To the moms whose kids are grown…

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“Older women … are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.” (Titus 2:3-5, NIV)

I feel it acutely. There’s my mom, of course. She is an amazing, godly woman who is filled with the kind of wisdom that can only come from the years behind her. I’m lucky to have her. But other than that? There isn’t too much interaction between generations, much of the time.

Sometimes, I wonder if the lack of older mentors is the reason my generation—the generation of young parents—seems so lost. There are parenting books, of course. Online home management courses. Sermons and podcasts.

But few pour into us on a personal level.

We discuss it amongst each other—how to love our husbands, raise our children and manage our homes.

How to be self-controlled.

Pure.

Kind.

But there is something to be said for the wisdom that comes from long-life experience. Yes, we glean from those alongside us in the trenches, but we also desperately need those who have already fought our same battles and won.

(Or even lost. Because every scar tells a story.)

Last night, I drove 30 minutes down dark country roads to a complete stranger’s house. A friend had invited me. I parked on the street and stumbled up the driveway in the inky blackness, towards windows spilling warm light.

The woman who owned the house welcomed me graciously. Although her children are grown, she opens her home on a regular basis to younger homeschooling moms. Her heart—her beautiful heart—is to pour into the next generation.

Women from all over came—some drove longer distances than I did. She put out carafes of coffee, tea and dainty, floral cups. We packed into her living room to pray and learn together.

And she explained to each new, shy face how the Lord has called her to provide support, encouragement, and to live out Titus 2:3-5.

The Church needs people like this.

Older women, we need you.

We don’t always know how to say it, but we need you to open your lives to us. To open your homes to us. To offer advice. To come alongside us and tell us that we’ll make it through the hard days. To smile with us on the joy-filled days. To teach us what it means to be good wives and mothers.

You see, there’s a lot at stake.

Our families, yes. But according to Titus 2:5, how we manage our families and homes also affects people’s perception of the Word of God.

According to Titus 2:5, the gospel is at stake.

You, who are on the other side, have so much to offer.

And we, who are in the trenches, want to learn.

 

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The Wooden Chest

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There’s a chest in the living room. It’s fairly small and a bit scratched and dented. On its top sits a beige table lamp and, sometimes, some coasters. Most visitors probably don’t even notice it.

But it has a special story.

Years ago, in the early part of my mid-twenties, I became friends with a young man at work. He was tall, dark, handsome, smart and sweet—I tried hard to keep my distance, but I don’t think I’ve ever prayed quite so hard for someone’s salvation. One day, he came to church with me and asked Jesus into his heart.

The angels rejoiced.

And so did I.

One Christmas, this young man gave me a chest. Inside were various objects. There was a piece of quartz, a bag of sand, a rock, some crayons—all strange and seemingly unrelated. But all very special. They were mementos of various places we’d been together.

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The quartz was from a festival we went to with friends. He had carried it in his backpack for months.

The sand was from a trip to the beach half a year prior, when his grandfather was in the hospital.

The crayons were from the first restaurant we ever went to together.

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There were other things too. Each with a specific memory attached and each very special.

Time passed and we added a few more things. Like this, from the night that he got saved – because, even though we didn’t start dating until a year later, it’s a special story of answered prayers and God’s hand on a young man’s life.

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And this, because we both love adventure.

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We’re married now and not as young. We have three children, two cars and a creaky, old house in the East end.

With the passage of time, we lost some of our romantic idealism. We don’t always get along and we have battle scars.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You see, romantic idealism doesn’t keep a romance going. It takes hard work—and grace. There were times where we didn’t think we’d make it this far. But we love each other and we’re in this for the long haul. So we do what it takes.

We’re a team.

We don’t add too much to the wooden chest these days. It just isn’t possible to save mementos from everything we do together—we do all of life together.

It’s interesting how love changes as you do life together. I make sure that supper is waiting when he gets home and that the house is tidy. He does the dinner dishes and puts the kids to bed.

We still have fun. We laugh a lot. We go on dates. We tease each other.

But, mostly, love looks a lot like servant-hood.

Every now and then, I creak open that small wood-scarred chest and I think about how far we’ve come and how far we have yet to go.

And I’m glad that we chose each other—that God chose us—to walk through life together.

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The time I almost messed it all up…

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I got a lot of feedback from my last post. Many people live in the hard stage of waiting. I’ve been there, believe me. So today, I want to share how I almost messed it all up.

No one likes to be vulnerable about their mess-ups. Sometimes, however, I think that people need to hear. If we were all more honest about our sin and less worried about looking perfect, maybe we’d be able to help others avoid making the same mistakes.

It started out innocently enough. It probably always does. I was young but lonely, tired of being single, tired of waiting. He didn’t know Jesus, not even close. But I started spending time with him anyway and my emotions got all tangled up.

It was only my emotions, nothing more, but it was enough.

One day, I made a conscious decision. I had slowly been wandering away from the Lord so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. I decided to quit going to church, quit trying to do right.

I decided to walk away.

To trade in Jesus and for a relationship that was all kinds of wrong.

For some reason, I went to church anyway that weekend. There was a guest speaker in town, an older minister. I sat near the front with my friends, only half listening.

When he finished speaking, the minister asked the congregation to close their eyes. I don’t remember his exact words – it was a long time ago – but they went something like this…

“There’s someone here who has been walking the line. And you’ve made a conscious decision that you are going to cross over that line. But Jesus is calling you back. If that’s you, please stand.”

A few people stood but I sat glued to my seat, stomach in knots yet heart still hard. He’s talking about me. But I don’t want to stand. I’ve made my decision.

“A few of you have stood up. But I feel in my spirit that the person that this word is for has not yet stood.” The old minister’s voice was earnest. “If you choose to step over that line, you’ll be sitting in your living room years from now wishing you could go back to this day. Jesus is calling you back to Him.”

In that moment, I knew. I knew that the decision to walk away would mess up my life forever. I didn’t feel like standing, but I knew. Slowly, I got to my feet. The moment I took that step of obedience, my heart softened and tears—tears of deep, true repentance—began to fall.

It had all started at work so, when I went back on Monday, I handed in my notice. I quit. I needed to flee temptation.

To run towards the One who remained faithful in my unfaithfulness.

Song of Solomon 8:4 says, “Promise me, O women of Jerusalem, not to awaken love until the time is right.” I spent the next few months pursuing my studies, working part-time at a coffee shop and falling in love with Jesus all over again. It was a hard year in many ways. Spiritually, however, it was one of the best years of my life.

That summer, I landed a job at a bank. There was a young man who worked there named Dave. It wasn’t long before he captured my attention. But I’d learned a thing or two. So I drew the line and put some safeguards in place. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that I’d made in the past.

I had committed my heart to Jesus. It was no longer mine to give away.

One night, Dave came to church and got saved. A year later, with the blessing of our parents and spiritual leaders, we started dating. Two years after that, we were married. This time, I didn’t have to trade in Jesus for a relationship that was all kinds of wrong because we shared the same first love and it was Him.

As I write this, I’m sitting in my living room thinking about the words that old minister spoke over a decade ago. My husband is sprawled out on the couch next to me, reading. He is everything I ever dreamed of, everything I ever prayed for. Our children are upstairs, peacefully sleeping. If I hadn’t chosen Jesus that night, where would I be now?

Elisabeth Elliot said, “The cross as it enters the love life reveals the heart’s truth.” Sometimes, we have to ask ourselves hard questions. If God never brings me a spouse—if I am single until the day I die—will I still serve Jesus with all my heart? Will I find my wholeness and security in Him alone? Surrendering the heart—laying it down at the cross—is perhaps the hardest battle any single person will face.

Did you know that it’s a battle married people face as well? Married people have to ask themselves hard questions too. Now that God has brought me a spouse—to love selflessly and to serve sacrificially until the day I die, even when things aren’t perfect—will I still give Jesus all of my heart? Will I still find my wholeness and security in Him alone?

Marriage isn’t a quick fix to all of life’s problems. As beautiful as marriage is, it is a metaphor for a much more perfect relationship. In other words, the longing to be loved—truly loved—can never completely be fulfilled by another person.

Yes, God created us with a deep desire for love and companionship, but it’s a longing that only He can fully satisfy. Married or single, we’ll never feel complete until Christ makes us whole.

Perfect love can only be found one place—and that’s Jesus.

Praying for Mr. Right

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I’ve been thinking about the singles lately. Maybe it’s because there have been several engagements and weddings in the church. Or maybe it’s because we prayed for all the single people during a Saturday night service a few weeks ago.

About that…

The pastor who was preaching that night said something along the lines of, “We need to pray that God brings your future spouses into the church!” Those words, they were so very familiar.

It has been over a decade now, since that sunny Sunday afternoon in June…

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“Ugh. It’s not fair.” My friend and I were sitting on the patio of a coffee shop lamenting our fate. “There are absolutely NO guys in the church! How are we ever supposed to get married?”

We were doomed to be single forever.

My chair was facing the street. Although normally busy, the road was closed off to traffic that day and a makeshift stage was set up in the middle. It was the first year of the Westdale Music Festival. A young couple was performing—he was playing guitar and she was singing.

As my friend and I sipped coffee and chatted, my attention was caught by a dark-haired, young man sitting near the stage.

What kind of a guy goes to something like this by himself? I wondered. That’s just weird.

I turned my attention back to my friend.

“We need to pray them in,” she was saying. “We need to pray that God brings our husbands into the church.”

The couple on stage finished their song and walked over to the young man who had been sitting alone. They smiled and chatted and then the three of them left together.

Huh. I guess he knows the performers. That explains it.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said to my friend. “We’re going to have to pray them in.”

I went home and began to ask God to bring my husband into the church. How I got impatient and almost messed everything up is another story for another day. It took time and a series of events that only God could orchestrate to bring me and my husband together, and a few years later, my prayers were answered.

It’s easy to tell the singles not to despair when you’re on the other side. But I know God hears those prayers. And, even if it takes years, God has a plan.

We were chatting one time, my husband and I. He started telling me a story…

It was a story about how he went to the Westdale Music Festival, the very first year it took place. Some high school friends were performing—a young couple who played guitar and sang. He sat by himself near the front until it was over and left with them afterwards.

Honestly, I don’t remember the point of his story. All I could think of was how, on that sunny Sunday afternoon in June—the day I started praying my future husband into the church—

I had unknowingly been staring right at him.

What if blessings come through raindrops?

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My husband and I had planned to go mountain biking this afternoon. But it was raining. Hard. We dropped our children off at my parents’ house anyway and tried to come up with an alternate plan. Nothing.

And then, a stroke of pure brilliance.

“Let’s go hiking. In the rain. We have waterproof jackets and waterproof boots. Why let the rain stop us? We can even pack a picnic to eat in the car afterwards.”

Honestly, I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. I was tired and not feeling well. But I wanted to push through. My husband and I needed a fun afternoon.

A little while later, we found ourselves scrambling up the Hamilton escarpment in our rain gear. Mist curled around the trees and the slippery, moss-covered rocks.

At the top of the hill, a meadow stretched before us. My husband suddenly stopped and grabbed my arm. There in the field, shrouded in fog, were four white-tailed deer.

We watched them for some time, hardly daring to move. They were beautiful. Everything was beautiful. The pitter-patter of rain on the leaves overhead. The spacious vale in front of us. The vivid colours of the undergrowth in the valley behind us.

We followed the trail into the forest. A waterfall splashed down the side of the mountain. It was raining harder now and the mist was thickening. I was dizzy and struggling a little. My husband held me for a few minutes while I caught my breath. Then, arm in arm, we continued our walk.

We stopped to look at some holes that a woodpecker had bored into a tree stump. We found ferns nestled in a bed of moss under a rocky outcropping. We saw the flash of a chipmunk as it scurried behind a tree.

We soaked in the beauty like the ground soaked in the rain.

We were only gone about an hour with frequent breaks along the way, but it was worth it. Every second. We both agreed that this was the best date that we have ever been on.

So often, we let the rain stop us. I’m not just talking about the physical rain. I’m talking about seasons of life. We see only the limitations of our present situation and forget the beauty that lies within.

I came across a song the other day that spoke deeply to my heart. The chorus says, “What if Your blessings come through raindrops?”

What if?

Today, mine did.

Give it a listen.

Stealing Kisses in the Woods – Why I’ve Decided to Start Dating Again

“Look!” my husband whispered. “There’s a deer over there.”

We were on our favourite kind of date – a hike in the large expanse of protected forest that spans Ancaster and Dundas.

The sun was setting, and the deer blended flawlessly with the golden-orange patches of sunlight that were scattered across the forest floor. We stood perfectly still, our eyes on the deer and his eyes on us. After a few moments, he bounded away and we continued walking.

We didn’t talk about anything important. Not the children or our finances or the list of chores waiting at home. As we strolled hand-in-hand, we talked mostly about the beauty of the woods and the happy memories we shared. And we paused every now and then to steal a kiss.

It’s so important to prioritize time with your spouse. To deliberately push aside the friction that can arise as two humans struggle to live as one, the busyness of raising children, and the stress of day-to-day life. To take some time to focus on each other.

To remember why you fell in love with this person with whom you’ve committed to spend your life.

This is why, after almost five years of marriage, my husband and I have decided to start dating again. We never should have let it slip; it truly makes all the difference in the world. Regularly, we set aside time for each other. Nothing elaborate. Snacks and a movie after the kids are in bed. Hot chocolate and a game of scrabble. A video game. A shopping trip. A bike ride.

Or a few beautiful hours where it’s just us, the golden-orange sunlight, and stolen kisses in the woods.

Canoeing the Desjardins

“The blessing of the Lord makes rich …” (Proverbs 10:22)

We had dinner out on the water yesterday. It was spontaneous and special. We threw the canoe on the car, packed the girls in the back, and drove off into the Hamilton wilderness. (That would be Cootes Paradise, for those of you who are scratching your heads and wondering where on the earth a canoe-worthy wilderness exists around here.)

I spoon-fed our seven-month old as my husband steered us down the Desjardins Canal with all the skill (and good looks) of a gondolier. Our two-year old, who was sitting behind me, splashed her very own toddler-sized paddle in the water while munching on a peanut butter sandwich.

As we glided along, two otters came and swam alongside the bow. Deer crept softly to the water’s edge and stooped to drink. They bounded into the woods with a crash when my daughter began to talk. A choir of songbirds sang, and frogs called to each other with voices that sounded like the twanging of a banjo. The music of nature is always the most beautiful.

Everywhere we looked, there were birds. There were swallows dancing through the air, pairs of swans nesting in the reeds, and red-wing blackbirds flitting among the bulrushes. Terns dive-bombed the water with a splash and then took to the sky again. Geese flew so low overhead that we could hear their wings slapping the air.

A man and his son canoed in tandem with us for a while, strangers, but with the instant camaraderie that is common among paddlers. They told us that a pair of bald eagles was nesting in the area. We swapped wilderness adventure stories while scanning the treeline for the iconic birds of prey. We didn’t see them.

The sky grew rosy as the sun began to sink on the horizon. It was long past the girls’ bedtime. Tired but happy, we paddled back to the car and drove home. Another day over. Another memory to cherish.

As I lay in bed last night and slowly drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but think that life is full.

Stress Casserole – Let’s Just Laugh at That!

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My husband called home on his lunch break yesterday while I was making dinner.

“What are you making?” he asked.

I’ll be darned if I had a clue. Quite frankly, I was throwing a bunch of random things in a casserole dish and praying for a miracle.

The day started off with my older daughter waking up covered in pee. (Why do all my stories seem to include diaper blowouts?) I had to throw her in the tub, all the while listening to the baby scream.

The girls had their shots the day before and both of them were cranky as all get out. Yes, I’m one of those moms who vaccinates their children. I also sometimes feed my older daughter fast food for dinner. And, occasionally, I forget to put diaper cream on them. Well, now that I’ve aired my dirty laundry on the world wide web, let’s get on with the story…

I was desperately losing the battle with my housework since the girls were so cranky. To make it worse, my older daughter had a strange rash covering her tummy and my younger daughter was teething. Poor kids.

You’re probably thinking, “This isn’t funny at all.” You’re right. You see, here’s the thing. On days like that, you have to CHOOSE to laugh.

So when my two-year old began yelling and spitting at me, I looked at her and let out a hysterical, I’m-losing-my-sanity kind of laugh. If you have kids, you know exactly what I’m referring to. And, you know, I felt a little better after that.

I decided to try a new method of dealing with the spitting, since nothing seems to faze this kid. So once I got my high-pitched giggle under control, I said, “Oh dear! Is there something yucky in your mouth? I guess we need to clean it.”

Then I got out the soap (a natural, environmentally-friendly kind of soap, in case you were worried).

And I put a teeny-tiny dab in her mouth.

Want to know her reaction? Her eyes got big. Really, really big. And she said, “YUMMY!”

Sheesh. That’ll teach her not to spit at people when she’s angry.

When my husband called from work, I told him the story of the soap. We laughed and laughed. That’s when he asked what I was making for dinner.

“Stress Casserole,” I replied with a giggle. “I’ve been so frazzled that I couldn’t even tell you what I threw in this dish. Better start praying!”

Surprisingly, dinner wasn’t that bad! Kind of like life sometimes. Throw in a little of this, a little of that, some stress-induced laughter, and loads of prayer … and, somehow, God makes something beautiful out of it all. =)

The Freedom to Choose. The Freedom to Move on.

Rejection. Hurt. How did I become who I am? I went to a prayer meeting last night and felt sure that something had been broken. I came home and, when my husband wouldn’t listen to me, I yelled. He yelled back. I cried. Then I gave him the silent treatment. I felt rotten. But still so very angry inside.

In today’s world, we are taught to blame our actions on everyone but ourselves.

I could blame my temper on the kids who called me names every single day for years. The ones who threw rocks at me, who spat on me, and who told me that I could never be anyone of worth.

I could blame it on the sister who ran away when I was twelve, or on my parents who were understandably consumed with grief and pain. I could blame it on the teenagers who teased me when kidney disease treatments made me fat and funny-looking, or on the boyfriend who was unfaithful. I could blame it on my husband or on my kids because they’re not perfect either.

I could try to pin the blame on any number of things. In today’s society, that would fly. My fit of pique would be justified.

But sin is sin. You can try to hide its ugliness by deflecting responsibility, but that doesn’t change the facts. And the fact is I chose to respond in anger last night. I didn’t have to do it. But I did. It was a voluntary decision that I made in my heart.

So there you have it. The truth. The hard, cold, awful truth. Right here, in black and white.

On days like these, I come back to the question that the apostle Paul asked. I picture him writing it with tears streaming down his cheeks and desperation in his soul because that’s how I feel when I read it. “Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?”

The anguish reflected in the question is deep. But the joy reflected in the answer is even deeper. “Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

The answer is Jesus. As I read those words, I can feel grace pouring over me like cool, clean water. The past is gone. Yesterday has been washed away. It’s over. Done.

All of the hurts, the times when the pain turned my stomach into knots and made it difficult to breathe, those are no more. All of my mistakes, careless words spoken in the heat of the moment, those are forgiven. Forgiven and forgotten. The work that Jesus did on the cross covers the past. It covers the present. And it covers the future.

What a sweet, sweet relief.

“It is finished.”

I Walk With a Limp – Guest Post by Christina D’Angelo

But Jacob stayed behind by himself, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he couldn’t get the best of Jacob as they wrestled, he deliberately threw Jacob’s hip out of joint. The man said, “Let me go; it’s daybreak.”  Jacob said, “I’m not letting you go ’til you bless me.”  The man said, “What’s your name?”  He answered, “Jacob.”

The man said, “But no longer. Your name is no longer Jacob. From now on it’s Israel (God-Wrestler); you’ve wrestled with God and you’ve come through.”

Jacob asked, “And what’s your name?”  The man said, “Why do you want to know my name?” And then, right then and there, he blessed him. Jacob named the place Peniel (God’s Face) because, he said, “I saw God face-to-face and lived to tell the story!” The sun came up as he left Peniel, limping because of his hip.

Genesis 32:24-31

Have you ever felt like you’ve wrestled with God? I have. A number of years ago I went through what I like to call “hell on earth”. My marriage almost broke up. There it is in black and white, for all of you to read. My perfect-on-the-outside, “Christian” marriage was in complete ruins behind closed doors. You see, my husband had an addiction—a deep, dark, destructive addiction that nearly obliterated our relationship. He was addicted to pornography. Yes, I said it out loud—the “P” word (…and she calls herself a Christian!).

We started out happily, as all newlyweds do. But, as time passed, it became obvious that there was something wrong in our marriage. We would have HUGE fights. Oh the things we would say to each other! I could never put my finger on it, but I knew that there was an underlying, dark issue that went far beyond just ordinary marital strife. Ladies, trust your instincts when it comes to your marriage! I don’t mean those emotions that come, um, once a month, I mean that feeling deep in your gut where you know that you know that you know that there is something terribly wrong.

I would often ask my husband what was going on. I suspected that he having an affair or was into pornography. For pete’s sake, I even asked him if he was gay! He emphatically denied all three (especially the last one, poor guy) and kept telling me that things were fine and it was all in my head. Now, there are a lot of things “in my head” but I was pretty sure this was not one of them.

He would constantly lie to me. An addict will do whatever they can to cover up their shame so that no one sees what is going on and so that they can keep on feeding their addiction. There were times when my husband would lie to me about the most ridiculous things. My husband swore up and down and sideways that everything was fine. After a while, I began to feel like I was losing my mind. I mean that literally. I thought that maybe institutionalizing myself was my best option. Maybe the issue was with me after all, and not with him. Perhaps I really was imagining things. Perhaps all of the fights and issues we were having were because I wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders. Maybe it was all my fault.

Eventually things got so bad that my husband rejected me in every way. I felt that rejection deeply. He was no longer interested in or attracted to me. He was always too tired to spend time with me, to go out with me, or to even have a decent conversation with me (unless it was to argue!). You see, addiction takes a lot out of a person. Pornography addiction is like a disease. It destroys a marriage and kills any intimacy between husband and wife—spiritual, emotional, and physical.

I thought that it was my fault that my husband wasn’t interested. I wasn’t skinny enough, pretty enough, or funny enough. I must have some tragic flaw that had made me unlovable. I will never forget the moment when I asked my husband point blank if he even loved me anymore. His response was, “Not really”. Oh the complete and utter heartbreak of having the one person who has vowed before God and man to love you NO MATTER WHAT tell you he really doesn’t love you anymore. There aren’t adequate words to describe that type of pain.

There were days and nights of endless tears, laying by myself in complete and utter loneliness. I began to buy clothes en masse to make myself feel better. I thought that if I looked just right, people would love me—my husband would love me. All that I wanted was for someone, anyone, to find me worthwhile, to find me beautiful.

After a number of months of this, my husband came clean to me (in a restaurant no less—he has never been one for timing!). He told me about the gory, grimy, sickening addiction he was battling. It was finally out in the open.

We gathered up the shattered and broken pieces of ourselves and of our marriage and tried to get help. We have a great church filled with loving and supportive people, but this addiction was so deeply rooted that it needed a more hands on, direct approach than a onetime meeting with a pastor. Through the grace of God and divinely placed people, my husband found a program that offered the kind of help he needed to gain his freedom. It is kind of like a Christ-centered version of AA for all different types of addictions.

I would love to say that in a few short weeks all was well with our marriage and the world. Life doesn’t work that way. My husband still struggled and I still felt worthless. If I had been a proper wife, my husband never would have felt the need to look elsewhere, right? It took years of healing, learning to trust (probably the hardest thing for me), and learning to love again. By the great grace of God, our marriage is whole. My husband is completely free and forgiven. He is crazy about me and I am crazy about him—and oh so very proud of the man he has become.

You may be wondering why I decided to talk about something so personal. I believe that one of the greatest lies thrown our way is that we are alone in our struggles, whatever those struggles may be. We believe that no one REALLY knows what we are experiencing or feeling. This keeps us from exposing what is hidden in the dark and ultimately prevents us from getting the help and support that we need. I am not afraid to share our struggle if it brings hope to one of you.  Life is real, and it is marked with real pain and real heartache. To pretend that we never experience that is to lie to ourselves and to those around us.

I can proudly say that I walk with a limp. I have struggled with God. When He challenged me to forgive, to move forward, to repair, I wrestled. I am marked by my experience. I will never be the same again. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I am blessed. I have learned what true reliance on God really means, what it feels like for Him to be my only source of comfort and my place of refuge. I have learned grace when tempted to judge others because you never know what kind of pain a person has survived behind closed doors.

I have learned that if you are hurting and broken, it doesn’t matter how much lipstick you put on, what kind of designer clothes you wear, or if you shower five times a day. You’ll remain broken. Trust me, dressing up a broken heart does not heal it (although I did have a killer wardrobe!). There have been moments in my life when, in anguish, I had to recognize that God was literally all I had left. He was the only one who could take the broken pieces of my heart, of my life, and make something of them.

If you are going through heartbreak right now, know that God hurts for you. His heart is for you. Find hope and find healing in Him. Let Him rescue you. And please remember that walking with a limp is not a bad thing.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed. (Psalm 34:18)

*Disclaimer – No husbands were harmed in the making of this post. My dear husband has given me his full permission and has even encouraged me to share what God has rescued us from.

-Written by Christina D’Angelo