I’m not sure what to say here. I guess I’m just going to wing it. I want to chronicle for the record (for my sake, for your sake? I don’t know) what has happened.
I have experienced the most traumatic, painful and horrifying thing in my entire life. And let me stop for a moment and thank the Good Lord – for He is good – for blessing me with a good life. He has blessed me with so many wonderful people in my life, untold blessings I’ve personally experienced, and even material things. He has protected me and shielded me from so much. I’m grateful that I have not been tasting the bitterness of suffering all my life.
I’ve tasted it now, though. Suffering has expanded my heart. There is something inside me now that leaps into compassion (and hopefully compassionate action) when I encounter or hear about another person’s suffering. There’s a new connection there that allows me to understand and love others on a deeper level.
My marriage is over. It is dead. Divorce papers have been signed. I did everything I reasonably could (and even some beyond-reason things) to try and prevent it from happening, but it’s been recorded into public record in the state of Texas. It is only paperwork, but the paperwork holds a lot of power in our society and culture. It is an ugly thing.
I never thought it would come to this. Our vows were strong. We even added on to the profound vows found in the Book of Common Prayer (most often used in wedding ceremonies in our Western culture). We publicly stated that we were in this for life – there was no other options – no escape clause. I always thought those vows protected me somehow. But they were not kept. And my marriage is dead.
I have hope, however. I know a God Who is more powerful than the state of Texas, more powerful than the court system, more powerful than a piece of paper. More powerful than death.
There’s an amazing story that illustrates this. It happened nearly 2,000 years ago. I wish I could have been there when it happened… A deathly illness sprang on a beloved friend. A powerful person – a doctor, if you will – was summoned to rush to this man’s home to make him better. The doctor lingered and hung out a few more days. He didn’t even get in a Life-Flight helicopter to hasten his journey once he started on his way. He was too late. His friend had died.
What a sad story. By the time the doctor arrived, the friend’s sisters were devastated and dealing with the initial stages of grief. There were professional grief counselors – musicians, if you will – standing by to help the friends and family grieve. Someone awkwardly approached the doctor. “You’re too late.” The implication was clear, but people said it anyway, “Why didn’t you get here earlier? You could have saved him! Why? WHY?! WHY???!!!”
Even the doctor cried. More than that, he wept.
Not too long after the doctor spoke. “Remove the stone.” He was rebuked. “Come on, dude, his body has started to decompose. It stinks already!” (forgive the modern surfer translation)
“Lazarus! Come forth!”
He did. He came out. The doctor instructed someone to remove his bandages and grave clothes (there was some cleaning up to do), but the guy was alive. People freaked out. Many put their faith in the doctor. I would have. How could anyone there not? Anytime people saw Lazarus after that, it was a living witness to the power of God and the authenticity of the authority and rightful place of the Great Physician – Jesus.
I believe.
Even if I don’t see a miracle with my own eyes, I believe in this God – this Master, Servant, Author, Miracle-worker, Man of Sorrows, the Great I Am, the Resurrection and the Life. I love Him. I will follow. It’s not easy. It is not easy, but He gives grace and strength.
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