We were going to a wedding in October. This had been on my mind the entire time I was home in Tennessee with my family. We had RSVP’d, and as a woman who had recently had a wedding, I knew how important those RSVPs were. I could tell my husband wanted out of attending the wedding, but I felt like I needed him there. I needed him to drive me, I needed him to sit beside me at his place setting, I needed him to help me keep up the illusion that things were fine. He begrudgingly agreed. I kept telling him he wasn’t doing this for me, he was doing it for Rachel (the bride). She had been there for us, for our wedding.  She had stood beside us…she loved us, and come hell or high water we were going to be there for her.

Of course, some of our original plans changed. In the beginning, we had planned on making a romantic weekend out of the trip. We would take a bus to his family’s home, borrow his father’s car, drive to the wedding, stay a couple days, drive back, and then take a bus back to New York. But things were different now. He didn’t want to spend any more time with me than he had to. He made it perfectly clear, we were going to the wedding and that was it. I felt helpless. What could I do? I didn’t own a car and wasn’t sure I had the ability to drive myself. With a defeated heart I agreed to his terms. Who knew? Maybe this would actually be good for us. Maybe seeing a couple get married would inspire him to remember how special our love had been. Maybe he would see the bride and remember seeing me at our wedding. Maybe the ceremony would help him remember the commitment he had made to me, to us.

I wrapped the gift, packed my suitcase, and had my newly dry cleaned dress all ready to go in it’s garment bag. I hauled everything on the subway and headed to the bus station at Port Authority. For those of you who don’t know, Port Authoriry is what I imagine pergatory looks like, it’s terrible, but it’s where the buses board…so that’s where I stood waiting for my husband. The bus trip was awkward. Naturally, I’m still trying to be cheery and optimisitic. Looking back, I think for a long time I was trying to convince him that I was still worth loving. I tried so hard on so many occasions to be “good.” This was one of those occasions. Once we arrived in his parent’s town, they picked us up at the bus station and took us back to their home. I was hoping we could get back on the road immediately, because we still had several hours drive ahead of us and it was already late. My husband refused to start driving until he had something to eat. Normally this really wouldn’t be a big deal, but sitting in his mother’s kitchen while he ate and NO ONE discussed the serious problems we all knew were facing our marriage was perhaps the most uncomfortable I had been in my life. I mean, looking at it realistically, their son was content to cheat on his wife and treat her like dirt, and it didn’t really seem to bother anyone. Utter Madness.

Eventually, we got back on the road. And I do have to thank his parents for letting us borrow their car to take to the wedding. It was a nice gesture and it saved us a lot of money. The drive was rough. We were listening to a country music station on the radio and every time a cheating song came on, we would both chuckle nervously. Not because it was funny, but because this was our life and we were living it every moment of every day. It must have been past 2:00am when we finally arrived at the hotel, checked in, and crashed for the night. I remember thinking to myself, “I got him here. It’s going to be ok. We will make it through this weekend.”

It’s interesting what a person can “make it through.” It’s almost comical how much pain a heart can take. It’s even more surprising when you discover your own personal line where you just let grace take over. I would experience all of this during the upcoming weekend. It would become just one more occasion where I had to turn everything over to God, knowing it would be difficult, but that he would carry me til I could walk again.

Hebrews 4:16 “Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.”

One year ago my divorce was finalized. Two years ago I left New York City. Today I am sitting in my friend Danny’s restaurant, in Queens, about to embark on another new adventure. I will get in my Honda full of everything important that I own, drive to a new location, move into a cast house where I don’t know anyone, and get ready to put up a brand new show in two weeks. And I will love it. I will love waking up in the morning full of purpose. I will love creating a character and an atmosphere with these cast mates whom I haven’t met yet. I will love feeling like I am back at home, even though I’m not exactly sure what “home” is anymore.

Last year, when my divorce papers were returned to me, I felt the last piece of my heart die. I knew it was coming. I had signed the papers. He had signed the papers. We had gone through the division of “things” that don’t really matter, we had agreed upon terms, we had decided to end our covenant. And then, just like that, legally we were not a “we” anymore. And it was at that moment, that realization that “we” would never be a “we” again, that I felt my heart completely leave me. When those finalized divorce papers arrived I was in a safe place. I was at my parents house, surrounded by people who I knew loved me. I was working for my mother and I had to call in my baby sister to take over for me at work. When she arrived, I went in the back, called my friend Cheyenne, and I wept.

I still don’t fully understand why I wept. Could anyone who has never been through a divorce even understand my feeling of loss? At this point, everyone knew we were getting a divorce. It wasn’t a surprise. Those who loved me were even, in a way, happy about it. I could finally put this nightmare behind me and move on. They didn’t want him to be able to hurt me anymore. How could I explain that I would always hurt? I would never be the same. I was forever changed and didn’t know if it was possible to find my way back to love and happiness and hope. And so I wept. I wept for what would never be. I wept for the loss of a heart full of love that had disappeared. I wept because I was emotionally exhausted. On one legal document, my entire future had been erased. And I felt that hurt all over again, so I wept. And she listened. And in the silence of her listening, she loved me.

When I went home I drank an entire bottle of red wine. Because, to be honest, sometimes that is how I coped. I ate Taco Bell for dinner (which oddly enough pairs well with red wine). I tried to wait until I knew he would be free…because I hated when my crazy divorce issues affected my friend’s regular lives, and I text Jake. Because that is also how I cope(d). By now I’m sure he was used to getting random texts dealing with whatever new emotion was making me spiral downward. And, in his usual fashion, he didn’t make me feel like I was ruining his evening. He let me say whatever I needed to say. He assured me that drinking a bottle of red wine at my parents house didn’t make me a sad and pathetic woman. And through the giving of his time, he loved me.

A year has passed since that definitive day in my life, and I knew looking back on it would be emotional for me. My friends would tell you that EVERYTHING is emotional for me. And they would be right. I knew I would need to write about it, because it happened and it’s a part of me and I don’t want to feel ashamed of that. But, here I am, one year later, about to embark on a new adventure. I am sitting at a bar in a restaurant looking at my friend Danny, who, over this past year has become one of those special humans to me who knows how to listen through love and give of his time through love. And he is another one of those examples in my life that proves that I do still have a heart and it is still capable of love. The beauty of looking back at the times when I wanted to crawl into a hole and forget myself completely is that what stands out is not the pain…what stands out is the love. The love of a friend who will listen, a sister who will drop everything, a soulmate who will give of his time, and a new human who may have not been there for the initial pain, but who understands my heart and will help it heal in any way he can.

And so, now, I can say to anyone who is still in pain, who wonders if the despair will ever cease, who still has sleepless nights where they cry and feel sad and want to never wake up…it will end. One day you will look back, and you won’t have it all figured out, but you will feel loved, and you will head out on your own new adventure, and you will praise the God who would not let you fall. The God who continues to give you the gift of humans who will constantly remind you that your presence in their lives matters. The God who has kept you wrapped in his warm embrace this entire time. He is and has been and will continue to be the one who will lead you “home.”

Philippians 3:20 “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

When you google my name one of the first things to pop up is my wedding announcement. Full engagement picture of myself glued to my ex-husband looking like one of those girls in a Noxema ad. I know this because today I googled myself, turned to my best friend and instead of crying or feeling emotionally wounded I said “Look at this. I can’t believe we were married. It feels like someone else’s life. A whole nother life that happened a long time ago.” And it does. That girl smiling back at me with her whole life ahead of her is like a picture of someone I used to know. Yes, I remember the day we took those photos. I could tell you everything about that day. I remember how I picked the dress I wore (Thank you, Galloway), how I was worried about my tan lines showing, how the photographer guided us, even how we chose what restaurant to eat at for dinner. I could tell you all those things, and even still it feels like a lifetime ago. The person I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with…looks like a stranger. It’s sad. I thought for over 8 years that we was my soulmate, and when I lost him I mourned the loss of a love I would never have again. And then I stopped believing in soumates all together.

The term “soulmate” is interesting. Many women speak about their husband being their soulmate. The one human who was meant to be attached to them from their moment of creation. But what does that really mean? Does it mean that if you don’t get married that you are soulmateless? That God forgot about you when he was planning the whole soulmate pair up system? Are the unmarried destined to live a life without a human soul that brings them the earthly joy of unconditional love? This was my fear. I knew I was a good teammate. I knew my shattered heart still had love to give. Would it be unwanted forever?

The short answer is “no.” The long answer is that even when I was at my darkest, God was preparing a human heart to love and protect my heart. He was preparing a friendship that would happen a year into the future. He was preparing a soul that would revive my belief in soulmates.

I don’t want to skip ahead in the story of my journey, but I do want to write about my present discoveries. My prayer is that this shows growth, and healing, and hope…and as far as I’m concerned, a story of hope should always be told. At this point, how we met doesn’t matter. Where we met, under what circumstances, first impressions are all stories for another day. What matters now is that we did meet. What matters now is that I have been given the gift of an unexpected friendship. What matters now is how God surprised me and taught me a lesson about love. The true power of a love that doesn’t fail.

I met Jake a little over a year ago. I had just filed for divorce. I lived my life in fear and woke up every morning hating who I was. I couldn’t feel joy, but I was going through the motions and trying my darnedest to rebuild my life. I kept moving and I had to give myself credit for that. Jake and I worked together. Jake saw me for more than a divorced woman who had failed at marriage. Jake didn’t think I was broken or unwanted or worthless. My circumstances didn’t define who I was to Jake. To this day I still don’t know what made him reach out and befriend me. I was a mess, but he didn’t seem to care. And although at this point I was terrified of men, Jake was gay; so to me that made him feel safe. And Jake put me back together.

We have remained best friends since we met. I spent New Year’s Eve with him a few weeks ago and during our time together I told him my theory that soulmates were a bullshit idea made up by women to romanticize marriage. He turned his precious face to me and said, “I’ve always thought we were soulmates. My heart was destined to love your heart.”

That is the story about how God gave me a true soulmate. That’s the story about how I am still learning about love. That’s the story about about how, once again, God was in control and has provided me with a man who will never allow me to be less than the woman I was created to be.

And that is why, when I saw my perfect Noxema ad looking self staring back at me, I didn’t cringe. That girl was special and she entered into a marriage with a heart full of love and hope for a beautiful future. And that didn’t work out. But this girl, this girl I look at every day…she is strong and she is worthy and she has been taught the beauty of a true love that never fades. And so much if that is due to the fact that God created Jake.

Romans 12:10 “Be devoted to one another in love.”

When I returned to New York it was much of the same. A once a week therapy session that was going nowhere fast, working as much as possible to get through the days, and praying constantly. Faithfully, I would attend our church every Sunday…alone. I had started speaking with my pastor’s wife who I knew would be a prayer warrior for my marriage. I had even started doing a bible study about being an excellent, Godly wife. If I was failing in this marriage, I wanted desperately for God to let me know, so I could change. I racked my brain for any possible step I could take to move this healing process along. I was miserable, but I didn’t even know it. I was so focused on the end game that I couldn’t see how this was tearing away at every part of me.

The weekend after I got back, my husband was headed out of town for a football game. He would return to his hometown and be surrounded by his family who would tell him how wonderful he was, and diminish any responsibility he had in the destruction of our marriage. Nobody thought to say, “You don’t get to come to this game. You stay at home and work on your marriage and start respecting your wife.” I don’t say this to be mean, I say this because it’s true and honest and shows how little support I was receiving when I needed it the most. Side note: When you marry a man, you marry his family as well. Anyone who tells you any different is dead wrong and has most likely never been married.

I was to stay in New York because one of my very best friends was having her bachelorette party. She had been in our wedding and we had been friends for years. She had moved to California, but had chosen to come back to New York and celebrate her bachelorette weekend in the city. I had not told her about my marriage problems. I didn’t want to spoil her wedding preparations with my husband drama. She had been so good to me during my wedding and I just wanted her to be happy and have an amazing time surrounded by her loving girlfriends. Several of the other girls attending knew my dirty marriage secret, but they had agreed not to talk about it for the weekend and just focus on the beautiful bride-to-be.

And it went well. I put on my “I’m OK” mask and we all had a lovely time. I counted myself lucky because she spent the night at my apartment, which meant plenty of time for some good old fashioned girl talk. She spoke about how excited she was to marry her fiance. How much she loved him, her dreams for their life together. The frustrations that come with planning a wedding; the joys, the drama, the over all excitement. I remembered that feeling. And my heart was truly happy for her…and my heart is still happy for her. Marriage can be a beautiful thing. It is meant to be beautiful. Seeing the love she had for her soon-to-be husband was a reminder of that for me.

And then she left and I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I could put away the mask. It was mid-October, so I started packing up our summer things and getting out the winter items. I cleaned the apartment. I went grocery shopping. I did what grown ups do. We keep moving. We do what has to be done. We do the day to day, mundane tasks that are required of us. We live in reality, we realize the choices we make have consequences, we hold ourselves accountable. We do what we say we are going to do. We don’t hide. We own who we are and we go from there. And sometimes we do it while we are miserable. And sometimes it’s inconvenient. And sometimes it hurts our pride. But that is what we do and that is what we are called to do.

The beauty of writing this blog two years after the fact is all the perspective I have gained. Why wasn’t I more appalled that my husband thought a football game was more important than taking that extra time for us? Why didn’t I question a family who didn’t insist their son own up to his mistakes? Why did I let my pain keep me from being more present for my friend? Why didn’t I see the joy in her eyes and wonder where it had gone in mine? Why was I content to live in this misery? Why didn’t I demand more for myself?

We are called to be more. We were created for more. God asks more from us. And no matter my surroundings, I can only be proud of myself if I am owning that “more.”

Micah 6:8 “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice,  and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

 

 

God’s messages are pretty amazing. His timing is always perfect and the way he guides me to understand him is so personal that at times I find it overwhelming. This week has been a very reflective time for me. Maybe because it’s a new year, which is a wonderful opportunity to think about how far you’ve come; or maybe it’s because I have had more free time than usual and my mind tends to wander. God keeps putting “the choice of love” on my heart, and if there is anything I have learned in the past year it is that when God wants me to write about something, I better write or it will nag at me until I do!

One of the gifts this blog has given me is that women from all over, in all different situations, have opened up to me about their struggles, their loss, their pain. It is very humbling that any one would feel compelled to let me in on their intimate stories and I am so grateful for the opportunity to share God’s healing powers with them. When others confide in me, I obviously feel compelled to tell my story; and it’s funny to me how my perspective has changed over the past year. When I look back, I see a beautiful mosaic of human hearts who have chosen to love me. That image is burned into my mind so much more than the pain of the one person who chose not to love me.

I think about the people who have loved me for so many years, who rallied and stood beside me during the darkest times. Who watched me fall and break and slowly die inside and who never left. They lived through the late night phone calls, they planned outings, they provided couches to sleep on. They never judged when I wanted to be alone, or couldn’t be there for them the way they deserved. They sat there and listened while I word vomited my hurt again and again and again. They had signed on for this friendship many years ago when we were younger and life was easier and now, when the going got tough, they never faltered. Living through this ordeal with me was hard work, and they chose to love me anyway.

And then there are those precious humans who didn’t know me before. Who had to meet me when I was broken and insecure and beyond difficult. Who took me, just as I was, and accepted my flaws. Who had to see all the ugly parts of me. Who had to live through the aftermath. When I was too weak to pretend to be ok, when the smallest incident could send me sobbing, when I hated myself too much to care about life…they loved me anyway. God only knows what those select few beautiful hearts saw in me, why they didn’t run screaming for the hills. They didn’t sign up to be the ones to help put me back together, but here they were, helping me rebuild. They didn’t question my sadness. They accepted my clinginess. They talked me off of the ledge when I became overly dramatic. They had to deal with the scars, and they still chose love.

The other important thing to remember is that not everyone has a family who chooses love. I do. I have a family who surrounded me in a coat of love from the beginning and who still loves me through every set back, difficulty, and life decision. A family who let me grieve at my own pace. A family who taught me how to move forward and who lovingly pushes me when I need motivation. A family who fought when I didn’t have the energy and stood when I couldn’t get up. That kind of love isn’t always a guarantee, but for me it was.

When I think about all the people who chose to love me when they didn’t have to I am overwhelmed with gratitude and humbled by their hearts. I am also thankful to the God who gave them all that extra love to give to me. I stand amazed that I feel more love now than I have ever felt in my entire life…and I don’t even have a husband! I don’t have that person who has vowed to shower me with love, but the love has still come. This choice of love that we all have is so powerful. It can do so many things. It can change the world. It can change a heart. It can change a life. It has certainly changed mine.

Galatians 6:2 “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Over the summer my husband decided he wanted to run a half marathon. It was something on his bucket list and he wanted to accomplish it during his 30th year…before he turned 31. Lucky for him, Disney World was holding a half marathon on his birthday that year. We decided we would make a trip out of it. We could celebrate his birthday, he could run the half marathon, and we could get some fun time in at Disney World. At first he assumed I would just want to be his cheerleader on the sidelines during the race, but after a little bit of thought I decided I wanted to run too. I mean, why not? Now, neither one of us were runners. Neither of us had ever run any kind of race before, let alone a half marathon; we just thought it would be cool and fun and something we could train for together. So we signed up, found a training program, booked a hotel room, and that was that.

This grand plan was made during the summer. Before the affair, before my breakdown, before life changed. I had started training in August and then stopped completely when my only desire became saving my marriage. During my time at home in Tennessee my husband had suggested we cancel the trip. I mean, fidelity and love were out of the question so it’s not like he was too keen on vacationing with me either…but here’s the kicker: my parents were coming with us. Yep. They had bought their plane tickets, booked their hotel room, and were excited to watch their daughter and son-in-law tackle this race. They were still going. My coward of a husband wanted to cancel because he didn’t want to face my parents…and suddenly my strength began to return. I was going to run. Whether he was there or not. I was going to run. I had said I would do it, my parents were sacrificing to be there with me, and I was going to run. Nothing he could say would make me quit. I was going to run, with or without him.

Upon my return to New York, running became my new obsession. I was finally working towards something I could control. I would force myself out of bed in the morning, work all day, and then run at the gym until my legs couldn’t move. While I ran I would daydream about how happy my marriage would be if I could just keep moving. I would strategize my behavior in our next therapy session. I felt stronger. I felt motivated. More weight started to fall off, which made me feel more attractive. Certainly my husband was noticing that I was thinner. And thinner means more beautiful, right?

When I was running, I wasn’t home.  And home was turning into a bad place. Every night was a surprise. On the good nights, my husband would get home at a reasonable hour and I would cook dinner and clean up and we would watch his favorite television programs and I would try so hard to show him what a wonderful wife I was turning into. When I look back I’m disgusted at the lengths I went to to prove myself to him. Then, there were the nights when he would come home late and drunk and angry. The sound of his key in the door thrilled me because it meant he was safe. I would lay awake in our bed, praying that he would come home to me. I would have leftovers ready to warm up for him in case he was hungry. When he came in I would be quiet. I wouldn’t ask questions. I would just be thankful. And then there were the nights he didn’t come home at all. Those were the worst. I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified something had happened to him. My heart hurt terribly. I could actually feel it writhing with pain. I would go into every corner of our tiny apartment and beg Satan to leave our marriage. I would cry and shout, on my knees, demanding that he leave us alone. I remember screaming, “My God is bigger than you. You have picked the wrong wife to mess with. You will not win this war. You have no idea the strength my God has given me.”

And so I ran. I ran because I could. I ran to escape. I ran to feel strong. I ran to give my life purpose. The worse things got, the more I ran. I just kept running.

Isaiah 33:2 “O Lord, be gracious to us; we long for you. Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress.”

Last year I made a list of 10 New Year’s Resolutions. Things to work on in my career, personal life, spiritual life, and also goals of what I wanted to put out into the world. I realized today that I had accomplished 9 out of the 10 items on that list…which inspired me to make my top ten list for 2016. It’s funny to look at your goals from a year ago and compare them to your goals today. In many ways I have come so far. I changed my name back to my maiden name and have really worked on liking that girl again. Discovering who she is now, owning the differences, and trying to look at the future differently and accepting that there is still joy in this unknown world I am living in.

In many ways I have also fallen short. Certain aspects of my life have been harder to handle. I have lacked growth in areas that I had assumed would be easier to conquer. It’s a difficult balance in congratulating yourself for your mini milestones and still realizing your flaws. Sometimes I want to scream to the universe, “I’m still here! I survived this. I went a whole year making a living doing what I love to do most in the world. Go me!” But then that other voice inside of me objects, “Let’s get real…I’m based out of my parents home and live out of my Honda.” It’s clearly a fine line.

This is what I have decided: I must constantly hold myself accountable, raise my standards, and strive to be proud of myself every day…but I must also take joy in those small achievements. It isn’t bragging…it’s finding peace. Last New Year’s Eve I was completely and utterly depressed. I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I felt terrible about myself. I felt lost. Sad. Sad. Sad. Friends called me from a party they were all attending and as gracious as it was of them to think of me, it made me feel so alone. I took a selfie with my dog and went to bed early vowing that next year would be different. And it is.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and I’m not depressed. At least not in the same way. I’m still “alone” for lack of a better term, but I certainly have a clearer understanding of who I am and what I like about myself. My scope has definitely gotten larger and I’ve grown to learn how many other people have experienced pain or personal setbacks or loss. There’s a whole clan of us who have had to wake up, grab our lives by the tail, and say “I’ve Got This!”

So, on this New Year’s Eve, I want to say “Cheers!” Cheers to everyone whose heart is hurting, but still glorifies Jesus Christ. Cheers to those who don’t know where life will take them, but have put their trust in The Lord. Cheers to the women who suddenly have to do it all alone with only the faith that God is with them every step of the way. Cheers to you! You are my inspiration. You are strong. You are worthy. You are proof that even while you are still working on your lives, God is still working on you.

Philippians 1:6 “For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.”

I’ve always felt that the best compliment someone can give me on my blog is to say they appreciate my honesty. Being brutally honest about my hopes, fears, desires, and coming to terms with this chapter of my life is terrifying. One of my readers told me they appreciated watching me “surrender to God.” Those words painted a beautiful picture in my mind. The main reason I started this blog was, quite simply, because God told me to write. Surrendering to God’s will is pretty much the only thing that has brought me joy in the past two years. I don’t always know exactly what God wants from me, but every now and then he speaks to me so clearly and I know that obeying him is the only way to find peace.

This is all fine and dandy and I could sit here all day and pat myself on the back for obeying God…but what about those times when I don’t hear him so clearly? Is it that he isn’t speaking? Is he waiting for me to pull myself together? Am I not listening? I’m a girl that follows directions well and I am constantly seeking God’s road map for my life. I want to follow him, as efficiently as possible from point A to point B and so on. I’d like a list of goals he wants me to achieve and I think that if God could just write me out a detailed description of how he wants me to live my life, then I could conquer the world and be Woman of the Year.

I am currently in an ambiguous place in my life. Nothing is certain or steady. Work, finances, living situation, even friendships aren’t nearly as cemented as I would like. Is this truly a location on my personal road map? How long am I supposed to be here? When do I get to move on? Why can’t I hear God now? What if I make the wrong choice? These are basically the questions I ask myself every morning when I wake up. I feel like I am falling behind, not getting to the next destination quick enough, taking a huge detour…not even Siri could get me back on track at this point.

Why, when I so desperately want to follow God’s will, do I feel like he isn’t speaking to me anymore? I struggle with this about a hundred times a day. It’s exhausting.  But maybe, just maybe…and I am totally going out on a limb here…maybe I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. Maybe God is trying to teach me to “bloom where I’m planted.” Maybe this destination on my road map is the perfect stop for me right now. Maybe I’ll never know why I had to stay in this uncertainly for so long…and maybe that’s ok. Maybe God is speaking, but I’m too busy struggling with myself to hear.

It’s not that I won’t let God take over the controls of my life. I trust him to take me anywhere, but surrendering to the fact that he might possibly WANT me to hang tight in this ambiguity is baffling to me. Surrendering to the reality that I don’t always understand God’s will is difficult. Surrendering myself so that I can hear better is a skill I am still working on. Then again, surrendering my fears just might help me to better enjoy the ride.

Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

The end of my two weeks at home fell on a very important day. My baby sister’s 21st birthday. I realize she is not a baby, but I have two younger sisters, so one is the “little” sister and one is the “baby” sister. It’s easier to keep them straight that way. Originally, the entire family had planned to come home for the weekend for a big family celebration. Which meant my little sister and brother-in-law would drive down from Washington D.C. and my husband and I would fly from New York. The plane tickets had been purchased, time off had been requested, everything was arranged. Except my husband was a no-show.

Sure, by now we can all assume that he had never truly planned to actually get on a plane and face my family…but my little naive heart still held out hope. After all, he had a plane ticket…maybe he would fly down and we could all talk this out, cry, hug, and move on with our lives. But he wasn’t coming. Instead, he had flown to LA to hang out with a “friend.” I wouldn’t let my thoughts turn to who he was actually with and what he was actually doing. My family could guess. Everyone could guess. Everyone but me.

This was one moment of many where I learned how to pretend that everything was ok. Eventually, I became a champion of putting on a “happy face.” But let’s look at this moment realistically, my entire family is home, we are sitting around our dining room table, my husband has made it clear he doesn’t love me anymore, and I’m the moron serving cake and ice cream to everyone.

My baby sister was the hopeful one. Bless her. My little sister was all about action. She had a plan already in place to get me out of our apartment, out of the marriage, and on with life. She had already moved on for me. My precious brother-in-law sat there looking pained, realizing I had to do this my way in my time. It was a sibling council, a call to arms, and I couldn’t pull the trigger. They knew that in a few short days they would be sending me back to the battlefield. They wanted so badly to save me from any future attacks. But I had already made up my mind.

After that weekend, I packed my things and my father took me back to the airport. To fly away from him and the safety he provided. I don’t know what was going through his head. I am amazed to this day that he didn’t fly up there with me just to punch my husband in the face. I’m sure he wanted to. I had mixed emotions. I believed I had a rough road ahead of me, but I also believed everything would turn out ok. Part of me wanted to keep on hiding, but the other part knew I had to face reality.

The interesting thing about my naivety is that it also came with a boldness. God was on my side. I had read the scriptures. I knew he loved marriage. I knew he had blessed our marriage. And for a very long time, that knowledge was enough for me to hold on. To work. To fight. To pray.

To be bold in our faith of God…If there is ever anything we should remember to hang onto, I believe it is that boldness. We all hurt. We face trials. We fail. And when we are unsure of the next step, the answer is to always Be Bold in our Faith of the Lord. There is bravery in that boldness.

Ephesians 6:19: “And also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel.”

I’ve never been the kind of girl that has it all together, but I’ve always wanted to be that kind of woman. My mother was the queen of making every holiday special, ensuring that Christmas was perfect, creating traditions that mean so much to my sisters and me. I think, deep down, I’ve always wanted to be that kind of person, that kind of wife, that kind of mother.

It started when I was a little girl. From making my family watch claymation Christmas movies to baking cookies. If you ask my sisters they will tell you that you do not mess with me when it comes to frosting a Christmas cookie. My need to create holiday traditions followed me to college; making my own ornaments, forcing my roomies to go see “The Nutcracker”, planning holiday light adventures. It got worse when I met my husband. Decorating our tiny apartment was a frustrating task. We didn’t really have the space to do much, but I insisted on storing decorations all year long so that I could try to turn our tiny home into a winter wonderland for one month out of every year. I took Christmas shopping very seriously…and went to the extreme when it went to Christmas wrapping. I wanted us to start our own little family traditions as soon as possible and I took pride in being a wife he could depend on to fill our home with joy while completing all the necessary holiday arrangements.

The reality is that I’m not very good at any of those things. My present wrapping ability never matches up to what I imagine it will be in my head. I’m not a very good baker. My tree decorating skills lack much to be desired. I’m certainly no Martha Stewart. I always look pudgier than I want in my Christmas dress and my Christmas cards tend to end up smudged with ink. Try as I might, I never could be the wife I wanted to be at Christmas.

And now it’s Christmas and I’m not a wife. My first official divorced Christmas. I’m living in a cast house with three room mates. I put up a tiny tree in our common room and hung some stockings on the banister. I haven’t watched a Christmas movie since I got here. My Christmas decorations from my “married life” are all boxed up in storage. I won’t be sending out Christmas cards, because what am I supposed to say? “Happy Holidays!  This year I got divorced. Wishing you a glorious New Year!” Any holiday tradition my husband and I had is pointless now. I’ve changed from the “try to be perfect girl” into the “make it work girl.”

The dream of what I had envisioned my Christmases becoming isn’t going to come true. And when the dreams you had start to die, you look around and grieve the losses. You imagine what could have been. The family Christmas photo, the child you hope to have and their face on Christmas morning, making those family memories together…for years to come. All of these things come to my mind, and so much more.

And then I am reminded of the one constant of Christmas. Married, divorced, single, childless, alone…whatever your station in life…Christ still comes. Maybe, when you are forced to strip it all away, this simple reminder is truly a gift. Not a reminder of what I lack, but a reminder of what I have. Christ. He is still the center of my life and my holiday. The promise that this tiny King gave to our world still rings true. Mary didn’t seem so concerned with baking and decorating and wrapping. She was on a mission, a warrior for God in her own way.

I have been humbled. Forced to let go of the woman I wanted to become. And now hoping, that like Mary, I can be a warrior for Christ in my own way. Because the good news is that, no matter what, Christ still comes.

Luke 2:11 “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”