The Day After. . .
My hope is in God
The morning after the night before it’s eerily quiet. No 2IC stirring the farm troops towards their assignments, no house-girl greeting the gardner as they arrive to work.
Oh yeah, it’s New Years Day. Whoopee. I shambled into the kitchen to brew a cuppa thanking God for my gas stove.
Then, crawling out from the rubble of our once-upon-a-time romance, came the only honest thing I could say.
“Lord, I don’t understand what’s happening. I know something had to change in my marriage. If this marriage is done, I don’t know how to handle that.
Tried so hard for years but nothing worked. Never gave up hoping. Was hope a fantasy built on denial?
Whatever happens, I want to start hoping in You alone.
Swap my wisdom for Yours. Otherwise I’m dumb enough to repeat this crap with a different woman if I don’t change.
Don’t let me waste this pain.”
That day wasn’t a rock of remembrance I celebrate. But admitting the impact of arriving at ground zero was important.
My private powerlessness being revealed to the world.
The long slashed up guts of our marriage finally spilling into view despite my vain graspings.
No healing.
Not yet.
Just plain honesty.
The sort God can begin to work with.
When I gave up hoping in hope.