Coffee Chat: Love and Marriage

I didn't particularly want to write about love and marriage, but the recurring theme these days is fitting as we watch our family members and friends deal with divorce, new love, marriage, family, and such.  So here we are. We'll see how this one goes.

This year we have already attended the wedding of a friend and in two weeks we will attend another.  In both instances, the new partners had been previously married.  I'd watched them go through the heartbreak of divorce and the long spell of grieving that follows it.  I'd watched as they eventually met new people.  Saw them both go through the process of dating and finally felt comfortable entering into a new relationship only to find it all wrong, saw their disbelief and then joy as they eventually found a new partner who appeared to be all they'd ever dared to dream of having.  

I see them frequently.  I still see that genuine joy on their faces.  I know how they feel.  I never expected to be here myself.   I say this after nearly 32 years of marriage, marveling most days over my great blessing. 

When I was married the first time, I cannot say that I was in love.  I thought I could make the relationship work.   I did not go into it thinking I would fail.  I don't want to go into all the reasons why I married the man I did nor all of my thinking at the time.  I was young, younger than most girls my age emotionally and I'd read a lot of romance novels.  So, I was a typical 19-year-old who knew nothing but thought I knew a lot.  

I managed well enough, if not in making a happy marriage, at least making it tolerable until somewhere along about the eighth year then we went through one of those places that are just damned difficult if you're both pulling the oars in the same direction and which is impossible when you're fighting over what that direction is every time you dip an oar in the water. We somehow stayed married for another five years.  

In those five years, I did my best to improve myself in every way.  You see, I didn't see him as the problem.  I saw myself as the problem. I was the unhappy one.  I was determined to be better in every way.  I went through therapy, gave up a compulsive eating habit, learned that a little make-up and looking neatly put together covered a multitude of physical flaws, went to technical school, earned a degree with a 4.0 average, developed friendships with other women of my age who also had children of the same ages as mine, volunteered in the local school, and filled several positions in a community-based civic organization, including serving as president of the chapter.  Following school, I found a job that paid a decent wage.  One of my husband's complaints had always been that I didn't 'contribute' to the household.  I just knew that getting a job was going to be the answer to making this marriage work...I worked hard and non-stop for five years.

But at the end of those five years, I realized, despite all the changes I'd made,  my marriage was in more trouble than it had been in the first eight years.  With every improvement, my former husband resented me more and more and grew increasingly jealous and abusive.  Positive changes were not what he wanted.   The new and improved version of me that I'd thought would help build a stronger marriage was beyond abhorrent to him.  The more people found me likable, the less he liked me.

Those years I'd spent in self-improvement had only enhanced the huge chasm between his character and mine.  Not that I was flawless.  I wasn't.  There was in me something that he rejected fully and completely within himself and I want to say it was decency.  He worked a lot.  I was alone, a lot.  We struggled financially.  We fought over the usual things.  We faced a few difficult things.  But in the end, I cannot say much about him without casting aspersions on myself.  I could tell you all my reasoning at the time I made the choices I did, I could tell you why I struggled so to stay in the marriage, I could tell you all the hurts we dealt one another but to what purpose?  I can tell you only that what was tolerable grew intolerable and then went beyond intolerable. 

I walked out, taking my children with me and moving into Granny's.  I found a rental house, made a downpayment on the place and two days later I got hit by a drunk driver on my way to work.  I spent the next two weeks in the hospital and six weeks at a physical rehab hospital.  The children stayed with Granny until my brother called up my husband and reminded him that they were supposed to return to school.  He picked them up and from that time I  never knew where my children were for the next seven weeks. 

I spent 8 hours a day in therapy, six days a week,  working hard to do the daily things in a way that worked with my broken and compromised body. I was in constant pain, not just physically but emotionally.  I worried constantly that I had nowhere to go once I got out of rehab, had no car, felt uncertainty about my job being held for me, and had doubts about whether I would ever again see my children.  

I have never felt so alone and lost in my life. My mother was pretty much my only visitor.  Each visit ended with her telling me what a loser I was for having been in the accident, accusing me of neglecting my children and berating me for my marital woes...Nothing my own head didn't keep screaming at me.  She was just the physical voice of all those rages within my own mind.  She was giving voice to her own anger and rage over her own failing marriage.

The hard days weren't over after rehab. I had to move in with my parents.  I wasn't released to go back to work until mid-July and this was in May.  If the trice weekly visits were hell the reality of living with my parents daily was worse. The house was not handicap friendly.   I had to ask my mother-in-law if she could take the children during the week because of my father's alcoholism and Mama's rages.  I dealt too frequently with my husband who would randomly show up and threaten my life.  

I  struggled to literally and financially get back on my feet so that I could get a car,  return to work,  go through the divorce process, and find and make a home for myself and my children.  I can't tell you all the things that happened that summer.  And even after that, it wasn't over.  

What haunted me most was the belief that I'd failed.  I'd walked out.  I'd broken the covenant.  I heard constantly and believed those who told me I'd harmed my children, that I was selfish,  that I hadn't stood the test.   And to this day, knowing all I know now about my ex-husband, the hidden issues in our marriage that rotted it from underneath, I still feel that it was I who failed.

It took years of self-examination to finally acknowledge that I'd done all I could to make that marriage work.  And to accept that yes, I had failed in that marriage in many ways.  

The other night, I spoke with a woman I've been acquainted with for several years.  I knew that her husband wasn't a Christian and that she was.  I asked if she was all right.  She had always been very reticent but suddenly opened her heart to me.  She is in a situation that grows increasingly unhappy.  She has been married for 47 years.  I saw the deep sadness that she has hidden so well, the pain of living in a sham marriage.  I heard the bitterness in her voice, and though she didn't speak in anger, I could feel it burning beneath the surface like a deep fever.  I knew that what she spoke was true and that it was something she was not accustomed to sharing.  I heard the lack of hope. I wondered what made her stay. Too tired to care anymore?  Fearful?  

From the outside looking at her, she seems to be a lovely person.  She has a decent job. She isn't unattractive.  She's talented and accomplished.   Questions echoed in my head the rest of the evening. "Why doesn't she divorce him?  Why does she stay?"  "Could that have been I?"  I never asked her those things.  It's none of my business.  It's not.  I ache for her, I pray for her to find her peace, but who am I to ask such a question of anyone?

 Looking at that woman who didn't walk away, who had capitulated and stayed, I saw the woman who had given up everything, gained nothing, and decided to remain as her husband wanted her to be, even though that person didn't make him happy.   A woman who had been deeply disappointed in life. A woman who would keep working because the thought of being home all day long with this man would surely lead to her early demise.  I heard the bitterness of lost hope in her voice. I saw the tears she fought to swallow back.  

Had I stayed with my first husband, this year, this very day, would have been our 46th year of marriage. I tried hard to imagine myself now, in that previous marriage.  As always, when I think of my former marriage something in me feels like I've peered into a grave and seen horrible things, far more horrible than what I'd known.  What I see isn't him.  I see myself as I was and as I am sure I would have become had I stayed.

During the season following my divorce, I was invited to multiple weddings.  Listening to the betrothed couples exchanging their vows, I heard those words.  I heard them from the deepest regions of my heart. I heard them and mulled over them.  I vowed that never again would I take them as lightly as I'd done the day I spoke those words for the first time. In the intervening years, those words had become what they were meant to be: sacred.  

 I met John again two years after my divorce and married him two years after that.

For ten years, I'd lived in the first house on the street with my former husband and John lived in the third house on the opposite side with his wife.  We nodded when we saw one another. We lived on that street for ten years and I barely spoke to him. I officially 'met' him the day I was hit by the drunk driver and I would not see him again until two years later through a chance encounter.  He had gone through a divorce by then.  I asked him if he'd care to attend a class at a Church that was ministering to divorced people.  I had a group of friends who were also going.   John and I dropped out of the class halfway through because we had started dating, which wasn't allowed. We talked about it long into the night, questioning if we should complete the class or continue to see one another.  We decided to keep seeing each other. And here we are nearly 32 years later...

I love John.  I like him, which he always says is the most important thing.  I've learned that love wanes and ebbs in intensity but liking someone is what will carry you through those times when passion might seem to be more 'meh' and less 'Yeah!'   We all have those seasons of life.  I know this now. 

In the two years of our pre-marital relationship, I saw again and again the qualities that made John a worthy partner.  I saw that he wanted to be constantly evolving into a better person.  I saw what he valued. I saw his integrity, and I appreciated his honesty, even if it sometimes hurt.  I learned that criticism from him wasn't aimed to tear one down but to literally point one in the direction in which they should go.  I saw that he was an encourager.  And that in times of trouble he was Johnny on the spot.   I was never alone in any trouble because John was always by my side.

I have been divorced.  I sit with those words every single day.  I feel shame at saying them.  I still feel it is my personal failure.  I am happily married.  I couldn't be here if I hadn't come from that place of failure.  It made me determined to get marriage right if I ever had a second chance.

Do I condone divorce and the dissolving of a marriage?  No.  I do not.  I cannot. Not just because I am a Christian.  I cannot, because deep down in my soul, I feel a marriage ought to be forever.  I did then.  I do now.  I've seen the pain and grief and sometimes the raw ugliness of people going through the dissolution of a marriage. I know.  I know.

I've seen the wonder and awe when they find a person who loves them, whom they love.  I know. Oh, how I know!

I learned a great deal from my first marriage ending to the time of my second.  I know more about myself.  I know more about what to look for in the characters of people, especially men.  I know deep down how divorce affects you and your partner and your circle of family, friends, and community. Most important of all, I know more about God. 

I also know without a shadow of a doubt that some marriages are wrong and will always be wrong for the two individuals tied together.  And some marriages are the right one and will always be the right one.  

Watching my child go through these trials by fire, I want to tell him so many things.   I want to tell him to grieve all that he needs to grieve.  A broken marriage is worth grieving over.  I want to tell him not to feel guilty in those moments when he finds himself feeling relieved that it's done.  I want to tell him to be honest with himself.  To know his strengths and to examine his flaws so he can work to improve himself.  I want to tell him that the years behind with his wife were good when they were good and to embrace what he had but know he must let it go, too. I want to tell him I know that he feels this failure deeply.  I want to tell him that failure can be a useful thing.  I want to tell him that this too shall pass.  I want to tell him that after this season of grief and heartache, there will be a new season.   I want to tell him to lean hard upon God.  

But all I say as he talks is "I know..."  Because I do. 

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