“I’m sorry about the other night, Christi. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m done. I’m signing the papers today.” He sounded resolute but also a bit defeated. And exhausted.
“Thank you,” I said. It was all I could get out. I hated to hear him hurting, but I was relieved to know it was finally going to be over.
The following week I sat in my attorney’s office. I didn’t hesitate as he handed me one paper after another for my signature.
I signed my name. My given name. Christi Paul. I knew I’d never have to sign Christi Barnes again, and it felt good. We shook hands, and I left his office almost skipping. I had no regrets, no sadness. Only a twinge of remorse that things had to come to this.
I found myself hesitating as I put the key in the ignition. Sitting in my car in that parking lot, I took a moment to think. My mind flashed back to the scene six months earlier, when I was sitting in another parking lot—the church parking lot after the gigantic blowup with Justin. Back then, a moment like this had felt impossible. I remembered the heaviness of that day—the moment I realized I had to leave but had no clue how to facilitate it, let alone find the strength to do it.
Now I stared at the orange trees and the beams of sunlight streaming through the leaves as they swayed in the brisk winter air. The stillness seemed to envelop me as I breathed deeply. I thought of Justin and how he’d feel when he got the call that I’d signed the papers. That it was officially over. A pang of sadness swooped in—but just for a moment.
“God,” I prayed, “please be with Justin. Help him find his own peace, his own joy, his own way. Forgive me for the pain I’ve caused and for not listening to You sooner. But thank You for not making me pay for that for the rest of my life. Thank You for giving me strength and wisdom. Thank You for showering me with your grace. Please do the same for Justin.”
Then the realization kicked in that I was free. Really, truly free—in every sense of the word. Until it was official, I don’t think it was possible for me to believe it. That day it was real.
Since Justin signed the papers first, I kind of felt as though he were giving me permission to go my way. Not that I needed it, and not that I was foolish enough to think I had his blessing, but it was official.
Hello, world! I’m Christi Paul, and I’ve missed you! Now let’s get this life restarted.
Chapter 17
You Can Be Grateful and Still Want More
Before I moved into my own space, my soul had been almost as parched as the Phoenix desert. But as I got settled on my own, the cool, cleansing water of authenticity started pouring in.
With each new day I was discovering another liberty I’d forgotten I had. The freedom to walk through my day on a solid foundation, without dodging land mines of verbal barrages. The freedom to laugh as loud as my heart desired without a disapproving glare being shot my way. The freedom to get whatever I wanted at a restaurant without anyone making me feel stupid for ordering it.
As I walked through my new reality, I realized it wasn’t just the gigantic blowups behind closed doors that had made things difficult. It was also the less obvious moments of tension that piled up day after day.
As I sat outside a restaurant sipping hot chocolate, a memory about an incident that happened several years before suddenly hit me.
The outside heat had been almost unbearable, but the cold blasts of air inside the restaurant made me cold. So I ordered hot chocolate . . . only to be met by a huffing grunt from my then-husband. He shook his head, and right in front of the server, he said, “What are you doing?”
I felt like a complete idiot.
“It’s 105 degrees outside, and you want hot chocolate?” he hurled.
I could feel myself shriveling into the chair. The server, obviously uncomfortable, said, “I can see if we can make some for you,” before hurrying away as quickly as possible.
I felt so ashamed back then. I wore that coat of humiliation so many times I wore it out.
Sitting in that booth now, I recognized what a different person I was because of all that had happened. I was a cocktail of sorts: my hopeful pre-Justin self, mixed with a cautious post-Justin persona, with a splash of spanking-new vibrancy added in. I had faith that God would bring out a newer, wiser version of myself on the other side. I still had my insecurities and imperfections, thank you, but I was learning to embrace them and grow from them. And I was clinging to hope about whatever was ahead.
I was still, however, trying to learn gratitude for all that happened before.
If I could say something to Justin now, would it be “Thank you” rather than “I forgive you”?
The question from Dr. Case echoed in my ears.
I want to, God, I prayed silently. I want to be able to appreciate that time with Justin enough to be able to thank him for it. But I just can’t feel it yet.
In a recent conversation with Dr. Case, we zeroed in on something about me: I’d been habituating the belief that I was allowed to have only so much happiness.
For example, if my professional life was going well, then I figured my personal life wouldn’t be so hot, or vice versa. Or worse yet, I didn’t deserve the happiness I had, so surely it would be taken away soon enough.
This is what Dr. Case wrote in a follow-up e-mail. Simple and direct, yet profound. “You can be grateful and still want more. It doesn’t negate your gratitude.”
Immediately I balked at her words. How could I want for more? Wouldn’t God think I was ungrateful? Wouldn’t He think, What, haven’t I given you enough already? I knew there were a lot of people who needed a lot more than I did. I had food. I had shelter. I had clothes. Wouldn’t God think I was acting like a spoiled brat for wanting more?
My automatic push back set off an alarm in my head. Maybe this was another place where I didn’t “get” God.
Just like that moment in the church parking lot when I finally saw the image of God as Father, not some omnipotent being lurking above, waiting for us to screw up so He can hail down punishment on us. Rather, He’s a father who wants to embrace us. Help us. Carry us, if need be. He yearns to give us so much more than what we’re asking for—if only we’d believe it’s possible. If only we’d believe He loves us that much, that graciously.
The thing about grace is that by very definition, it can’t be earned. It’s a gift. We don’t have to be perfect to receive it, but we do have to be willing. Willing to open our minds and our hearts. Willing to believe.
Grace isn’t just raining down on everyone else, my friend. You’re in that rainstorm too.
I’d always been perplexed by this verse from the book of Matthew:
Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you.
MATTHEW 7:7 (NLT)
This promise perturbs a lot of us because we’ve asked for so many things that didn’t happen. We’ve made ourselves vulnerable, and then we feel like God has turned His back on us. “Hey, You said we could ask! What gives?”
I had asked God for answers about Melissa’s death. I’d asked Him to save P.A. I’d asked Him to save my marriage, for heaven’s sake! How could I trust this verse?
Even as I asked the question, this is what popped into my mind: You don’t just trust a verse, Christi. You trust God.
There’s only one way to get good at believing, and that’s like anything else: you practice it. On more than one occasion I’d begged God to help my unbelief. I wasn’t sure at the time if I thought He’d really do it. It’s kind of a crazy concept, isn’t it? We pray for help to believe, but we don’t believe we’ll get it. We’re afraid to believe God will do what we ask, because what if it doesn’t come true? And what if the disappointment crushes us?
Here’s what I’ve learned along the way, though: don’t be afraid to believe. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can earn God’s blessings. You can’t. Grace is already pouring down on you. In buckets.
But so m
any of us are holding umbrellas over our heads, trying to protect ourselves from what we fear, that we can’t recognize the abundance God is showering on us. We’re fighting it ourselves, and we don’t even know it.
The other problem we have is that if that thing we’re asking for doesn’t happen soon enough, we get frustrated. We pull away. We forget to be grateful for what we have, because we’re so focused on the fact that we haven’t gotten what we’ve been praying for. Gratitude really does change the way we see.
And you know what I was really grateful for right at that moment as I sat outside on my patio watching Bruno explore and dig in the dirt? It was a thought that reverberated through every muscle in my body: God gives us second chances to get it right.
As I reflected on the last year, I couldn’t deny how God seemed to start giving me more and more to be grateful for as I let loose that thankfulness. It’s like when you can’t wait to give a gift to someone—a gift you’ve spent significant time and effort choosing to make sure it’s exactly what they’ll love. You can’t wait to see their reaction, right? I think God is like that. The more our gratefulness exudes from us, the more He wants to give us . . . because He knows the gifts will be received with a grateful heart.
My gratefulness was often diluted, though, with guilt—the guilt of hurting Justin. I’d done so much honest work to try to plunge those feelings into oblivion, but I couldn’t seem to escape them.
I knew I didn’t want to live in avoidance again. I wanted to face my demons head-on. So one night I addressed this in a conversation with Dr. Case.
“This struggle with my guilt seems so debilitating sometimes!” I confessed. “And it won’t let go!”
She talked with me for a while, then left me with some homework, including this question: “What would be the drawback if you never had any kind of struggle?”
Hmm . . . no struggles at all? So with the snap of my fingers I’d win the lotto, lose those extra ten pounds that seem glued to my thighs, and gain the wisdom of age without the wrinkles that go with them? What’s the drawback in that?
But seriously, enough of the superficiality. I’ll play.
After we hung up, I quieted my mind and sat down to explore the question. And so my next list was born.
Over a forty-minute period, here’s what I wrote:
The Drawback of Never Having Struggles
1. I wouldn’t turn to God as much.
2. I wouldn’t consider other people as much.
3. I wouldn’t appreciate what I have.
4. I wouldn’t learn to do better—to see things differently.
5. I wouldn’t push myself to do more.
6. I wouldn’t relate to other people’s struggles as well.
7. I wouldn’t appreciate other people’s kindness as much.
8. I wouldn’t be as humble.
9. I wouldn’t have as much empathy for other people.
10. I wouldn’t learn to toughen up.
11. I wouldn’t learn the importance of having courage.
12. I wouldn’t realize how important faith is.
13. I might buy the lie that life should be smooth sailing.
14. I wouldn’t learn to rely on other people who want to help me.
15. I wouldn’t be able to help other people with similar struggles.
16. I wouldn’t form such close bonds with people.
17. I wouldn’t learn patience.
18. I wouldn’t learn to trust a God I can’t see.
19. I wouldn’t realize that I can’t control everything.
20. I wouldn’t learn from my mistakes.
21. I wouldn’t learn to identify my own contributions to the struggle.
22. I wouldn’t learn to get up after I fall.
23. I wouldn’t learn to anticipate the unexpected.
24. I wouldn’t learn to take risks.
25. I wouldn’t learn to persevere.
26. I wouldn’t learn that one struggle or imperfection isn’t the end.
27. I wouldn’t learn authenticity.
28. I wouldn’t know the sense of accomplishment from working through a struggle.
29. I wouldn’t know the feeling of relief after a struggle.
30. I wouldn’t build my character.
31. I wouldn’t learn to prioritize what’s important.
32. I wouldn’t know how to laugh through some of the tough times, acknowledging that a struggle isn’t the end of the world.
33. I wouldn’t learn how to avoid other struggles in the future.
34. I wouldn’t know the value of teamwork in facing a struggle.
35. I’d miss witnessing the kindness and compassion of people who come to my aid.
36. I wouldn’t learn to recognize what I can and can’t control.
37. I wouldn’t learn about surrendering what I can’t control.
38. I wouldn’t learn how to fight for what I can control.
I looked back over my list. So struggles actually serve us? That sounded impossible until I got things down on paper.
It’s only when we start to view our struggles from an entirely different lens—when we identify the benefits in them—that we can finally let go of them.
We don’t have to let struggles steamroll us. We don’t have to fear them. In fact, we can be grateful for them because they can make us more intrepid and resilient . . . if we let them.
Chapter 18
Guard Your Thoughts; What You Think, You Become
As the weeks ticked by, I was frustrated to find that Justin’s criticisms were still alive and churning in my head. The name-calling and accusations, the inadequacy, the feelings of incompetency. They were all still there on some level. I never wanted to hand him that power, and I knew he couldn’t have it . . . unless I gave it to him. But it felt impossible to unleash those memories. If I was going to move on, Justin’s words would have to become history.
A Sunday morning sermon at church struck me like a bolt of lightning. The theme was “Guard your thoughts; what you think, you become.”
This got my attention because I certainly didn’t want to become what was currently in my head. I’d noticed a defensiveness about me, and I didn’t like it. This became strikingly obvious one day when a friend joked about something I didn’t know.
Without warning, I snapped, “I’m not an idiot!” I startled even myself.
I didn’t know where this pent-up emotion was coming from, but I knew in that moment my resentment was still holding me hostage. And I wanted to deal with it before it grew into an even larger monster.
Dr. Case asked me about criticism, and I had to admit how sensitive I was to it. I always had been, to some degree, but my time with Justin exacerbated it tenfold. It felt like I was constantly in a courtroom on the witness stand, having to defend myself. Justin was the one who acted as judge and jury against me—or worse yet, as the attorney who wanted to prosecute me.
To my surprise, Dr. Case didn’t tackle the idea of criticism head-on. Instead she shared some insights about wisdom. “Wisdom is the instantaneous realization that crisis is blessing, and blessing is crisis. God gave us two sides of a brain, and with those parts we judge and seek and crave and compete. Your greatest challenge is to appreciate the way God has made you, regardless of whether anyone else ever does.”
In other words, you are who you are. You’ll find your greatest balance when you accept those parts of you that you like and strive to become the person you’re meant to be, not the person someone else thinks you should be.
All the parts of us—the beautiful parts, the broken parts, the torn-up parts—fit together in some miraculous way to make us unique and worthy and valuable. Just the people God wants us to be. We can only free ourselves of what haunts us when we accept ourselves fully—and when we recognize that God created us intentionally, just as we are. Remember, God doesn’t create a mess. Our job is to humbly accept our strengths and to bravely own our weak spots.
So how can we do that?
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First, we need to identify our weak spots. After all, we can’t remedy a problem if we don’t acknowledge there is one.
One of my most glaring weaknesses at that point was my inability to silence Justin’s voice in my head. I allowed myself to hear his criticism—still—because in a warped way it was a defense mechanism. Subconsciously I thought that if I prepared myself for what was coming, if I anticipated in my own head what he might yell at me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when it happened. Perhaps I could condition myself to cushion the pain.
But thankfully, Dr. Case helped me expunge a lot of the baggage I was still shackling myself to.
This next statement was monumental for me.
“Christi, you have to realize that people live their values,” she said.
It sounded good, but I needed more clarification.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “And how does it affect me?”
“It means that people live based on what’s important to them. If your friendships are important to you, then you’ll make time for them. If your career is most important to you, then that will be your primary focus. Think about it—a while back, peace in the home with Justin was a value to you, so you lived, partly, to keep him happy and avoid arguments.”
“Well, isn’t that hitting the nail on the head.” I was stunned.
Here’s where the light really turned on, though.
“You’ll be most miserable if you expect other people to live outside their values.” She was quite matter of fact about it.
“Let me put it this way,” she began. “People draw their own conclusions about you based on their needs and their value systems. They create their own realities, and you’re one of their characters. You may never have said or done what Justin accused you of doing, but to some extent, that doesn’t matter. He’s writing his own screenplay, and you play a role for him. Nothing you do will change that.”
Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt Page 19