Ok then

Done.  That's the word he used for our marriage.

How ridiculously wrong.  We can never be done, and I have a feeling it's not me he wants done with, it's You.  

I'm just really tired of the silent anger.  There's been no joy in Mudville for such a long time.  

And yet...

I'm full of joy!  Your Spirit is more than enough. 

Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you,

    who walk in the light of your presence, Lord.

They rejoice in your name all day long;

    they celebrate your righteousness.  (Psalm 89:15-16)

I am loved.  It doesn't look like it and it really doesn't feel like it when the joyless one is around.  

But reality, truth speaks.  I'm so blessed!  I will walk in the light of your presence, Lord.  

But what now?  What do you want me to do with this?  Father, I have not turned away from him, he is rejecting me.  I'm really at the point of saying, "Go."  I can't hold him anyway.
Only you can do that.  

So go.
I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith.  I will always keep the faith.  What else could I possibly do?  

I'm tired of toning down my joy when he's here, face grim, nothing good.  In fact, I think I've been wrong to do it.
I've prayed for a miracle and there it is.  Right here, was here already.

  

The miracle is that I'm saved, Your beloved.  My job is to celebrate your righteousness, to rejoice in your name.  Can't believe you would save me, of all people.
I've got nothing to bring, nothing to prove, and no more conforming to do.  

I love this freedom.  I love that you love me.
I'm letting go, Lord.  It's up to you.  

Strange day

What a strange day it has been.
Weekends are sticky, lately, what with both of us being around, and the elephant that's in the parlor.
Went for lunch to a favorite of yours, where we ate and said little.  I gave you the letter, my heart on paper, which you read, and said little.
Later, you humored me by going to a movie, romantic and godly, and a bit raw.  We watched, I prayed, and tried not to cry.  You said nothing.

I'm stupidly optimistic at the end of today.
I'm ok with whatever you choose.
I may suffer greatly.  I may be embarrassed, abandoned, impoverished.
I pray that it may not be so.
But if it must be, I will still praise Him.
And believe that He will guard and revive both of our hearts.

Valentine's Day

Beloved,

Happy Valentine’s Day.   You are still and always will be the only valentine I ever want or desire.  

You said such an important thing the other morning, as I was overwhelmed with sadness at the thought of our parting.

“My life needs to be different.” 

You are right, and I’m so thankful that you see that, that you are completely uncomfortable and unwilling to just slide into the life it seems we were heading for.  One not unlike that of your parents.  A miserable life of criticism, bitterness, and anger, of continually finding fault with each other and with those we know. 

I desperately don’t want that any more than you do. 

I believe there is a way for you (and for me) to have a totally different life than that gray future. And I believe that path can be a faithful one, a covenant-keeping one.  I see that there is a battle going on here, one that I can not participate in. 

I have come to a place of simply wanting you to find your way to a much different life than that.  I don’t know what it will take; how I pray that you will be able to do what is right, as hard as it may seem. 

But what I do know is that the different life you are searching for must come without my intervention.  You must find it for yourself, through Christ alone. 

I do not know what possible pain the future holds in this struggle you are in.  It could come at great cost to all of us.  But I will pray fervently for you, and do my best not to intervene.  I see how God is changing me also.  I will love you quietly and faithfully. 

With all my love,

Dori

So cold...

I'm hopeful in the mornings, when the mercies are fresh and new.
But this coldness grows throughout each day, and I find sadness mounting as my defenses weaken towards evening.  I'm trying to be thankful for the days and years we've had, for the care that's been taken of me, and for the love that was there.

I miss love.
I miss warm eyes, hands, arms.

Something has broken badly, and there is no feeling there now, certainly not for me.
Oh, my Savior, Lover of my soul, please fill this empty coldness.
I just want some warmth back.

I think I know what has caused this...Genesis 3:16:

"Your desire will be for your husband,
    and he will rule over you."

The fall of humans into sin and rebellion has brought this desperate struggle between husbands and wives.  My temptation, my tendency to idolize, to NEED our relationship so desperately, and his ability to turn away coldly.  To deny me the very thing I'm destined to desire.

It's an ugly state of affairs, but common to man.  And now to me.

It's freezing cold here.

Really?

It seems that I am being rejected, betrayed and abandoned for reasons I can barely grasp, let alone correct.
What to do with accusations of being too spiritual, thinking Jesus is the answer to every question, encouraging others to pray too much.

I must admit, I'm confused.  How can these be reasons to quit a marriage, to destroy lives, a family, future families?  How can Christ's church bear these kinds of wounds for reasons like this?
Oh, Lord Jesus.  Forgive me.  Soften my heart.  Show me the plank(s).  Soften his heart, too.

I'm shuddering at the effect this abandonment, this giving up on promises and covenant made will have on my children.  What, Lord, can be done to deflect the damage?  Show me your way, oh Lord, and help me to walk in it.  And please, mighty God, show him too.

Beauty from ashes

"He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord    for the display of his splendor."  Isaiah 61

It occurred to me as I ran this morning, that the ashes, the broken heart comes before the freedom, the release or the beauty. 

This is what my Savior did...he scorned (but went to) the shame of the cross because of the joy set before him.  
Why do I think it would be any different for me?
  
I've sung it so many times.  "I am crucified with Christ, I no longer live..." but so uncomprehendingly.  What does that mean?  What must I lay down? 
 My heart cries, 'But Lord, I thought I was laying it down!  How much does  this really cost?  What will you take?"

Freedom comes after captivity.  
Release and light comes out of prison.  
The crown of beauty comes only because of the ashes.
  
I didn't see this before.  I don't like seeing it now.  
And, Mighty God, please don't waste these ashes.  

Hard Pressed

 "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned;struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body."  2 Corinthians 4:8-9

It's hard, living like this.  Pressed, squeezed, struck down, and perplexed.  I'm not sure how or even why.  
Mostly just breathing right now, since I can't even figure out how to think this through.  
I'm waiting on the whim of someone else, feeling like my whole life is untethered, even as I know I am held, ever so securely by the hands of my Savior. 
 I'm learning something I never wanted to learn.  I'm living something I've watched in others, but never thought would be mine to live.  Patience is harder than I ever imagined.  Praying, unable to plan, unable to dream, needing to get to a place where I feel the safety that is mine. 
 I know that my Jesus is enough.  I know that His love is sure.  Trying to get that truth from my head to the rest of me.  
 I feel I must cover this pain, hide this wound.  Can't reveal the raw, torn flesh that seems it will never be whole again.  
But it will be.  It already is.  
My Savior was sent "to comfort all who mourn,
3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair."  Isaiah 61.  

Help me, Jesus, to step into the garment of praise, to be anointed with the oil of joy, and to wear for you the crown of beauty. 
This is where it happens.  And I love you for it.