Capacity

When I was younger I was crazy, head-over-heals in love with a man. He was my husband. He loved me too, in the ways he knew how to love. 

Our marriage was broken, like the people in it, and although God is in the business of healing both people and marriages, He will not work in a heart in which He is not welcomed. I have heard amazing stories of unequally yoked marriages that are standing the test of time. I planned to be one of them. "You made your bed..." I'd say to myself.

I spent weekends alone with my one-year-old son, afraid something had happened to my husband because I had not seen or heard from him in days. We were isolated, two thousand miles from home. Nights spent waiting up for him to get back from the club became more and more frequent, sometimes five to six a week. I listened to the stories he would share, wondered about the ones he wouldn't. Fear consumed me. Despite four years together, I realized how little I really knew about my husband, his character, and his capabilities. 

I heard things like, "You can be replaced." and "I can find a new mother for my son." and "You aren't worth it.". In my own brokenness I allowed these words to play like a record in my head, condemning me to a shameful, worthless existence. My only value was in my looks, a superficial virtue fluctuating on a fickle whim. 

There are many things about that time in my life I don't remember in my day to day. God bears our burdens daily (Psalm 68:19), that we don't have to be weighed down by pain. When I look back over the hurts of a lifetime I am so buoyantly aware of the many weights that have been lifted from my shoulders. I think back to days when I thought I would surely crumble under one solitary, unbearable weight. I look back over the many days, the many weights, and I see the grace of God helping me, healing me.      

One of the hardest things in life is leaving someone you love because they are not good for you. It is hard to remember why you are forcing yourself to stay away from someone you want to be with, and who wants to be with you. I had to write down the reasons and read them when I wanted to give in. My heart couldn't hold an account of wrongs, but my support system told me I had to. It may have saved our lives. 

It is hard to raise a newborn and a toddler without a father present; its even harder when he wants to be present, but shouldn't be. It is hard to leave someone who makes an excellent friend, but doesn't have the skills to be a husband and father and refuses to learn them. You don't have to be a bad person to crush your spouse behind closed doors. I waited two years from separation to divorce. I searched my heart. I received counseling. I pleaded with my husband to attend counseling. 

After the divorce I remained faithful; one chamber of my heart was still bound to what could be, while the rest was learning about independence, strength, and the unconditional love uniquely taught by small children. Still, he would not set one foot in a counselor's office, valuing his pride above his own family. I didn't start dating for another three years. After so many years of devotion, I finally began to move forward. He threatened my life repeatedly. My eyes were opened; I no longer had reservations about God's plan. Love keeps no account of wrongs (1 Corinthians 13:5), but this was not love, not really. It was time to move forward wholeheartedly. 

I did stop dating, for my own reasons, and didn't start again for another two to three years. It was a process uniquely adapted to me. I learned a lot about myself, God, life, and the overcoming of life. I learned that I was built to do hard things. God built into me, even into me, the capacity to do hard things, and while life may be too much to bear in and of ourselves, all things are possible through Christ Who gives me strength. (Phil 4:13) I learned, eventually, what love is, and what it is not. I learned to find real love I only had to seek God. After I found Him, I found life and love anew.  

Life isn't perfect. Sometimes it's nearly more than we can bear. When things are hard I look over my shoulder. I look at the pain of the past; the mountains I've climbed. I'm reminded of the capacity God has built into me to do hard things. I'm reminded these feelings, these circumstances are temporary. I'm confident things will get better. I know I'm not climbing this mountain alone, even if it feels that way.
I'm also reminded that brokenness begets brokenness, and pain bears pain. I can forgive that. I can also resolve to do my best not to perpetuate it. My boys and I come from brokenness, and we come from pain, but we also come from love, and forgiveness, and understanding. We come from empathy, and strength, and hope and because we choose to live in these things we look forward to good things to come.