Forgiveness: Don't try to swallow the whole cow.

 Here I am, in a weird place again.

Life is calm, peaceful, and everything is going remarkably well. I am blessed by the friendships I have, and delighted by the men of character that my sons have grown into. My home is secure, my dogs are adorable, and I have close ties with my neighbors. I belong to a Torah-observant group of wonderful thinkers who are remarkable human beings, and attend a Bible study in a group of women who are authentic and vulnerable in their weekly conversations. I’ve really got it good. So why the weird place?

In a word: growth. 

God is working on me and I find myself thinking harder, more clearly, and more deeply about who I am, and who I am called to be.

If you’ve read blog posts of mine since about 2020, you’ll recognize that I fought through a divorce from a monster. That’s not hyperbole. My ex-husband did everything he could to disrupt and destroy my life when he had an affair with an old girlfriend of his and decided to abandon his family because she felt like a better option for his retirement plans. 

The man who controlled every credit card, every bank and retirement account, kept everything from me engaged in a malicious exit strategy that included attempting to convince everyone in my own family that I was demanding, crazy…you name it. He even rode a bicycle around the community to tell the neighbors the same stories. He called former employers, family friends, reached out via private message to my girlfriends.

“Thou shalt not bear false witness” was a commandment completely ignored, as was adultery.

He began to execute this plan the very day I told him that my brother would be the trustee of funds I would inherit when my mother passed, in the event of my own death, and that those funds were to pass to our children, per her request. Her request. She knew a lot about my marriage.

I won’t bang on about this anymore because it’s not really the point. Something more beautiful has happened and it’s been absolutely life changing for me. I want my readers to hear it and hope that it somehow helps in their lives.

A warning – my ex subscribed to my blog as yet another way to stalk me. Yes, he stalks my social media and tries to find unique ways to spy on me. His profile, which was an attempt to wound me by being named “Solo” has been blocked. Yes, dear, you are Solo. You will likely be Solo until the day you perish because you are not capable of intimacy or authenticity.

Mr. Solo will come up with a new profile, and maybe a cleverer name, and will post nasty responses anonymously, as he has done in the past. You’ll recognize the tone. It sounds like The Accuser.

Juxtaposed against the above paragraphs, I want to talk about forgiveness. Stop laughing, I really do.

You see, the other day I was sipping coffee and alternating between silent prayer, active prayer, and distracting, unrelated thoughts that seem to run in front of me like squirrels across a lawn. Eyes closed, I can focus. Eyes open? Not a chance.

My unfortunately opened eyes happened across some cut-outs in the wall that were commissioned by my ex to house his beloved and expensive stereo equipment. I don’t know what the stuff is, but every man who has walked into the room runs over to touch it and say, “Ooo, these are nice.” I can only chuckle at that. It’s a good thing I haven’t been interested in dating the visitors, or I’d have been jealous of the electronics.

The cut-outs come with one of a million hurtful memories. At the time, I was trying to remodel the lower story so that both sons could have their own rooms, and we could still have a guest room upstairs. We needed a new bedroom and a bathroom built in the expanse of the lower story, which only had one bedroom, a large recreation area, a sauna (fancy!), and a lot of unfinished storage space.

I was given a budget that would make you pucker with doubt. Never mind that we needed plans drawn, permits purchased, expansion of a septic system, framing, drywall, bathroom cabinetry, plumbing work, electrical work, painting, new windows cut into the side of the house, and stucco repair with color-matching.

I went over the budget, which was far less than the ex had spent on any of his fancy cars, because I insisted on getting the space legally permitted with the county building department. Also, we had a serious snag with the septic expansion so I had to do hard battle with the county, else it would have been thousands more.

I drew the plans myself to save the $3k it would have cost, studying, scanning, and modifying the old plans while learning which architectural symbols needed to go where. More battle with the county ensued because the plans didn’t explicitly state “egress” on a bedroom window, indicating which window one would jump out of to escape a fire.

Because when there’s a fire, the first thing I’d do is consult building plans. Naturally.

I snatched up cabinetry on close-out at Home Depot to fit the budget. I sourced carpet and fixtures, mindful of every penny. The tile was on sale, being phased out. I really did my very best and most to fit the arbitrary number, set by a man who was pulling in over $300k per year. I rarely got a hair cut, and usually just did it myself. I did not get my nails done. I shopped at Ross discount clothing for almost our entire marriage, twice a year, just to refresh the wardrobe. I bought seven new t-shirts at Target per year, because…budget.

There’s a lot more to it. Again, not the point. The cut-outs are the point.

The ex pulled the contractor and drywall guy aside to show them his vision for the cut-outs. He wanted the stereo equipment and big screen TV to impress. So he hired them to do framing work, drywall, and more without a single mention of the word budget. Because when he wanted something, that was never a problem.

And that is what made me angry. Twenty years of being a second class citizen in my own home. The kids, were, as well. And the Bible says to forgive.

Believe me, I have told God so many times that I forgive the 20 years of emotional, sexual, and financial abuse from this man. I really, really try to mean it each time. But, when my eyes land on cut-outs, or some other reminder of just how selfish and controlling this person was, the forgiveness is nowhere in sight.

But the other day, in prayer, I finally found relief.

You see, I felt the Holy Spirit ministering to my soul and telling me that the things the ex did were so very wrong. God understands that in almost 20 years my husband never came close to loving me the way Christ loved his church. God saw. He’s not asking me to issue a blanket forgiveness of those decades and the cruel discard that came afterward. God knows that will not work.

But, He said, you can forgive the cut-outs. 

You can forgive all the little things that come to mind, one at a time. Start small, and eventually all those memories will have no effect. You might even laugh at how ridiculous it all was.

I can’t swallow a cow whole, but I can sure eat a burger today.

To me, this was the greatest gift to my heart, ever. What a huge relief of the tension between trauma and forgiveness. Just like every other significant period of learning, I can take baby steps. I don’t have to complete a grand undertaking in a moment to erase a pain that took decades (even before my marriage, frankly) to build.

I am free to take steps I can manage, and I am just so excited about that.

Readers, if you have been through something similar, I hope this blesses you. 

If you have not suffered a similar trauma, I pray that you find some glimmer of understanding through this post that shuts your mouth tight when you feel inclined to ask someone to just forgive and forget. You don’t know what you’re asking of them and no matter how much someone explains it to you, you may never fully understand.

If you’re struggling with forgiveness, I see you. God sees you.

He does indeed call us to forgive others. Do the best you can, and take whatever tiny steps you are capable of. Keep moving forward. I am praying for you.

You might keep a notebook of tiny things you forgive, and journal about it. I probably will, and either it will all be discovered when I die, or am raptured up, or I’ll burn it and let the smoke rise like incense to our loving, patient, holy God.

Eyes up!