And the Bottom Drops Out

It's a Thursday night.  I can't breathe.

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm here on the bathroom floor.

~~

It's a Saturday at 6pm.  I'm hot with anger.

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm in the front hall, the living room, the bedroom.

~~

It's a Sunday afternoon.  I swallow hard.

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm on the couch, don't you feel Me?

~~

It's every weeknight at 5 pm. The tears won't stop.

Lord, where are You?

I'm in the front seat right beside you.  I didn't leave you.

~~

It's a Saturday afternoon.  The empty walls are closing in on me.

Lord, You can't still be here!

I'm sitting in your favorite corner in Harlow's room.  I'm still not leaving you.

~~

It's a Friday at 1:45pm.  My hope dissolves.

Lord, please don't leave me.

I'm still here, Chels.  I'm on the bed, in your mom's hugs.

~~

When I was a little girl sitting in "big church" (the church service for those of you unacquainted with such fancy terms...), I can remember resting my hand with my palm open to the sky on the pew cushion beside me.  I thought, since God is omnipresent--everywhere--then maybe He's sitting right next to me in church.

And if He is, He can hold my hand.

I learned the three "omnis" of God when I was just a wee thing--that He is omniscient (He knows all), omnipotent (He is all-powerful), and omnipresent (He is everywhere)--and it thrilled (and terrified) me to know that He was so all-consuming.

Before I really understood what "omnipresent" meant, my kindergarten brain envisioned that that meant that God comes in the form of a human (nope) who is really, really large.  Because if He had to be everywhere all at once, He had to be spread out somehow--an eyebrow in Cleveland, a kneecap in Sarasota, a toenail in Nebraska.  Basically one giant form spread clear across the galaxy.

And if He was positioned just right, you might be near a really important part of Him, like His face or His hands.

None of this is correct, by the way.  God is not so finite, as we would have Him to be.

He can be wholly with you and wholly with me.  We are so lucky as His children that we don't have to settle for merely a kneecap or a shoulder blade of the Almighty God.

We can have all of Him.  Anytime.  Isn't that incredible?

I have promised that I would finally reveal the nature of the plan God has ordained for me in the last several months, but before I do, I'd like to introduce you to one super-duper special man who has helped me through this difficult time.

That man is Joseph, the son of Jacob.

Joseph has, of late, become perhaps my favorite character in the whole Bible for many reasons--he was wise, displayed magnanimous integrity in the face of all things evil, and he had a heart bursting forth with forgiveness, no matter the transgression that besieged him.

He was one of the greatest men of the Bible, but for thirteen straight years, he sat in a dungeon.  A pit.

For doing absolutely nothing wrong.

God eventually restored Joseph to one of the highest positions in Egypt, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

What perfectly prepared him for a time of greatness and plenty was a time of undue suffering, loss, and nothingness.

But just like God isn't so big that He can't find His way to a little girl on a pew on a Sunday morning to hold her hand, the Lord wasn't so preoccupied with other things that He couldn't find His way into a pit to sit with a man who loved Him.

Make no mistake about it.  As the song "No Matter What" by Kerrie Roberts goes, "Before a heartache can ever touch my life, it has to go through Your hands," the unjust suffering of Joseph was allowed by God.

But He never left his side in the pit.

And as Joseph endured this longsuffering with unsurpassed patience and endurance, the Lord, in turn was kind to Joseph.  And He transformed him from a young boy to a glimmering godly gem.

But the pit.  It isn't easy.

~~

It's a Thursday night, October 24.  I can't breathe.

The phone quivers without ceasing in my hand as it slides with my tears down the side of my face.  The words, "I'm not sure I want to stay married to you," reverberate with intensity in my ear and spill down my spine with a chill.  My thoughts are racing and my breath is heaving, and I'm thinking of everything to bargain or plead to snap me out of this horrible dream.

But the phone call ends quickly.  And my body, heaped in the middle of the bathroom floor, is consumed with heavy sobs that stem deep into my marrow.

This can't be happening to me. 

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm here on the bathroom floor.

~~

It's a Saturday, October 26, at 6 pm.  I'm hot with anger.

I'm told there's nothing I can do, nothing I can say.  I remain calm at first, as I offer every option I can think of to mend things. But right and left, I'm told enough change can't occur.  

Suddenly, the house is taunting me.  The framed wedding invitation that proudly sits atop our mantle.  The pictures of our life together tacked to every table and wall.  The child that sleeps peacefully just feet away from the disaster that's occuring.  The panic catches me by the throat.  The hands that held mine as I gave birth to our long-awaited daughter are clenched and soon to be rid of the symbol that ties us together. 

I fall on the bed, weeping as a decade flashes through my thoughts.  I don't want this.  Not at all.

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm in the front hall, the living room, the bedroom.

~~

It's a Sunday afternoon, November 3.  I swallow hard.

We have just come home from the airport after Harlow and I visited with my sister in Texas.  I'm exhausted from the flight but muster all the composure I can as I sit on the couch and wait for his next move.  I dedicate my attention to Harlow as she flits around the living room, glad to be off the plane, but my ears pick up a thud on the bed.

And with the sound of the zipper, instantly, I know.

The hangers clang together inside of his suitcase.

His bag and his heart roll across the room and to the door.

Harlow paws at the door after it closes quietly behind him.

Lord, where are You?

I didn't leave you.  I'm on the couch, don't you feel Me?

~~

It's every weeknight at 5 pm for weeks.  The tears won't stop.

It's when he usually calls because he's done with work for the day, and we discuss dinner and our plans for the evening.  But the phone sits silently, so silently, and it's hurting my ears.  The emptiness of the house pierces my gut.  I need air, a reprieve.

I load Harlow up in the car, and off we drive into the pitch black evening.  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...every evening.

I don't know where to turn except for the back of the Target parking lot, where I park and collapse on the steering wheel in heaving sobs.  The radio sings the worship that my mouth can't utter for the sake of the pain and the cries...

Lord, I need You

Oh, I need You

Every hour I need You

My one defense

My righteousness

Oh, God, how I need You.

So teach my song to rise to You

When temptation comes my way.

When I cannot stand I'll fall on You.

Jesus, You're my hope and stay.

Thankfully, Harlow sits quietly in the back, unaware of the heartbreak in the front seat and basking in the beauty of the worship that envelopes that little parking space.

Lord, where are You?

I'm in the front seat right beside you.  I didn't leave you.

~~

It's a Saturday afternoon, December 7.  The walls are closing in on me.

Harlow is 18 months today, but I see her only for the morning, as it's his weekend.

I watch as my marriage is packed away in bags and boxes and stuffed into a U-Haul. Men from the church showed up who didn't mind moving a girl they loved at 7 am on a Saturday in subzero temperatures.

As they clear out, the house reeks of its sorrow and emptiness and sings of the loneliness I've felt for more than a month.  I trace the walls with my fingers, and the hardwood we picked out together with such excitement is splattered with my tears.  I pray fervently over every nook and cranny, every room, as I walk about, reliving the happiness that once existed within these bricks and mortar.

And finally, I come to Harlow's room.  The lack of furniture and life instantly reminds me of the days after miscarrying when I would cry in the corner by the window, wondering if we would ever be able to put a baby in here.  The room is quiet with sadness anew.  And I fall to my knees, wailing to God how I don't want this divorce.  Lord, please don't let it pass.  Save what I know is there!  Bring us hope and restoration!

But the silence sits with me on the floor.  Today, I've lost it all.  My husband, my home, and my dogs, which will be given away in mere minutes.  My faith is running dry.

Lord, You can't still be here!

I'm sitting in your favorite corner in Harlow's room.  I'm still not leaving you.

~~

It's a Friday, December 27, at 1:45 pm.  My hope dissolves.

The message on the phone is the one I've been dreading for weeks.

And today, two days after Christmas, right as I'm walking into Harlow's room to get her up from her nap, it happens.

I am served with divorce papers. 

I choke on my breath as I fall to pieces in my old bedroom in my parents' house, where I sleep now.  The bed that I slept on giddily after teenaged date nights with him.  The bed that I slept on the night before I became his bride, his wife.

It's now the bed that catches my fall as it all comes crashing down.

My mother holds me, sobbing into my back.

I reach for my faith, my God, through the fits of hurt and confusion.

Lord, please don't leave me.

I'm still here, Chels.  I'm on the bed, in your mom's hugs.

~~

I have been on my knees for months searching the heart and mind and will of God, beseeching Him to come through on my behalf, to heal what's been broken, to restore what's been smashed, to bring beauty from the ashes.

And to dispel any thoughts that this was composed to expose or hurt the one I have loved most, because that is not my heart, I'm not afraid to be vulnerable here.

It takes two people for a relationship to fall through the cracks. I am a sinner through and through, and you can bet my days have been full of regret that I wasn't the best, godly wife I could have been and that I now know I can be. I have had major trust issues. I can be judgmental and quick to be angry. I can hold a grudge like nobody's business, and I've been quite skilled in the shame and blame game.  I withheld grace when it should have been abundant. 

I am nowhere near perfect. But it has taken losing everything of importance for me to find my knees and reevaluate everything about my life. 

Starting with number one: nobody takes the place of God in my life.

Things so easily take first place. Career. Kids. Marriage. Looks. Money. And when they do, it all falls apart. 

My number one priority wasn't straight, and it crumbled in the quicksand. 

But God has dealt kindly with me in the godly boot camp I've been enrolled in against my wishes. And He has used the pain to dethrone the unimportant and to reveal just how awesome He is. 

He has provided for my every need thus far.  He has taught me patience and relinquishing control (which we are always working on. I am such a slow learner...)

But I pray everyday for a miracle. For a return.

And if you are reading this and contemplating divorce and haven't given it everything you've got and turned your heart over to The Lord, please...if you don't hear anything else I say,

Stay. And try.

There's a reason God intends marriage to last a lifetime, so please, even if the feelings are gone, know that it's normal. And if you can fall out, you can fall back in love. It's a choice to love. Marriage is a sacred, sacred covenant entered into before God and is not meant to be invalidated because you quit feeling ooey gooey about the one you chose for life.  The feelings come and go. Anyone who's been married longer than twenty seconds knows that. It's the commitment that matters and makes the love last. 

But God has to be number one. No exceptions to the rule. If He is pricking your heart and you know you aren't in His will, turn back.

I'll bet there is an anxious "father" waiting by the door for his "prodigal" to come home. And he doesn't want to scold you. He wants to celebrate your homecoming!

~~~

This has been such a difficult season. 

I have hope and I doubt.  I have faith and I stumble.  And the harder I pray, the harder things get.

But God.

He is with me.

God is good, even though the pit is not.

I didn't think it could get harder than the miscarriages.

I didn't think it could get harder than Harlow getting sick.

Things were at rock bottom, and then.

The bottom dropped out.

But praise God, He isn't spread out with only His elbow for Nashville, Tennessee to grasp.  He's right here with me.  He's right here with you.

He never left.  And He never will.

And it still helps to retain the naivete of the little girl inside me that holds out her hand, longing to hold the hand of her Savior.  Who's to say He won't?

Friends, I am eager for your prayers as I continue on in this season of unknown and unwanted happenings.  I pray for redemption, but I have learned that letting go of my plans is the only way to experience what incredible plans He has made for me. I just have to get out of the way. 

And in the meantime, this little hymn will ring from my soul...

When peace like a river attendeth my way....

When sorrows like sea billows roll...

Whatever my lot...

Thou hast taught me to say...

It is well.

It is well with my soul. 

The Lord gives and The Lord takes away. 

Blessed be the name of Yahweh.