Free // Chapter 11

I hated him. I hated him so much. 

I hated how he made me feel. 

I hated what he had done to us. 

I hated all the lies.

I hated divorce. 

But maybe even more, 

I hated the way my heart burned with hate. 

I hated what I was becoming: bitter, vengeful, callous. 

Mornings were the worst. For one tiny, brief moment between sleep and wakefulness, I would forget the reality of my life. Some days I would reach out for him on the other side of the bed. I would wake up with a smile and an old memory lingering in my dreams. But it never lasted more than a second. As soon as I would gain consciousness, I was smothered by the truth. 

The truth was that he never actually loved me, and it was over. 

And those thoughts, the reality thoughts, would yank me under, and I would swirl in the deep end of pain and grief and ache. And the banner over all of it was: UNLOVED. 

Rachel, the unloved, hated him. So very, very much. 

Some days, I woke up plotting revenge. Other mornings, I was drowning in rage. The worst days of all were the ones where SELF-PITY poisoned my veins. It was all so ugly. I felt like the blood in my veins had turned to venom. 

On the outside, I was getting by, moving on, working things out. But on the inside? My heart was slowly turning to stone. 

I had become a prisoner. 

I was buried in ache and shame and bitterness. Hatred was my garment, and I dressed myself in its filthy garments day after day. 

And here’s the thing about hatred–it spreads. Fast. 

Suddenly, it was easier to snap at the stranger who cut me in line. It was simpler to roll my eyes at the slow cashier. I was snippy with my kids. Hatred was eating me alive, this wretched cancer of the heart–leaching from my pores. 

And then one day, the Lord stepped in and rescued me from myself.  

I was in my bathroom getting ready for a birthday lunch for a friend. I stood in front of the mirror putting on makeup, and it registered on my face. The hatred, the venom, the resentment and bitterness. All of it was etched on my face. 

I saw the fire in my eyes, the furrow in my brow, the dark circles on my skin. Hatred was eating me alive, from the inside out. 

And that’s when I heard it. 

The voice of the Lord, clear as day. I could have sworn it was an audible voice. It filled up the room. The voice of the Lord, gentle and firm and strong and sure. 

“Rachel, are you ready to bless him, and not curse him? 

Are you ready to forgive and let go of all this hatred and bitterness? 

Are you ready to set him free into My hands? 

My justice is perfect.

You can release your grip and trust me. 

It’s time to forgive.” 

I will never forget those words that pierced the darkest, deepest place within my heart. 

God was calling me to let go. 

I had worked to forgive him so many times in the past nine months, but it just wasn’t taking root. I hadn’t really let go of my anger and given it to the Lord. I knew it. I knew in my heart of hearts that I hadn’t really turned him over to God.

Forgive. 

And, bless. 

I gasped for air. Forgive and bless him, God? But what about all the pain he’s caused? What about everything he’s stolen from me? What about all his sins against my girls and me? 

It all settled over my heart. The kindness of God, leading me to repentance. Leading me to trust him. Leading me to lay down this impossibly painful and heavy burden. He was calling me to lay it all down. To give all of this hatred and hurt and grief and pain and loss to him. 

And I was so tired of the weight of it all. I was so tired. 

I was a prisoner. 

And in that moment, I knew I was at a crossroads in my life. I had two choices: I could sink further into hatred and bitterness until it fully consumed me. Or, I could hand it all over to God and forgive the one who had hurt me the most. 

I could let him off my hook and place him on God’s. I wasn’t admitting that it no longer mattered what he had done. I wasn’t closing my eyes to his sin. I wasn’t excusing his betrayal. If anything, I finally understood that God was truly just and would bring it all to right. And in its place, the Lord was offering me peace. And freedom. And a different path, a different life. 

It took me a few minutes, but I lifted my eyes, and I surrendered. 

And then? Well, then the most miraculous thing happened. With the calling came the equipping. He strengthened me to forgive. It’s like right then and there, I was given a blood transfusion. He flushed out the hatred and the venom. His peace coursed through my mind, through my heart, through my body. All that pent-up anger began to melt. 

Yes, God.

I choose to forgive. 

I choose to let go. 

I hand him over to you. 

Set me free from bitterness and hate. 

And I’m trusting you, so I will choose to take this one step farther…

I choose to bless him. 

Lord bless him. I don’t know what that should look like, but you do. 

I’m done with the fight. 

He is in your hands now. 

Light. 

That’s what I remember next. 

Light and hope and new life burst into view. 

Shackles fell off my heart. 

A door unlocked, and hope swept in with wings and song. 

I was free. 

Really, truly and absolutely free. 

And then came the whisper, “Now…Rachel, it’s time to go home.” 

TO BE CONTINUED…

*Missed the first ten chapters? Head back to the beginning to read Chapter 1: SHATTERED

**Maybe you are also in a place where you feel completely fearful and hopeless? While the writing of my story is going chapter by chapter, I would like to fast forward you today to the most glorious ending. Hopelessness doesn’t have the final say when Jesus steps into the story…