“I married him twice.” The revelation of this shocking detail results in some interesting looks on the faces of those who hear it. Efforts to keep their jaws from dropping and their eyebrows from raising contort their countenances into some caricature-worthy expressions.
Usually this juicy bit of information is shared after the hearer knows the back story of betrayal and abuse experienced in my first (and consequently second) marriage. I imagine the thoughts that must be running through the listener’s mind. She looks smarter than that. What was she thinking? I bet she wishes she had that to do over again.
The abbreviated version is this:
I married the man of my dreams when I was nineteen. The dream quickly became a nightmare. He was manipulative and abusive. He was addicted and criminal. I was naïve and stubborn; and thoroughly convinced I could love him enough to fix him. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I felt stupid.
When I was twenty-three he was arrested. My two-year-old son and I moved in with my parents. I was conflicted. I had always believed divorce was wrong, but I had to get away from the hell I was living in. He went to prison and I filed for divorce.
When I was twenty-six he was released from prison. He was sober and sorry for what he had done. I listened to his words but did not watch his actions. My hope for the restoration of our marriage overshadowed what should have been warning signs of things to come.
We remarried against the wishes of everyone who wanted what was best for me. Within a few months we were overjoyed to find out we were expecting a baby. That joy collided with sorrow when a few weeks later we were in a car accident in which our five-year-old son was killed. The abuse resumed. I blamed it on his difficult physical recovery and his grief. One daughter was born six months after the wreck, another two years later.
After the wreck I lived in chaos and terror. The abuse was frequent and life-threatening. The betrayal was blatant. I felt trapped. I wondered what people would think if I divorced him again. (In hindsight it seems ironic that I ignored what they thought about the second marriage, but worried about my image if I was twice divorced)
I cried out to God in desperation. I begged for forgiveness and guidance. God was faithful. He provided an escape. My husband was arrested and I divorced him….again. He was sent to prison where he spent most of his adult life. He was released in 2009. He died from health-related issues in 2012. (Aren’t you glad you got the abbreviated version?)
I was thankful to God for allowing me to get out alive, but was sure I had made so many bad choices and decisions that I could never be in His good graces again. I thought the verse about God working all things for good surely couldn’t be for me. I had not yet learned to trust God and quit relying on my own thinking!)
That second divorce was more than twenty years ago. My daughters are now in their early twenties, the age I was during this trouble-filled stage of my life. I look back on those years (from my much-less-stressful, much-more-safe life) and I see God’s hand in so many things.
- I see His faithfulness.
- I see that He never gave up on me regardless of my choices and decisions.
- He heard my cries for help and answered me.
In the years since the escape I see God’s hand.
- He has provided healing (physically, emotionally, and spiritually)
- He has kept his promise to be father to the fatherless (Psalm 68:5)
- He continues to hear and answer my prayers (He doesn’t always say “Yes” or “Right now”).
In the middle of the chaos, I had no understanding of how God would work. I couldn’t see a way out. I didn’t think things would ever get better. God had an answer. God had a plan. He worked out every detail. He’s working it all for good.
In the middle of your chaos, look for His hand. Ask Him for help. Watch how He works!
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[
have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
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