Sometimes I want to shout from the rooftop that my husband has cheated on me. I want to scream it form the front of the church. Why must we suffer in silence. Sometimes I feel like if people knew what I had been through, they would be nicer to me, sweeter, helpful in a way. But then I think how ashamed I would feel knowing that others knew he’s touched another woman other than his wife. I think I still believe it was my fault. In a lot of ways he’s made me feel that it is my fault. It’s my Lichen Sclerosis. It was the fact I had just had a baby. It was the fact that I always turned him down. It was the fact that I was too fat.
So when I think of sharing my secret, I hesitate. There are only a few select people who know my secret. The rest of the world sees an idealistic me, walking around, going about life like everyone else. But this secret is heavy. I still want people to know he’s a scum bag. I want to shout it from the rooftops….HE’S A CHEATER!
Oh the tears I have cried. If I had a 5 gallon bucket, it would overflow. Lately the tears come easily, which I’ve been told by a few friends that depression may have settled in. I’m so broken about my marriage but the gash of infidelity really breaks my heart for my children. The storm that rages around them and they have no clue. Well, for the most part they don’t. They know my emotions are on edge (which is another blog for another day). However tonight, while cooking dinner, I heard a song that ministered to my heart 5 years ago when I had suffered 6 miscarriages in a row. It was an oldie for my heart but a goodie. The bridge of the song had never meant much to me, until I heard it today. The words rang true. I’m in a different chapter now, one that I’m not happy to be in and it was spot on.
I sure hope my tears mean something. I read “The Shack” by Brad Cummings during my “miscarriage” chapter of life and one of the characters in the book, The Holy Spirit, collected the tears of those crying. This image of the Holy Spirit collecting my tears helps my heart. My tears may not be in vain, at least I hope not.
“When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not our home”
This. This touched my heart.
We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things
‘Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not our home
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise
Matthew 5:16 Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.
I have a lamp at home that I loved. I’ve had it since college (so for almost 20 years). It’s a wrought iron lamp with a glass lamp shade. It was a Target find and because of the glass shade I put a Tiffany bulb in it (Target find, too) because the regular light bulbs were just too bright. When it’s lit, it’s beautiful.
Well, it was bound to happen, a house full of boys…my stepson knocked over the lamp one night and the shade shattered into a gazillion pieces. Not the end of the world, cause really it’s just a lamp but I’m still trying to find a glass shade to replace the one broken, ’cause I just love it.
In a lot of ways I feel like this lamp. In college, I was a beautiful Tiffany lamp that radiated beauty…ok…that might be a stretch. But really, I was young, in my prime. No wrinkles or left over pregnancy masking. No extra weight on my midsection, my boobs weren’t tube socks. Nope…I was fresh off the shelf of Target. But now I feel dingy, old, and really quite broken. Broken over my marriage, my inability to stay home, my finances, and honestly where I find myself at 38. In many ways, I feel much like I’ve been shattered. BUT I can plug that lamp in a socket, click it on and it still illuminates a room. Just because the shade is broken, the light still shines. Thank goodness that regardless of the brokenness in my life…Jesus can still shine. He is still glorified.
So how’s the lamp shade of your life? Maybe your marriage is failing. Maybe your finances are screaming at you to get a job. Maybe your kids drive you mad and your anger makes you feel like a failure. You can’t keep the house clean. Maybe you have a sick family member and you feel hopeless. Your shade is shattered.
Good News!! You are still plugged in! You still click. Your light still shines. You still light up the room. Things may be broken around you, but Jesus still shines through. In the midst of shattered lives…I promise He can still be glorified.
*this was written for my last devotion I gave a Mops.
I have a trash can and a baseball bat in the back yard. It’s quite nice to look at it. I can sip my coffee and look at it and smile. It’s my creation. Molded by my anger. As the events unfolded from his night with Miss A, crazy thoughts swirled in my head about their time together. It was quite consuming. The anger and rage that swelled in my soul and in the depths of my heart made it impossible to breathe. It was overwhelming, the anger that I felt. Anger from the hurt, from the betrayal and the loss of trust. Anger for my kids, anger for my life choices. I mean, I had married a cheater. A cheater! To think that his body was touching hers….made my blood boil. It is a feeling like no other. There are no words…but there is a baseball bat and a trashcan.
When I felt the anger rising in me, I would walk outside, without a word and literally beat the hell out of the trashcan. With everything in me I would pummel that plastic trash can until I could breathe again. It was exhilarating and quite the workout. I imagined the face of Satan, since I felt he was after my family. I felt like Satan had targeted me and wanted my family destroyed. I imagined my husband, betraying me, on her porch, in her backyard and why he made that decision. I groaned and yelled. One night the neighbors called to make sure we were okay…thinking we had lost our minds, when in fact, I had.
I used this bat and can for about 2 weeks, until my anger became more manageable. I probably should have used it more, since sometimes my kids witnessed my anger (not proud about that). It’s still in the backyard. A monument for him to see. So he can have a physical representation for what he did. I may need it again. The grief of betrayal can be a lot like the grief of death. It’s cyclical. It comes back around when you least expect it. Something, a word or object,may trigger it. I still need it there, to see from my small window over the sink. So while I sip my coffee in the early hours of the morning I can see how far God’s brought me.
He called me on a Friday. It was October 28, 2016. I was working on his business stuff, trying to surf the web while the little boys were in preschool. I can’t remember the weather, but a hurricane was about to hit. He called to tell me that he had been called into a police station a few towns from where we live to talk about an incident that had happened with a woman in late July (last weekend of July to be exact). He told me he had gotten drunk, had way to much to drink and Miss A was sad. Her sister had just committed suicide and her boyfriend was being ugly to her. This girl worked for us. He should not have been over there and there he was, on her front porch. This girl has been in jail several times for drug abuse and violence. Her character is not all that great….and here he was, with her. Not with me.
The hot tears were rolling down my face as I sat in the booth at Panera. I had to cover my mouth to keep from making a sound. From that moment on, I would never be the same. He went on to tell me that she had told the police that his advances to her were not consensual. So there may be sexual abuse charges. Oh how the plot thickens. Shocked wasn’t even the word to describe how I was feeling. I don’t even think there are words in the English language to put in words my heart. I was devastated.
What am I doing? I am not a writer. I am not fantastic at much. My therapist mentioned this might be good, so here I am. Writing….well really I typing. My heart has been broken and most days I think about what happened. It completely changed my life. Completely changed the way I view my husband. I mean, how could he? I am not skinny or a trophy wife, but I am loyal. I am a good mother…most days. He touched another woman sexually. He touched another woman with his… WHY? In a matter of 20 minutes he destroyed our marriage and lost my trust and betrayed me. Betrayed. That word has such a deeper meaning now that I’ve experienced it. I feel cut to my core. So much has swirled through my brain these past weeks, months. Hoping putting them down can help me make sense of it all.
I, Chad, take you Candace, to have and to hold
from this day forward;
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
till death us do part,
according to God’s holy law;
in the presence of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
He lied…almost nine years ago, he lied. I married a liar. The father of my children is a liar. I’ve thought a lot about that evening in February, surrounded by our family and friends. I made a choice to honor my covenant with God and he broke his. SO where does that leave me? Basically a mess. A state of chaos. An emotional nightmare. Wrestling with divorce. Clinging to anything stable.
Infidelity is a tricky place. It leaves you raw and angry. It leaves you bitter about people and un-trusting of others. It leaves doubt in your mind because everything you once thought was true, is in fact, not.
I want to go back. Have a do over. This is a death. The death of what was, and the death of a dream. I hope that one day, I will be able to look back and see how far God has brought me. I hope I see that His love carried me. I am sure with all that I am, that His love IS enough. Because it has to be. It’s all I have at this point.