last night the air was hot and muggy. I was restless, and it seemed that memories were lingering, deciding to stick to me just like the humidity. A scent caught me by surprise in my room...his smell. I don't know where it came from, but it harassed me just enough to bring some unshed tears to the surface. Ones that must have been hidden from my progress of moving forward.
The smell wafted to my nose, beguiling me like a ghost that had walked into the room of my heart. I went and grabbed the sweat shirt of his that I stumbled upon a while back. It holds his scent so strongly. I knelt at the foot of my four poster victorian bed. The place where I met with Poppa so many times concerning our marriage. There in the darkness, only lit by the blare of the TV, I buried my face along with my hot flowing tears into that shirt. Why?
I wondered if he thought of me. I wondered if he ever regretted what he had done to me -to my heart and even my soul. I wished he felt torturous pain -the loneliness that his actions had caused. I wept and prayed hard and fervently, knowing other wives are feeling this anguish just as much as I, or even more. My thoughts have been wrestling with my heart, just as Jacob wrestled with the angel of God. I'm honestly not sure who won last night, but I had some release. These hidden tears had to come out. They always seem to find their way out at the most unexpected times.
I whispered in the darkness. "Poppa, I still love him, please take it away. If he's really never coming back, take it completely away, deliver me." I even felt oddly like I was seeking permission to love him. Was it safe to? After some time, I put the sweatshirt back where I found it. As tempted as I was to sleep with it, I chose not to. I refuse to go backward. I will move forward. I crawled into my bed and began to pray and interceed for the other women, the ones I have really come to love. Miles might keep us from seeing each other face to face, but it's their prayers, their tears, their posts and their words which have brought us close as dear sisters and friends, bound together by our similar paths and difficult journeys we have had to walk. "Please God, bring healing, bring hope, and answer the cries of their hearts."
Today in the shower I came to the place of realizing this heart of mine is still broken. I had a heart to heart with Poppa. I finally humbly admitted that no matter what I do in my own humanness and my own determined efforts, I can't heal my own brokenness. I guess I fooled myself into thinking I was healed. None of the smiles I carry on my face, no christian bumper sticker or cliche, no amount of holding it all together and being strong enough can make this pain disappear. It has become less and less, but it still shows up along with the memories -like haunting ghosts.
I appraoched Poppa and asked Him to deliver me from being broken. No other male affections, no human approvals, no new pair of shoes or any earthly riches, not even time can change this fact. Caring people say that time can heal all wounds -not necessarily true. This is the lesson I have learned. I've seen people who have been broken for years. Nothing can fill the gaping holes but Poppa. I have felt impatient, wishing this process to be hurried along. I've even pleaded, "Just take me back there, back to heaven, and heal me again like you did before." I find He seems to do things differently much of the time, whatever His reason. He is God and He is not figured out, but I'm pretty sure I heard His still quiet voice say, "Can you remain broken just a little longer?"
Why would He say that? Me be broken even more?? For longer?????
Out of this brokenness, I know there is beauty, that there is purpose, but it makes no earthly sense. It's strange and weird, and I'm sure others don't understand. They probably think I just want to stay this way just for attention or to remain a victim, but in my reality, I have come to the place that in my true brokenness, it is there that Poppa brings the best out of me; it's the fragrance of His love, humility and openness that He can work with. If it were not for my shattered state, I would not be reaching out to other human hearts in the capacity that this trial has allowed. The prayers and words of encouragement would not flow in this vast of a supply. It is not because of my endeavor or abilities, but because of Christ in me, making it all happen for His purpose.
So I surrender to His doings. I have to trust His timing. I know He won't leave me in this place forever. There will be complete healing, but it will be in His way and in His timing. In the meantime I need to remember and not forget. I have the promise from Him that He will make me better and more beautiful than before. That's our deal. Out of the ashes beauty will rise, so even though it feels so unfair (it's so confusing and heart wrenching at times), even though I miss the one who deserted me and left me shredded into pieces, I choose to move forward. There will be days of tears, but I do have the promise of better days to come.
Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.