You could choose to start from scratch, but that doesn’t seem to be the way you work. My brokenness is the fertile ground in which you set to work. These ashes are the substance that you use to create beauty. You bring forth life where the world tosses aside, tosses out. Your vision extends into eternity. You hold the bigger picture. You hold my story. 

The Church is the very body of Christ–His hands, feet, arms, ears, eyes. And as that Body comes together under the Head, Jesus, the battle against despair and hopelessness is waged. What a high and sacred calling the Church has!

“The God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, establish, strengthen, and support you after you have suffered a little while” (1 Peter 5:10).

There are so many rich truths in that one tiny verse. God is the God of all grace! He has called me to his eternal glory in Christ! My suffering is temporary! But here’s what literally knocked the wind from me—the promise that God HIMSELF will set to work to restore, establish, strengthen and support me after my season of suffering.

For someone as desperate as me, these words feel like life and water for my weary soul. He is the God who restores. He looks with comfort and compassion on the destitute. He sets to work as only he can. He doesn’t toss out the ashes and start over…they are the very material, the fertile ground in which seeds of redemption sprout. He restores the broken. He mends the pieces long cast out. 

Forgiving my husband after the confession of his unfaithfulness was the hardest faith step I ever had to take. 

Continuing to forgive my ex-husband over and over, and over again (what feels like 70 x 7 x a billion times) has felt like waging a faith war. 

“But what if he doesn’t deserve forgiveness?”

“How on earth do I forgive someone who has done horrific things to me?”

“Where do I start when there is nothing within me that feels able to (or let’s be honest, really wants to…) forgive?”

I hear these questions all the time. And I get it. I really, really get it. Forgiveness feels like the most unfair, unnatural, and impossible step after marital betrayal and abandonment. Why do you think forgiveness lands so painfully on broken hearts? 

God is merciful. To the uttermost. He is “a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger and abounding in faithful love and truth, maintaining faithful love to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, rebellion, and sin” (Ex 34:6-7).

He extends mercy to sinful people. This is incredibly good news for me. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t want this quality of God to be applied to my ex-husband. I want him to be held to account for the sin done against me. What ugliness still simmers under the surface in my heart. 

So how do we hold this truth for ourselves and those who have hurt us?

If Christ alone can satisfy a longing heart, we need your help to believe this. 

Sometimes it feels like marriage is the better answer. Or children. Or a higher paycheck. Or job security. Those things are often set out as the ultimate reward for those who follow Christ. But my marriage crashed and burned, and I don’t always know where I fit when we begin talking about God’s blessings.

We are a community of treasure seekers.

We have sifted through the ashes of shattered marriages and broken dreams to find beauty. 

And oh, how we’ve found it, haven’t we?

When I was a 22-year-old blushing bride, I was full of so much hope—bursting with it, really. I had such grand ideas about marriage and life. I, of course, imagined only good things for us. I envisioned days in the sun, love overflowing, raising a family together, planting a church, growing old with him. 

My imagined life turned out to be a puff of smoke. And so often this chasm between how I thought it would be and how it actually is leaves me feeling dissatisfied. 

When I survey the horizon, I so often come up empty. And if I’m being honest, it all starts to eat away at my contentment with my life. It seems like everyone else has everything good, and I have a burden of loss strapped to my back. 

I feel dissatisfied with my life often. It’s hard to say that out loud, but maybe it’s time to expose what’s often under the surface? Maybe you feel that way, too?

The gospel can feel like a pipe dream for those who are walking the lonely road of abandonment by their fathers.

Share the Gospel with tenderness. Remind betrayed wives and their kids that there is a Father in heaven who loves them perfectly.

I can’t do it all. How will my daughters learn all the things? Who is going to guide and shepherd them while I wash dishes at 11pm? I can’t be BOTH Mom and Dad. It’s more than one person can bear.

I went to bed angry and plain over it all. It was too much pressure. TOO MUCH.

We are fully known and fully loved
by the only perfect Father
in all the universe….

When I learned of my husband’s infidelity, it felt like I was on the side of the road, my heart bleeding out, noise, chaos, trauma, confusion, pain—so much pain. A small number of people jumped out of their cars, ran towards me (literally—dropped work, got on airplanes, raced to get to me). They were the ones who worked to calm the chaos, triage the immediate pain, and hold me while I sobbed and surveyed the loss.

But most were onlookers…

My husband left me nine years ago. Since then, I’ve been confronted with countless memories—most carrying echoes of sadness, shame, confusion, nostalgia or dread. I wasn’t prepared for the need to question the REALITY of those moments as I reflect back. So often deception, hidden behaviors, and twisting of truth were happening behind the scenes, and I was completely unaware in the moment. There are incidents of hurt that now make sense. I can now see that much of my self-blame was actually misplaced. There are explanations today that I didn’t have at the time.

On top of that, there is the pain of wondering if what I was feeling in those moments was real. Was my love true? Was that joy fake? Was the love I felt I was receiving a figment of my imagination? 

These are hard questions to face! We can drive ourselves mad as we analyze and sort through old memories. I’m not very far down the road, but here are some helpful steps I’ve learned along the way:

I wanted to be strong and self-sufficient. But honestly, I couldn’t get through the day without help. As the months stretch on, I still need so much help, even after nine years.

Sometimes I lay awake at night feeling like such a massive burden to the people who love me. I feel so needy all the time. My friends and family have never begrudged helping me—ever. But it’s still a struggle to believe that I’m not a total drain on them. 

Maybe you feel this way, too? 

I don’t have all the answers, but here are four things I’ve been pondering…

I’m fine. I have it all under control, really!

(Except, I don’t. Not even a little bit.)

Life seems to get more difficult with each passing year. My needs stack on top of one another & it all feels like way too much. 

The truth of the matter is that I need help. And you know what I’ve found? That’s a very good thing…

I felt so weak. So pathetic. So useless. I had nothing in my hands. How would I manage all of this by myself? How would I take care of kids? Our new rented home? Myself? I was so unkind with my words and attitude towards myself. I remember calling myself stupid, foolish, spoiled, a burden, a waste of space, useless. 

All those feelings and labels that were born inside my marriage were still there, ready to smother me again.

My prayers were pretty short and desperate during those days. Lord, the girls need new shoes–please help. Lord, rent is due on Tuesday–please help. Lord, the girls asked to get pizza tonight because they are tired of PB&J sandwiches–please help. 

Please help. 

Your marriage has crumbled before you. Dreams of growing old with your husband have died. Life is now characterized by loss and ruin—words you never thought would epitomize your story. Life has shattered, and the pieces feel impossibly broken. Can I tell you today that I get it? My story is not all wrapped up with a pretty bow. Let me explain…