A friend shared a blog on Facebook written by a woman who’d been left by her husband.
A small confession. Which is not really a confession, because I’m pretty sure you won’t care, but I’ll give it anyway:
I don’t read blogs.
I read books.
But not blogs.
Several months ago, someone commented on my blog that I “sounded a lot like Ann Voskamp, only easier to understand.”
At first, I thought this was a great compliment.
Then I realized it probably meant I was reading too much of Ann.
Only, I “easier to understand.” Read: dumbed-down.
In short, I was becoming a dumber version of Ann.
Anyway, I don’t read because I either get mad or I get jealous.
Mad because I think I’m a better writer.
🙂
Mad because they’re complaining about their children and mine are gone.
Mad because super-holier-than-thou-Christians will rant word after word about the breakdown of the American family and their answer is “to stay” and some of us need a little more than that and yes, I get mad.
And jealous.
Jealous because somehow their life seems far better; far easier; far more lovely than my own and I don’t want to read about their better, easier, lovelier life.
So I don’t read blogs, but for some reason—today—I did.
My first thought? “I’m a better writer than she is.”
Oh my gosh, I’m kidding!
She described the day that her husband left.
She wrote details of the evening and she shared her heartache and heartbreak and I’ll have to admit, she tugged for a few lines until this.
In bold letters, she said:
In THESE divorces. THESE divorces are particularly traumatic.
THESE divorces? What the HALE?
And I’m already mad!
This is why I don’t read blogs.
I suppose she wouldn’t think my divorce was traumatic?
My husband didn’t come home one night and tell me he felt trapped.
He didn’t come home one night and pack and bags and leave.
One can dream.
Uhm, no. My husband stayed. For almost an entire year, actually.
Her husband loved her enough to leave.
Her husband wanted out. Found a new girl. New man. I don’t know. Movin’ on. Packed his bags. Adios.
He’s a coward and cheater and a lousy father (because when you cheat your wife, you cheat your children), but he left!
Oh my gosh, girl! Celebrate!!
He loved you enough to leave.
The author continues, saying there were no signs. I quit reading. Maybe she corrects herself later, I’m not sure.
No signs?
HALE yes, there were signs!
The problem is she didn’t see them.
I didn’t see them.
A friend of mine was joking one day, making light of, ya know, my completely tattered life and I said, “What? You mean you knew? Were there signs?”
His answer? “Myra Katherine! Not just signs! There was a constellation!”
And do you know the only time he met my husband. At my wedding.
Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of our wedding. So close to 20! What is that? Paper? Pearls? Because dangit, I need new pearls! I accidentally washed them. It could’ve happened to anyone, really. I had poked them into my sheets while camping because they were digging into my skin and then I forgot about that and ya know, washed them.
And dried them.
I have clean and dry pearls.
Anyway.
I was thinking about my anniversary, so maybe that’s why I read this blog and while I did get mad and, yes jealous, I also softened just enough to realize that I do the very same thing that she does.
I dare to compare. My sadness to yours.
Uhg!
And seriously. Who are we to think there is such a thing as “these” divorces or “these” deaths or “these” heartaches. Scripture tells us that if I see a speck in her eye, (and I am telling you, I’m staring at the specks!) then there’s a beam in my own.
Dangit! A whole flipping’ beam!
I’m almost three years into life as a single momma and here’s where I still struggle.
He loved me so little, that what he was giving (or not giving) was what he thought I deserved. The mother of his children.
Undeserving.
Loved. So little.
So yes, sister Ann. I quit reading you for a while, but I remember.
All is grace.
And so to my hurting friends who’ve been left for another woman.
For another man.
For whomever. For whatever.
Find the grace. Give thanks.
Give thanks that he left.
Give thanks that he loved you enough to let you go.
He can continue to be a coward and a cheat and YOU!
YOU get to go and live your life.
“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still.” Maya Angelou
Leaning into the arms of Jesus, fly free, my single mommas!!
The can break their vows, but they can’t crush your spirt.
They can stomp on your heart, but they can’t steal your smile. 🙂
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