  There was, however, a red flag that I summarily dismissed. Perhaps when we have our eyes fixated on what we want at the end of the rainbow, we can miss the fact that the rainbow may be lacking a few key hues—colors that we need to see if we ever expect to get to the pot of gold. Those dark pockets should serve as warning signs that maybe this isn’t the pathway to treasure, like we assumed. But try telling that to a woman who’s determined to get what she wants.

  The red flag that hit during our engagement was Justin’s refusal to take “the class”—that course required by many churches that helps couples prepare for scenarios and conflicts they’re likely to encounter in their marriages. Justin wouldn’t answer questions for the pastor about expectations for marriage, how we’d raise kids, how we’d decide whose career to follow, how we’d divvy up responsibilities—from who pays the bills to who takes out the trash.

  Justin told me, “I’m not going to sit there and let some pastor guy I don’t even know tell me about my own relationship. It’s a bunch of bull----.”

  The more I encouraged him to do it, the harder he fought back. Finally I gave up.

  I wondered what he was so afraid of. Why was he so dismissive of this idea? I started to wonder if there was some pain from his past that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge. And as crazy as this sounds to me now, I wanted to—wait for it—fix it!

  I don’t know what it is about women—maybe it’s our maternal instinct—but most of us want so badly to make the men we love happy and to heal whatever hurts they carry with them. Women are strong. This is a fact. We can hold down the fort, bring home the bacon, and yes, fry it up in a pan. We believe we can show a man the happiness and trust he hasn’t experienced before. At its core, this drive to nurture is a good thing—a God-given wiring. But it ca
n have a dark side too—it can blind us to warning signs we’d recognize under other circumstances.

  I think this is when I learned to live in denial, where it started creeping into the very foundation of our relationship. Denial began gradually, so slowly that it was almost imperceptible at first. It crept in as it usually does—inch by inch, piece by piece—until before I knew it, I was submerged in a calamity I didn’t even see coming.

  I was becoming a woman I never wanted to become—a woman filled with fear and the stubborn pride that I would make things work, despite the signs of anger and inflexibility I saw.

  A couple of months later, I married him.

  The occasional glimpses of anger I’d seen in Justin suddenly started to show up more. Even our honeymoon wasn’t immune to his outbursts. One night we got in a fight—about what, I don’t even recall—and he ended up sleeping on the couch. Hello? On our honeymoon! Where was I to go from there?

  Starting on our wedding day, it felt like our relationship was on a pendulum, constantly swinging wildly from calm to drama. From laughter to fury.

  But things exploded in full force just two months after we got married. That’s when I started to truly see a man I didn’t recognize.

  Justin came home drunk after being out with the guys. I was livid that he was smashed and that he’d driven himself home.

  “You could have killed yourself or someone else,” I told him sternly.

  I had no idea my own anger would launch something in him I’d never seen before. A rage I didn’t know existed made its first of many appearances.