Now, we’ve all known Erika for years. She has auburn hair (some would call it red), and she’s feisty and not afraid to speak her mind. She is also close enough to me and Britt—both in age and depth of friendship—to be considered almost part of our family. While Dad was trying to comfort me, Erika suddenly let loose on him. It clearly had nothing to do with clothes. “Jeff, this is ridiculous! I don’t understand why you and Cheryl aren’t back together. You know you love her, and she loves you. You guys are happier than most married couples I know!”
Dad stood a moment, his jaw hanging slack. Then he backed up without saying a word, went into his bedroom, and closed the door. I swear I heard him crying.
Oh man, I absolutely loved Erika right then. She’d said exactly what we’d dreamed of saying for years.
That summer Brittany and I attended Sky Ranch Camp, about two hours away. We were both, most certainly, going through our awkward phase. My hair was cut to my chin, and I still had chunky bangs. I was taller but still superskinny, not an ounce of curve anywhere. Brittany had more of what she called “baby fat” and always wore her hair up in a ponytail. Neither of us had any concept of trying to look cute. Sure, we were aware of boys, but they were just the species who hogged the tetherball after lunch. Our main interests lay squarely in candy, hanging out with our girlfriends, and having a good time.
Brittany and I spent the week doing what we always did at Sky Ranch. We went horseback riding and hiking and smelled the pine trees around the campfire and ate s’mores. At the end of camp, we stood in the pickup area, kicked rocks with our shoes, and wondered which parent was going to pick us up. We were both thoroughly worn out from all the fun and, as is the case with camp, thoroughly filthy.
“I thought Mom was supposed to pick us up,” I said.
“No, it’s Dad. I’m sure of it,” Brittany said.
Dad’s car pulled off the road and into the lot. “Hey, they’re both here,” I said. Brittany and I exchanged glances. We hugged them both, chucked our duffel bags into the trunk, and bounded into the backseat.
“Sheesh,” Mom said. “No offense, but you guys could both use showers. Lo—is that a piece of Jolly Rancher stuck in your hair?”
I just grinned. We drove another mile down the road, and Brittany and I jabbered about our counselor and how she could flip her eyelids inside out. We’d just begun to holler one of the songs we’d learned during the week when Dad jumped in and cut our singing short. He had a strange gleam in his eye. “Mom and I have a surprise for you,” he said into the rearview mirror. “But we can’t tell you what it is until we get home.”
“What is it?” Brittany asked quickly.
“Yeah, tell us!” I chimed in.
“Nope, not just yet,” Mom said. Her eyes bore the same strange twinkle as Dad’s.
We shrugged and started singing again, belting out a loud chorus of “King Jesus is all, my all in all.” I wondered if maybe the surprise was that we were going on another vacation somewhere right after camp. Maybe Mom would come with us again. Maybe it was Colorado. Oooh, Colorado in summertime would be cool, I thought.
As soon as we pulled into the driveway at Dad’s house, we jumped out and lugged our bags to the laundry room while Dad put the keys away. Mom poured us all glasses of orange juice. Brittany slammed the washer’s lid. “Okay, time’s up,” she said. “What’s your big surprise?”
The room grew quiet. Dad set down his glass of juice. “Well, while you guys were gone, your mom and I talked about a lot of things.”
I held my breath. My heart began to pound.
Dad swallowed. “It’s this. Your mom and I really love each other.” Another huge pause. “And . . . well . . . we’ve decided to get remarried.”
For one perfect second, time stopped. The world actually quit spinning. The sun stood still.
Brittany let out a little gasp, then totally lost it, crying, screaming, melting into a puddle in Mom and Dad’s arms.
I was like, “What? No way!” then went completely hyper. I sprinted around the house, leaping over chairs, flying around our coffee table, jumping, dancing, skipping, shouting. Wha-hoooo-ooooo!
Mom and Dad had been divorced for seven years. God had brought about a change in their lives and prompted what we’d all once thought was impossible. Our parents’ reconciliation was real.
Three months later, the four of us gathered at a tiny mountainside chapel in Colorado. Friends had lent us their condo for the week, and my parents wanted their second marriage to be as private as possible. Just us, a pastor and a church, and a new beginning.
A clear, spring-fed stream ran right by the chapel, and we took pictures beforehand next to the spring’s river rocks. Brittany and I wore matching lace dresses, but that was the last thing on our minds. The sun was shining brightly that day, crisp and cool for October, and as we entered the chapel, the sun streamed through the stained glass windows at the front of the church. The beams of light were distinct, like rainbow-colored lines shining down on us. I felt glorious, like I was in another world.
Brittany played the piano for the ceremony, bawling the whole stately way through Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” I kept my emotions tightly wrapped. Mom was crying. Dad was crying. Somebody in our family had to keep it together.
But I was happy.
Ecstatic was more like it. The darkest part of the night was over at last. God had finally answered our far-fetched request in a way we once could only dream about. Mom and Dad were together again. The dawn had arrived, and from here on out I knew everything in our family was going to be absolutely perfect.
CHAPTER 9
Discovery
Cheryl
The question came out of nowhere, stunning me as if I’d been slapped in the face.
It came two years after Jeff and I had remarried, when the girls were in eighth grade. I’d just pulled to the curb to pick them up from middle school. The question burst from my daughter Brittany as she closed the car door and strapped on her seat belt in the front seat.
Lauren had bounded into the backseat, her eyes in the rearview mirror round with disbelief. They’d obviously been talking while waiting on the school’s front lawn before I drove up. Comparing notes. Two thirteen-year-olds figuring out how to get to the bottom of things.
“Mom, did you have an affair?” Brittany asked again.
“I heard you the first time,” I said slowly. The girls were both belted in now, but my foot was still on the brake, the car idling at the curb.
“Rebecca said something to me,” Brittany said, with an attitude of junior high nonchalance. “We were just hanging out by our lockers between classes. Isn’t that weird she’d ever think something like that? I figured we’d better ask you about it.”
It isn’t unusual for the question of infidelity to be raised when there’s been a divorce. But I’d always figured I’d field this question with my daughters when they were older. Maybe in college, when they could better handle the topic. Or maybe when they were in their twenties or thirties and had husbands of their own. That’s when I’d always imagined the conversation taking place. Always later. Much later.
I swallowed. “Yes,” I said softly.
I said the word in answer to Brittany’s question. And then I started to cry.
The girls sat in stunned silence. I shifted the car into drive and headed home. By the time we reached our driveway, I was bawling. Nothing more was said until I shifted into park and turned off the ignition. None of us made a move to climb out. I cracked a window to get some fresh air and tried to dry my eyes. There in the car I started to unravel the story. I began by saying, “If you’re angry with me, I completely understand.”
Two years into my marriage I’d begun to feel alone. That’s a difficult concept to convey to your daughters, particularly when you’re now remarried to their father, who has always been a shining knight in their eyes—and who has done a ton of growing since you were first married. Jeff and I both had been growing. I tried to
explain the concept of loneliness in a marriage as best as I knew how.
My problems in marriage had started because Jeff and I were two people who had our eyes on the wrong goals. We were young and ambitious, eager to climb career ladders and live the good life. We had no idea that a healthy marriage is built on communication, unconditional love, and a solid biblical foundation. When it came to marrying Jeff, I was the starry-eyed girl who’d always dreamed of finding her very own Brad Pitt, or whoever the Hollywood hunk of the day was. When Jeff first came into my world, he was all that—the absolute man of my dreams. But as our marriage progressed, I found that Jeff wasn’t as flawless as I’d first imagined him to be. For example, when we went bike riding, for him the activity was all about reaching a destination. For me, bike riding meant a chance to talk and connect as a couple. In my mind, the problems were all one-sided. My husband wasn’t giving me what I longed for.
Time went by, and I felt increasingly alone. I was desperately afraid our life together would continue to be imperfect, but I had no idea how to communicate any of my deepest thoughts to my husband. So I buried my fears. I stuffed them down deep and hoped they’d go away.
For six years I didn’t do anything about my feelings. I just kept stuffing them down. The girls were born, and everything in my life took a beautiful turn. But even then, I still felt this strange sense of incompleteness.
In March 1990, eight years into my marriage—when the girls were not yet two—the company I worked for sent me to Florida on a sales trip. There, I met with a colleague named Todd. He worked from a different office in a different city, and our conversations began innocently enough. He shared some of the struggles he was having in his marriage, and for the first time I shared some of the struggles I was having in mine. At the end of that trip, when Jeff and the girls picked me up at the airport and Jeff hugged me, it dawned on me that when I was away I hadn’t missed my husband at all.
My colleague and I went back to our respective offices in our respective cities, but we began talking for hours on the phone each day. I never suspected things would go further than just talk. For goodness’ sake—he was a married man and twenty years older than me. But the downward slope was already greased. Just one month later Todd flew from where he lived in northern California to where I lived in southern California. We met at a hotel, and that day our relationship turned into a full-blown adulterous affair.
I never told anyone. Not a soul. My actions that day weren’t like me, I rationalized. I would never cheat on my husband. I was a good girl. A Catholic. I convinced myself that I’d just made a momentary mistake—that was all. A big mistake, sure, but no one ever needed to know. That’s why when Jeff’s company transferred us to Dallas, I felt so relieved. I could put this mistake behind me. My secret would stay safe with me forever.
Jeff and the girls and I moved to Dallas, and for a short time everything was okay. But I deeply missed the emotional connection I’d developed with Todd. We began talking on the phone again every day. That pull began to lead me further down the hazardous path I’d started on.
Sure, I’d started to go to church by then. Something was tugging on my soul, even though at the time I didn’t know what it was. The problem was that I’d so hardened my heart to Jeff that the change I’d begun to experience with God wasn’t entering my marriage yet. I’d convinced myself that I was finished with my marriage. I believed I was deeply in love with someone else. So I progressed down the divorce road, and, yes, the way I handled the divorce was absolutely wrong. Having the sheriff serve papers to Jeff at our home was another indication of my inability to communicate. I didn’t know how to tell anybody how I actually felt deep inside—not even my husband. That’s why I filed the papers secretly. I was petrified to tell Jeff I wanted a divorce. So, unfortunately, he was absolutely blindsided by the news. There are so many things I wish I could do over in my life. How I acted with Jeff was simply horrible.
I thought things would be so much better after the divorce, but they weren’t. Todd and I started making plans to live in the same city, to get married someday. He flew out to see me, and I flew out to see him. The girls met him. He even came to their school. He would never take the place of their father, and I didn’t want him to. I just wanted him all for me. But I quickly began to realize that Todd wasn’t fulfilling the deepest desires of my heart. Not really.
The thing that began to save me was something beyond myself. I had never studied the Bible before, and I was curious and intrigued. At my new church, I was around people who were continually kind to me, offering me grace, forgiveness, and compassion, even though my life was a mess. This was new to me. I hadn’t done anything to deserve these people’s kindness, and yet there it was. Each Sunday I couldn’t wait to be at church. Three months after the divorce was final, I came to know Christ as my personal Savior. As great as that day was, it was also devastating because I could see clearly the wrongness of what I’d done. God had saved me, but there were still huge pieces of my life to mend. I’d left a crumbled marriage and fractured family in the wake of my selfishness.
Jeff began to grow spiritually too. In our early years of marriage, we had gone to church only on Christmas and Easter. But during the time surrounding the divorce, even though he had a ton of questions, Jeff ran back to the Lord. He didn’t know why God would allow something so bad to happen to our family. At first Jeff couldn’t understand how he’d played a part in the marriage’s collapse, although a smaller part than mine. Still, he was willing to change and be open to God’s plan.
In addition to Jeff’s role as a sponsor of the high school youth group, he began attending a large men’s Bible study held weekly at the church. There, he listened to men he respected—articulate, intelligent men who spoke Jeff’s language. They clearly taught the Word of God. Jeff began to understand that there is a deeper purpose to life than simply advancing in a career or acquiring a lot of possessions.
One morning in the fall of 1992, about three months after our divorce was final, I was reading my Bible and the voice of God began to whisper to me. That’s the only way I can describe it. It wasn’t an audible voice, but a distinct and powerful sense that God’s will was being revealed to me. God was telling me that I needed to pursue reconciliation with Jeff. After two months of wrestling over this prompting, I finally called Jeff and asked if I could come over to talk to him.
Jeff reluctantly agreed. At the end of our conversation, I told Jeff I’d become a Christian, and I believed God wanted us to reconcile our marriage. Jeff was crying, but it wasn’t out of sympathy. It was out of pain and anger. He was the one who’d insisted we go for counseling, even when I’d clammed up. He’d wanted to keep the marriage together all along. He was the one who’d been served divorce papers by the sheriff. Jeff couldn’t even look me in the eye. He asked me to leave.
I drove home, sat in my chair, and concluded that I’d misunderstood God’s voice. I figured that if Jeff didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, I should just get on with my life. What I didn’t realize was that God wanted me to persevere with him in prayer. God had a plan for my life, and I needed to endure with him through this time of uncertainty and not try to go down my own path. That meant waiting.
I wasn’t very good at waiting.
Especially when the waiting turned into years. Jeff and I continued to experience a good working relationship when it came to parenting, but that was all. In the meantime, he was growing in his faith, and I was growing in mine. I’d read verses like Ephesians 3:20, about how God can do immeasurably more than we dare ask or think, and I’d still dream of Jeff and me getting back together someday. But I knew it would take a miracle.
Jeff was lonely. He’d been praying that God would bring a godly woman into his life. He shared his prayer request one morning in his men’s Bible study, and the men prayed for Jeff on and off for months. Finally one of them said to Jeff, “Did you ever consider that maybe the woman we’ve been praying for all along is your ex-wife?”<
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One night Jeff read Proverbs 3:5-6, a passage he’d memorized as a child. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” A lightbulb clicked on in Jeff’s head. He decided to do exactly as the passage said—to trust in God fully. That night Jeff rededicated his life to God.
Once Jeff and I landed on the same page spiritually, things began to take off. I guess you could say we started dating as a family. We certainly appeared on each other’s doorsteps a lot. God was pulling us back together with new speed. When it came to my ex-husband and me, our lives were completely different now. We weren’t controlled by the same selfish desires anymore. We both wanted what was best for each other. But one huge question needed to be answered.
When the girls were gone at summer camp, Jeff and I did some serious talking and praying together. We talked about getting remarried, but Jeff asked the last huge question—and it was a good one. “Cheryl, how do I know you’re not going to do the same thing again?”
I sat for a moment, praying silently, wondering what to say. Lord, I don’t know how to promise another human I’m never going to fail him again. But in that moment I knew the answer. God was central to both our lives now. It was the truth. “This is not really about you and me anymore,” I said. “It’s about God now, and I never want to disappoint my God again.”
Still Lolo Page 7