What God wants from us most is a relationship. He wants our trust. He loves to hear our voices calling to Him. He doesn’t stand there with His hands on His hips pointing a finger at us when we make mistakes—He is right there ready to save us from ourselves and the messes we’re in.
Well, I’d been so busy asking Him to save my marriage that I didn’t stop to ask Him if this was where He wanted me in the first place. Maybe that’s what Garth Brooks was talking about in his song “Unanswered Prayers.” Maybe God was working the chess pieces of my life around right in front of me, but because they weren’t moving the way I wanted them to, I got mad and withheld my trust. If God wasn’t going to do it “right,” then I’d do it myself! Yeah, because that had worked so beautifully for me thus far. Ha!
“God, where are you?” I whispered.
I didn’t hear a reply, but I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Maybe that was the moment I started seeing God as my Father as well as my Savior. I knew my earthly father would never abandon me or steer me wrong. So shouldn’t I have even more trust that God the Father would be able to drive this bus for me? Now I just needed to take my own hands off the wheel. . . .
Ironically enough, I felt the urge to drive, so I started the car and drove to Encanto Park. It was a glorious day by weather standards. I sat on a bench near a fountain, and flowers bloomed all around me. I felt a surge of gratefulness for the vibrant pink poking out of the leaves of the bougainvilleas, for the constant trickle from the fountain, for the fresh breeze on my face.
I called Dr. Anderson and made an appointment. He said he was sorry for what I was going through and agreed to see me the next day.
Then I called Mom, who was aching for both me and Justin. She posed a question that forced me to be brutally honest with myself. “If you and Justin had stayed in West Virginia, do you think you would have gotten married?”
She left me to ponder that question as we hung up. The answer didn’t take long for me to come to, and it crushed my spirit.
I couldn’t say yes.
In fact, I realized I had married Justin not because I knew it would last forever, but because I feared that it wouldn’t. Perhaps by marrying him, I’d thought I could make it last. Well, wasn’t that a healthy mind-set?
I started thinking about how I’d gotten that job offer from Cleveland at the same time and shook my head, chuckling a bit. I had to believe God must have been shaking His head back then too! There He was, giving me another option other than marrying Justin, and I’d turned it down, basically saying, “It’s okay, God. Really! I know what I’m doing.”
Sure, I had asked God what I should do back then, but I’d never really stopped to listen for a reply. I never shut up long enough to allow Him to answer. I just ran full force toward my own bad idea and gave my life and myself to this man who, although he loved me, wasn’t any better prepared to get married than I was.
It occurred to me that maybe this time I needed to shut my mouth. It was time to open my heart to whatever God had in store for me. As trite as it might sound, I needed to let go and let God.
So I sat there in silence, soaking in the serenity of my surroundings. I wanted to make this more about listening than making my own noise—internal or external. After about five minutes of silence, I prayed with every ounce of breath I had. “God, please help me. What should I say? Where do I go from here? Be with Justin. Be with me. Give us answers.” As I sat there in the quiet, I felt a strength come over me. I had no firm answers about what the next action should be. So I did the only thing I knew to do: nothing. I went home. I let him sleep. I did some work. And we let this turmoil lie beneath the surface for a little while, knowing the truth would eventually come to light. But until I knew what God wanted me to do next, I decided to wait. That felt like the safest plan.
Sometimes I wish that waiting weren’t so hard. Clearly, if we knew what we were waiting for—if we had some reassurance that something wonderful was around the bend—the waiting wouldn’t be so daunting.
But let’s face it: that goes against the essence of what faith is. If we could see what was coming, then the waiting wouldn’t be disciplining us, nudging us to trust God. We wouldn’t experience the thrill of discovering that even if we’re not doing anything, God is already in the game, strategically placing all the pieces where they’ll be most effective.
When we fail to wait on God’s timing, we can’t confirm whether we’re making the right decision. We just leap out of the plane with imaginary wings and no parachute.
My past is proof of that. I wanted to marry Justin, so I did despite my trepidations. Rather than sit on it for a while and give the idea some time to settle in, I gave myself four lousy days of back and forth. Cleveland or Justin? The job or the man? If I’m truly honest, I don’t think I ever opened myself enough to hear someone else’s thoughts about it, let alone God’s. I knew what I was going to do the whole time—I was going to marry Justin. Those four days were really just my mourning the loss of a job I hadn’t even rejected yet.
My mom told me years ago that if we knew what was coming, there wouldn’t be a need for faith. And it’s impossible to please God without it. Maybe waiting is God’s way of bringing us closer to Him. This was His way of saying, “Lean on Me.”
I heard once that the task of waiting is also God’s way of purifying our motives. It forces us to ask ourselves, Why am I making this decision? Out of fear? Out of desperation? Out of greed or insecurity? None of those reasons are going to lead us to peace. We need to filter through our superficial motivations—pride, anger, betrayal—and examine why we want something. I needed to take some time to figure out why I wanted to leave this marriage. And that answer would only come through patience.
My next meeting with Dr. Anderson gave me the perspective I desperately needed.
I confessed the enormous guilt I felt when I thought about leaving Justin. I could already sense that the pain yet to come would take on a life of its own. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. I really believed he was a good man who was haunted by some demon he couldn’t escape. Dr. Anderson helped me realize that, while Justin had his strong points, he also needed to take responsibility for what was happening to us, just as I did.
Each of us—Justin included—has the power to choose differently. Yes, he had alcohol issues. Yes, he was hiding behind some kind of pain. But he also had the capacity to face what was dragging him down. To change it. To choose differently. And so did I.
My dream of getting through to Justin and fixing our marriage started dripping away like the wax of a candle. We’d been through the fire in our marriage, but it hadn’t made us stronger—it had melted us into a clump of hard wax that could no longer be molded into anything useful. At least not us together.
I became acutely aware that I couldn’t choose differently on Justin’s behalf. I couldn’t make him less angry. I couldn’t make him stop drinking. I couldn’t make him stop lying. But I could choose whether I would enable him. I had to own the fact that my past avoidance of the situation was doing just that. And in doing so, I was hurting both of us.
Dr. Anderson helped me see this wasn’t about blame, though. This lesson was about control—what was under my command and what wasn’t. Could I force Justin to own up to his lies and booze-filled habits? No. Could I choose my reaction to those lies? Yes.
Although my counseling session did open my eyes to the fact that this was not where I wanted to be, I didn’t yet have the confidence to do anything about it. I was consumed by the fear of what Justin might do to me or to himself if I left. How could I possibly escape this relationship without burning one of us?
The truth was, I couldn’t. It was impossible to leave without both of us feeling the anguish of it. There would be so many suppressed feelings that would detonate, and I couldn’t ignore that reality. But it wasn’t as if they were going to dissipate if I stayed.
I told Dr. Anderson that on one hand I felt incredible guilt and shame for the hurt I wou
ld cause Justin. But I also felt angry about what had happened the other night, and I was afraid of Justin’s temper. And the truth was, I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust him not to hurt me. I didn’t trust him not to drink. And I didn’t trust him to be faithful. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he would be loving and wonderful, but a minute later his rage could strike for no apparent reason.
The bottom line, as I realized in Dr. Anderson’s office, was that Justin could be so cruel it terrified me. And this much I now knew: I couldn’t live like this.
I knew for certain it was time to leave. But I wasn’t convinced I had the strength to do it at all.
That seesawing over my decision plagued me for the next few weeks. I walked through life like a zombie again, only this time it was worse because I was aware it was happening. I could feel myself slipping away, little by little. I was morphing into a body without a spirit. When I thought about leaving, I felt utterly paralyzed.
Have you ever had that dream where your legs are moving and you’re trying to run, but you aren’t going anywhere? No matter how hard you try, you can’t get away from whatever it is you’re trying to escape. That’s how I felt.
You can only go on like that for so long before you crack.
After a few weeks the weight of it all buckled my knees again, and I found myself alone on the floor of our apartment, praying for forgiveness.
Forgiveness for everything. For hurting Justin. For not listening to God. For stealing that quarter from my dad’s nightstand when I was eight years old so I could buy Charlie’s Angels cards at the park’s concession stand. I felt the need to repent for every sin I’d ever committed, even for the times I’d sinned and didn’t know it.
There’s a famous quote by Albert Einstein that defines insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
Well, insanity was sitting on my front porch, pounding on the door to get in. I’d been doing the same things to fix my marriage for the past four years, and they simply weren’t working. I was exhausted.
And so I prayed. I knew this was a critical moment. I could feel myself edging toward a nervous breakdown. Either I was going to continue traveling through life in denial, with all my feelings and emotions shut down, or I was going to risk life as I knew it and leave for a fresh start . . . alone.
Either scenario involved risk. The question was, which risk was greater? Which offered more potential for me to live authentically, even if that came in the long term, not immediately?
My voice sounded meek and fatigued as I prayed. “God, please show me what to do. If you want me to stay, give me the desire and the strength to do that and the ability to help Justin. If you want me to go, give me the wisdom to know that’s the right thing to do and the courage to do it.”
And then there were no words. That’s all I had.
I couldn’t even think of what else to ask for. I felt hollowed out somehow. When your plea is so desperate yet so deliberate, there’s nothing left to hide behind. It’s simply you on your knees, with a few tears rolling down your face. Searching for God. Searching for strength.
I don’t know how much time went by, but I heard nothing—no voice, no guidance, no stirring. Just calm. So I got up and started doing the dishes and the laundry. Back to the daily grind. As I walked into the guest bathroom to hang the freshly washed towels, it hit me. No, it pummeled me.
I stood there for a second trying to absorb what I was feeling. Suddenly there was peace. There was joy. And was it true? Yes! There was hope. I hadn’t felt that for so long it was like running into an old friend. I’d been starving for it, and now here it was, standing firmly in my presence!
I didn’t necessarily hear anything in my head like Gram did, but I do know that suddenly, out of nowhere, I had my answer. I knew what I needed to do. And although I feared the task ahead of me, I felt a comfort beyond understanding. There were no symphonies playing or trumpets blaring as I embraced this epiphany—it was just me in the bathroom, towels in hand, experiencing a cleansing of all that had been and a hope for all that was to come. The fear was still there, but for the first time the certainty of what I needed to do overpowered it.
Once you ask God for help, make no mistake—He gives it. He is right there with you the entire time, holding your hand and giving you the guidance you need. You may not feel it in that moment, but I can assure you He’s there.
Whatever needs to be done, God has equipped you to handle it. This is a new day. This is a new chance. This is a new choice you get to make—and God’s got your back through it all.
Chapter 9
Never Underestimate the Power of Forgiveness
I was getting stronger. A conversation I had with Justin a few days later served as confirmation of that.
We started talking about where our relationship was going, and he laid into his favorite technique with me—deflection. He tried to transfer the blame from himself to me. “Christi, you were engaged in college, and you called that off too!” he shouted. “Maybe this is just a pattern for you. Maybe this is how you handle things!”
Now, had Justin said something like that months ago, I might have started doubting myself, questioning if there was credence to his accusation. But not now. Now I had the truth firmly planted on my side.
Yes, I’d been engaged in college—to a wonderful man named Scott, someone I still admire. After several months of wedding talk and discussing where we’d live and what we’d do career-wise, it was evident Scott and I had different goals. At the time I wanted to see the world. I’d interned at Entertainment Tonight in Hollywood, and I wanted to go back. As an engineering major, Scott had a great opportunity to stay in Ohio and settle into a promising career himself. I loved the city; he loved the country. We both wanted a family, but at twenty-one, I wasn’t ready for that yet. Although he said he’d go to California with me, he didn’t want to be there forever. But what if we went and I didn’t want to leave?
I began to see that if I conformed to what he wanted to do, I’d be okay for a while, but I was afraid I’d eventually end up resenting him. And it wouldn’t have been his fault. If he conformed to what I wanted to do, I was afraid he’d be miserable. The breakup wasn’t easy on either of us, but in the end we both knew it just had to be.
One broken engagement didn’t constitute “a pattern,” as Justin alleged, and I knew it.
I was hardly the perfect wife, that’s true. But I was confident enough to know I didn’t have to take this. I wasn’t in denial anymore. And if things were ever going to get better, Justin needed to take responsibility too. But I couldn’t make him do that. It would have to be his choice.
Justin must have known on some level how serious things were, because he finally agreed to go back to Dr. Anderson with me. When we were at our first session together, I broached the subject of going home to see my parents for a week—by myself. I was desperate to get out of this environment. I needed somewhere I could think clearly and decipher how to move forward.
Justin was vehemently opposed to the idea. He argued that my parents didn’t like him and would encourage me to leave him. I was dumbfounded by this. I knew he didn’t like my father, but I couldn’t believe he’d assume my family would coerce me into leaving him. If he only knew how often my parents had encouraged me to fight, to get help for our marriage.
Dr. Anderson said, “There’s nothing wrong with Christi wanting to go home to see her parents. It’s normal to want to be with your family. And the more you refuse to let her go, the more she’ll eventually wind up resenting you for it.”
It was a huge moment for me to have Dr. Anderson defend my right to see my parents. To hear a professional say that my desire to see my family was normal affirmed that I wasn’t a weak little girl. After so many occasions of being berated and judged for longing to go home, it was freeing to hear someone validate me like that.
Justin scowled but relented. I made plans immediately and booked a ticket for the following
week. I was elated.
A few days later I was back in Dr. Anderson’s office alone, trying to figure out the best way to leave Justin. Dr. Anderson and I both believed this was the right timing, but there was so much to consider. I wanted to make sure I did this with as much integrity, consideration, and gentleness as possible. But is there a “right” way to leave your husband? Are there blueprints to guide you through such a difficult process? Is there a guidebook that tells you what you should and shouldn’t do, what you should and shouldn’t say? Nope. Just Dr. Anderson. And I thank God for him.
My biggest concern was trying not to hurt Justin. But there was no avoiding the fact that it would. Dr. Anderson and I played out the scenarios.
Number one: should I tell him by myself at home? I was crippled by the thought of dropping this bomb on him when we were alone. What would he do to me? To himself? Would he get violent again? And how far might he take things when he realized this was for real?
If you’ve ever wondered why someone doesn’t “just leave,” this is why. If you’re married to someone who goes ballistic over small matters, as Justin did, then you can only imagine what it would be like to sit down with that person and tell him something he doesn’t want to hear. Something that’s actually a big deal with a big consequence. That’s why women don’t “just leave,” as people often suggest. Studies have shown that one of the most dangerous times for a person being abused is when she leaves. It’s simply not as easy as packing up your bags.
Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt Page 10