December Fifteenth

"God's reputation is on the line when it comes to your marriage."

My Grandfather spoke these words as he performed the wedding ceremony of my cousin and his beautiful bride.  Her elegant ivory dress fluttered in the mild December breeze.  I tried to focus on it and emotionally check out of hearing their wedding vows, but the heavy words he spoke managed to hit my chest like a sharp arrow.

I imagined the word G-O-D spelled out in beautiful sparkling letters on a plaque that you might find at a Home Goods store, lying in the mud, broken and damaged because I had put it there.  I was going to "drag his name through the mud" and ruin His good name because I was wanting to end my marriage.  Swallowing the ball in my throat, I heard a whisper of truth.  My reputation and goodness doesn't depend on yours.  I am still God and I am still good and I am still reputable.  Even if I mar the sanctity of marriage by choosing to divorce my husband?  Yes, even then.

Vivid memories of the same vows I made to my husband years before echoed in my mind.  I had promised my love and fidelity for better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer.  All of that until death.  We hadn't physically died, but something had.  It felt like I was married to a corpse.  I had told him that before, but being an emotional leper, it never motivated him enough to change or seek the care and counsel he needed on his own.

When my cousin and his new wife joyously walked back down the aisle, I felt the tension I was holding release a little.  I made it through the hardest part of the wedding as I consciously separated my heart from my body so I didn't sob and cause a scene.  I had wanted to break down and let everyone see how wrecked I was.  Someone in my family needed to know, but I knew it would break everyone's hearts.  My parents had divorced and I swore that I never would.  Telling my family was going to be the hardest part of the choice I was making.  It would come with devastatingly great cost and I knew which relationships would shift and look like silence and "disfellowship" because I was in sin.

As the night went on and margaritas flowed, I skipped around the wedding grounds like the social butterfly I was.  Mingling, drinking, dancing, laughing; taking the silly photo op pictures with ugly hats and large glasses.  I felt as sparkly as my sequined dress and felt aware of my beauty and magnetism of others to me.

That evening, when the tequila had settled in enough to make me bluntly honest, I found myself outside with my Robin for a smoke.  A habit that had been sneaking back in over the last few months when I felt the need to calm and de-stress.  I admitted all I was holding; that I was going to ask him for a divorce and couldn't be married to him anymore.  That I wanted my life to look different and I felt like staying married was killing my soul. I had done Bible studies and accountability groups.  I prayed the prayers and sought counsel and therapy.  I was honest and open with him how I was feeling and what I needed from him to make it work.  Nothing changed and nothing happened and I was just done.

She spoke words to me that night I'll never forget.  "When you're the outcast Jennifer, I'll be here for you.  I'll love you.  I'll understand.  When others have walked away, you'll have me."

The woman I once had contempt for because she started off as "the other woman," was now the only person with enough understanding and grace to truly love me in the midst of this.  God really does work all things together for our good.  He took what happened with my parents and my Robin and used it to care for me when I was in desperate need of unconditional love in the exact same place I swore I'd never find myself in.

Later that night, I danced my ass off.  My husband stood there and watched me and didn't cut in when another man asked to dance with me.

And that was my marriage.  Me out on the dance floor, vibrant and living.  And him standing by the wall, gray and watching me live.