Broken Together

Snuggled up against my husband's chest, wrapped in his arms at the end of a long day, I was feeling especially contented... happy...  blessed.  Sometimes I just can't quite wrap my mind around what God has been doing in our lives and it was one of those evenings.  I was lost in the wonder of it all when I suddenly realized where I had been a year ago.  At the beginning of April last year... our psychologist had helped me uncover something that had shocked me to the core. 

Carl and I had begun counseling not because there was anything earth-shattering going on in our marriage.  It wasn't full of hostility or knock-down, drag-out fights.  There wasn't even the slightest threat of divorce.  At times there was some tension just below the surface – it's easy to get off-balance when you're walking on all that stuff swept under the carpet!  Really, though, it was just that our marriage wasn't what it should be... or what either of us wanted it to be.  We were more business partners than best friends.  Traveling basically the same direction, but on parallel roads – enough distance between us to make for a lonely journey.   By the time that morning in April had rolled around, we'd been in counseling for somewhere around 6 months, making slow progress.

That morning, though, Carl wasn't feeling well... so I went to our session alone.  I started by talking about my own mood issues.  We talked about the fact that I internalize and bury emotions so deeply that a lot of the time even I don't know what's going on inside me.  Our psychologist began trying to help me draw it out by using stem sentences – he would start a sentence like "I feel most sad when..." and I was supposed to complete it.    After a few rounds of stem sentences he stopped and observed, "So you feel sad and alone in your marriage."  I corrected him, "Not sad... but, yeah...  alone."  The next stem sentence took a slightly different turn.  He started, "I feel most happy in my marriage when...."  I stopped cold as I realized there was nothing – the only honest answer I could give was "I don't."  After struggling with that for a few minutes I finally turned to our counselor and quietly gave voice to my realization, telling him it had surprised me.  He nodded his head in understanding and added, "Not a good, surprise, huh?"  It wasn't.  It shook me to the core.

So here I am...  a year later...  snuggled into my husband's chest, overflowing with love and happiness and feeling blessed beyond belief.  What happened?  God happened.  As I snuggled deeper into Carl's chest I reflected aloud, "You know, we've been through some pretty hard things in the last year...  but I wouldn't trade any of it if it meant we couldn't be right where we are today."  He understood exactly what I was saying and agreed completely.  We have been through some rough stuff.  We've been through some things that any sane couple would want to avoid... some things that should have pushed us further apart – especially given our "drifting" status before we even hit them!  Honestly, if God had let me in on what He was going to take us through, I'm not sure I would've agreed to it.  Actually, I am pretty sure I wouldn't have!  Yet... those very things which should have pushed us apart have drawn us together; things which should have destroyed trust, instead nurtured it; things satan meant for harm, God used for good.  And there in the storm, in amazing ways that could only be God... love grew.  

The truth is, we wouldn't be where we are without those hard times... times when we were broken together.   Broken to become healed.  Broken to become stronger.  I've heard it said that broken bones heal to become even stronger than they were before the break.  I don't know if that's true.  I do know that we have.  Our marriage now is much more than either of us could have dared to dream. So, no... I wouldn't trade any of it.  Not even the tough stuff.

And with that thought and a prayer of thanks, I snuggled even deeper into my beloved's chest, feeling his arms tighten around me... contented...  happy... blessed beyond belief... and absolutely amazed at all God has been doing and is continuing to do. 

Maybe you and I were never meant to be complete
Could we just be broken together
If you can bring your shattered dreams and I'll bring mine
Could healing still be spoken and save us
The only way we'll last forever... is broken together

            - Casting Crowns, Broken Together

Giving Them Over

Romans 1:24:  God gave them over in the lusts of their hearts to impurity...

Romans 1:26:  God gave them over to degrading passions...

Romans 1:28:  God gave them over to a depraved mind...

God gave them over... and over... and over.  I think Paul wanted to make a point here!  When something is repeated three times, it's important – it's time to sit up and take notice.  I studied those verses intently when I was a teen.  Our church's Bible Quiz team won first place at nationals the year we studied the book of Romans, so it's one that sticks with me pretty well.  I knew it inside and out.  But even though I knew it, I didn't understand it.  Oh, I thought I did.  I read about the wrath of God in Romans 1:18 and somehow I interpreted the verses later in the chapter as a show of God's wrath against unrighteous people.  It does speak of his wrath against their sin, no doubt about that.  As the parent of a prodigal child, though...  with the path I have walked... the path I am walking...  I suddenly see those verses in another light.

As a parent of a prodigal child, all I want to do is rush in and save my child.  I want to rescue her and spare her the consequences of her own decisions.  I want to prevent her from the behaviors that I know will only end in heartache.  But deep inside I know a hard truth.  Even if I could control her actions, it's her heart that needs saving.  Controlling her actions won't do that.  There's a reason the father let his prodigal son leave with his inheritance.

Our dog is a habitual counter-surfer.  We have a locking trash can; we store bread and other goodies out of reach; and we crate him when we leave for even a little while.  If we don't, he will find a way to get into trouble. I frequently laugh that, "He's a good dog... as long as all other options are removed."  Putting him in the crate curbs his behavior, but has done nothing to change the fact that he will listen to his stomach over his head every time!  I know I'm not changing his heart.  

Even knowing that, part of me still longs to control my daughter's actions; to prevent the things that I know will bring heartache.  Deep inside, though, I know that I really want more than to control her actions. I want her to come to the place where she makes those decisions on her own – even when all other options have not been removed.  I want her heart to be changed.

That's where it gets hard.  A heart change requires pain. We will never turn around if there is nothing that convinces us that our current direction is unprofitable. I know, then, that keeping my child from the consequences of her decisions will ultimately only keep her from learning... keep her from turning.  If I rush in and save her, she will never experience the pain that will cause her to grow... to turn around and change direction (repent).  So... like the father of the prodigal son, I step back and watch through my tears.  It is not because I'm angry or full of wrath... but because I want nothing more than for her to realize the emptiness of the path she is choosing.  

When you step back and let your child face the consequences of her own decisions... when you give her over to her own decisions... and your heart breaks with the pain of it... that's when you know that parenting isn't for cowards; that love is tough.  In that moment, too, I think you understand those verses in Romans 1 just a little bit more.  I think you understand God just a little bit more.   He gives us over... giving us the opportunity to realize the emptiness and pain of doing life our way...  giving us the opportunity to turn around. 

As the parent of a prodigal child, I find comfort in that.  I find comfort in knowing that I'm following a God who has been there, done that.  It gives me hope to follow His example... and comfort in knowing that He totally understands the pain involved in the giving.  Giving them over.

-jenn

Our "Secret"

Nearly three weeks ago, my husband and I renewed our wedding vows.  It was a small, simple service right after the Sunday morning services in our church.  I've been told there wasn't a female there without tears in her eyes.  I don't know – my eyes never left my husband's face.  I do know that whatever was – and is – was all God.

After the service, someone called out to me, "Can you tell us your secret?"  I was on my way to grab something from my purse, but as I hurried away I yelled back over my shoulder, "Prayer!"  I wish now I'd taken the time to really answer.  The answer is still prayer, but I'm afraid it seemed a little glib as I said it over my shoulder that morning.  There was nothing glib about it.  It's honest truth... and so much more important than anyone would have believed from the way I tossed my answer out that morning.

Several months ago, during one of our counseling sessions, our psychologist asked me what my husband could do to help when I was experiencing the depressive side of my mood disorder.  I shrugged my shoulders – I really didn't know.  I didn't think there was anything he could really do for me in those moments.  It was just something I had to get through on my own.  Our psychologist then asked how it would be if my husband prayed for me.  Tears gathered unexpectedly in my eyes.  It touched me in a way that surprised me.  The thought of my husband praying over me was an intensely powerful one.

I think it was a few weeks later when our psychologist gave us an assignment – to pray together daily.    Those first few prayers stirred something within me.  To be honest, though, while the prayers continued fairly regularly... the stirrings inside didn't.  The prayers were stilted...  predictable...  a little like reading from a prayer book rather than talking from the heart.  I could almost hear my last pastor calling them "vending machine" prayers.

In late August, though, we found ourselves face to face with some tough things to work through.  In a hotel room, away from friends and family, with prayers from two pastors covering us, we began with prayer.  There were some hard questions that night... and some hard answers.  There were silent prayers as we grappled honestly and openly with the problems we faced.  And after everything was said, there were more prayers.  The seemingly rote type of prayer we had shared over the past few months was gone – replaced by prayers of true brokenness and openness between us.  Prayers of repentance.  Prayers for direction.  Prayers of thanksgiving.  After that last prayer, I leaned over to hug my husband.  As I drew back from the hug, I kissed his cheek and suddenly, as I tasted the saltiness of the tears coursing down his face (and mine), there was an inexplicable healing.  Those broken, humble, open, honest prayers had torn down something between us and allowed God in to stir things... renew things... heal things in a way that left us both with our jaws hanging open.  It was not the ending either of us had anticipated for the evening.  It was a new beginning with Jesus' fingerprints all over it – something only God could do.

We pray together daily now – sometimes several times.  Now, when I feel a mood swing coming on, I talk with my husband, let him hold me, and he prays over me. (Trust me, guys... if you do this for your wife with sincerity, she will turn to mush!).  When things are rough at the office or he's facing other personal struggles, I pray over him.  When he left town on business a couple of weeks ago, we called each other every night and prayed together over the phone.   It's my first thought now when trouble hits.  I was starting dinner preparations recently when I received a piece of disturbing news.  After just a moment's hesitation, I dropped everything and walked out the door – straight down the road to my husband's office... to pray together.  It was just too important to wait.  A couple of months ago I'm not sure we would have prayed together about it at all.  Last week, I couldn't wait.  Just this morning, I threw my arms around his neck and prayed with him outside the house as he left for work.  Yep, standing in the yard right out there in front of everyone.  It's that important.

I do have to say that prayer alone wasn't an immediate miracle cure for us.  Those "vending machine" or rote prayers didn't do it.  It took getting honest and real with each other and praying from the heart.  Praying openly and honestly with each other has brought us closer together and keeps us close – we're a team, in this together.  Praying openly and honestly for each other has also brought a new intimacy to our marriage.  Nothing makes you feel more cherished than having your spouse hold you and pray over you.  We've been extremely blessed to have a Christian psychologist who recognizes that spiritual intimacy is a vital part of the emotional intimacy that's required for a good marriage.  I just can't imagine successful marriage counseling with someone who never even brings God into it.  Prayer unites us; moves us; heals us.

Prayer.  Praying together; praying over each other; drawing closer to each other while drawing closer to God.  That's been our "secret" for the past few weeks. Yes, I know that a few weeks isn't long in the scheme of things, but I can only say that our marriage has changed in ways I can't begin to explain.  Honestly, we've been feeling a little bit like newlyweds!  My sister calls us "cute."   I call us blessed.  And each night as we fall asleep... we pray... and thank God for all He is doing in our lives.... 

We pray.

-jenn

 

Making All Things New - an invitation

Twenty-seven years ago, a girl barely 19 years old took the hand of the 20 year old boy standing in front of her and with all the innocence and hope of those 19 years shining in her eyes said, "I do."  Twenty-six years later, she sat on a bench beside him watching the wind pound the waves of Lake Michigan into the sand, trying to find the courage to tell him that she'd spoken to their daughter's psychologist about starting marriage counseling.  When she finally found the courage, he admitted he'd been thinking the same thing.  

Over the course of the last year of counseling, we've had times where it felt like two steps forward, one step back.  Other times, it's felt like one step forward, two steps back.  While there's been progress, it's been slow.  At times it seems there've been more tears than laughter; more hurt than hope. 

A few weeks ago, at a point where our hearts were more broken than ever before, we took a night away to talk through some things.  The drive to the hotel that night was one of the longest, quietest drives we've ever had.  Neither of us knew what to expect that evening.  We began with prayer.  We ended with prayer.  There was prayer through the entire evening.  And... there was God.  In the midst of our tears, God met us there in a totally unexpected way.  Jehovah Rapha – the God who Heals – showed up in all His glory.  He restored what was broken, redeemed that which had been lost.  I can't begin to explain what happened that evening... except to say that the course of our marriage was changed forever with a night neither one of us will ever forget -- a night that had Jesus' fingerprints all over it.

At one point that evening, I looked into my husband's eyes and with all the hope and love given by my Savior shining from my eyes... I whispered, "I am my beloved's and he is mine."  Spoken from my heart, the words paraphrased from the Song of Songs were a vow; a promise; a reaffirmation of the covenant we had made twenty-seven years ago.  I meant it with everything that was within me.  At that moment in time, at this moment in time, those words mean so much more than the "I do" I'd promised twenty-seven years ago.  I understand so much more now all that those words mean.  

On that evening, with the words from Song of Solomon, I renewed my wedding vows to my husband.  This Sunday, after the morning services at our church, we will renew those vows before God, family and friends.  We understand more fully now what those vows really mean... and they mean more to us now than ever before.  We will also exchange new rings – not to replace our wedding rings, but to represent our renewed commitment.  The Song of Solomon rings bear the Hebrew inscription from the Song of Solomon – the words I spoke as a vow that evening.  We've also had them engraved with the words, "Making All Things New."  God is doing a new thing in our lives.  We want to acknowledge and remember what it was He did that night – moving beyond our wildest imaginations, hopes or dreams.

We know that there is still healing and learning to come.  We are continuing with counseling.  But now when hurt comes, we seek solace and comfort in each other's arms, covering each other in prayer and drawing close to our Savior.  We are choosing to seek the joy that God has promised and choosing to fight – together – the evil that would seek to destroy it.  Now, more than ever, we appreciate the vows that we have made; the vows we will be renewing. 

Perhaps it seems a little strange, but I think we are just as excited about renewing our vows as we were to say them the first time.  Originally, I had thought we would keep the renewal of our vows simple and private.  As we thought more about it, though, and the incredible gift that God has given us, we realized we couldn't keep that to ourselves.  We want to be a testimony to what God can do – what He wants to do.  We want to share the incredible joy He has brought us.  We still want it to keep it simple, and we don't want anyone to feel obligated.  But... if you want to share in our joy... and witness what God is doing... we'd love to have you there.  

-jenn

The Silent Screams

Over the last few years, I've become convinced that the screams we don't hear are the ones filled with the most gut-wrenching pain: the heart broken in two by this world, but with a smile painted firmly in place. No one knows the turmoil. No one guesses at the brokenness inside. No one hears the scream. No one... shares the burden.

When I was around 6 years old, I was sexually abused. I didn't tell anyone because I believed that I was at least partially at fault. What would people think? Even as a young child, shame rendered me mute. No one knew the turmoil and confusion inside. No one could offer answers to questions I didn't dare to ask.

Someone else faces a personal struggle. There is fear of being found out; fear of judgment; fear of rejection. The risk seems larger than the potential benefit of sharing it, so the struggle is faced alone. No understanding. No encouragement. And when there is victory? There is no one to share that with, either. No shouts of joy. No celebration. The victory that could give hope and direction to someone else is hidden away because the struggle itself was hidden.

Shame keeps us isolated. Shame intensifies our pain. Shame keeps us from helping each other.

 
Sometimes, though, our reasons for not sharing seem more honorable than just protecting ourselves from shame.

A few years ago my daughter was diagnosed with cyclothymia (a form of bipolar). My screams were once again shoved down where no one could hear them, but for an entirely different reason. I wrote: 

I am... the mother of a bipolar teen. Her diagnosis is mine in that as her mother, I’m in for the ride too. For the most part, I ride alone. I don’t want her to feel I’m sharing her private information... I want her to trust me. So I don’t share. Instead, I ride the roller coaster… knowing that very few people have any idea what we deal with on a daily basis.... Strangely enough, I feel more alone now than I did before the diagnosis. I now know the reason for her turmoil, but I can’t share it without betraying her trust. Because of that, there is a large part of my life that is shut off from others....

Silent.... and alone.

Someone else goes through a tough time with her husband. She doesn't want to paint a poor picture of him to others, so she cries in silent with no one to hear; no one to reach out. She sits through the Sunday morning church service with a smile painted on her face... but heart breaking inside. It's hard. Too hard. She finds more and more reasons to be somewhere else on Sunday morning... somewhere... anywhere... where it's not quite so hard to pretend... where she doesn't feel quite so alone.

The silent scream... pain intensified by isolation. Those unheard cries... faced alone. That's not how we were meant to do life. We shouldn't sit alone in the midst of our friends, our church family. The only thing God said was "not good" in the creation story was that man was alone. So how do we bring those silent screams to where they can be heard? 

The reasons for the silence are varied; some of them even seem good and honorable. The result, though – going through the hard times without being able to talk about it – only intensifies our pain and our feelings of being alone. So how do we tear down the walls? How do we find the strength to share the broken heart... the raging cry within? How do we learn to share one another's burdens and do life together? How do we learn to recognize that silent scream and create an environment to give it voice? It seems I have a lot more questions than answers.... I'd love to hear your thoughts....

-jenn

Where the Bridge Is

A couple of weeks ago I had some time to kill between appointments.  It had been an emotional week, so I parked along the river to enjoy some quiet time.  I sat on a bench under the shade of a willow tree and let the quiet wash over me as I shared my broken heart with God. I turned my face into the breeze and felt His caress in it. I breathed deeply and listened for His voice of comfort.  I am so thankful for a God who reaches across the distance to gather us in His arms.

As I sat resting in the quiet, I noticed a man walking along the shore on the opposite side. The river was wide enough I couldn't see his features, but the man stopped directly across from me and gazed my direction.  I don't know what held his attention -- maybe it was the college campus behind me.  There seemed something lonely and thoughtful about the way he stood there looking over to my side, though.  As I gazed back towards him, I considered the fact that we were so close, and yet so completely separated by the body of water. I thought about that as a picture of us and God. I thought about the illustrations which show Jesus as the bridge between God and man. And as I sat there watching the man gaze across the river, it suddenly dawned on me that there was a footbridge just a few yards to my left. The bridge was there: close, and easily accessible. It was an imposing presence in the sky if you just looked slightly downstream. Yet the man just stared across the river as if he wanted to cross but had no idea how.

That's when it hit me.... how many times is God providing a bridge for us... and we refuse to move even just a little to use it? How many times do we stubbornly insist that this is where we want to cross; where we think we need to be? How many times do we beg for Him to make a way... when the bridge is already there...? How many times do we just need to move... just a little... to where the bridge already is....???

-jenn

Between Sentences

There are times...  times the desire to write is so strong... I feel like something inside me will come spilling out if I simply pick up a pen, or maybe my guitar.... It's something like floodwaters building up inside and somehow the pen is the floodgate to release it all.  And yet... I sit with my pen poised above the paper with nothing to say.  Nothing comes magically to the surface, despite the feeling of urgency within.  I sit... wait... wonder... and... nothing. Tonight is one of those times.

It's tempting in those times to immerse myself in a book; check out Facebook; browse the internet... anything to distract myself from the burning within... and from the frustration of the empty page in front of me.  Tonight, though, I sit in my car looking out over a local park and between sentences, as I sit and wait for the words that don't come... I hear the sound of birds in the nearby trees; the insects of a late summer evening; quiet conversations as couples and families take the walking path nearby....  

While I watch and listen between sentences, the burning desire... the desperate frustration... melts into a quiet peace; a calm enjoyment of God's creation... and the joy of a summer evening.

Between the sentences... as I wait... comes the quiet....  And maybe that's what the waiting is for.

"Let all that I am wait quietly before God,
for my hope is in him." 
Psalm 62:5

  -jenn