Forgiving my husband after the confession of his unfaithfulness was the hardest faith step I ever had to take. 

Continuing to forgive my ex-husband over and over, and over again (what feels like 70 x 7 x a billion times) has felt like waging a faith war. 

“But what if he doesn’t deserve forgiveness?”

“How on earth do I forgive someone who has done horrific things to me?”

“Where do I start when there is nothing within me that feels able to (or let’s be honest, really wants to…) forgive?”

I hear these questions all the time. And I get it. I really, really get it. Forgiveness feels like the most unfair, unnatural, and impossible step after marital betrayal and abandonment. Why do you think forgiveness lands so painfully on broken hearts? 

God is merciful. To the uttermost. He is “a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger and abounding in faithful love and truth, maintaining faithful love to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, rebellion, and sin” (Ex 34:6-7).

He extends mercy to sinful people. This is incredibly good news for me. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t want this quality of God to be applied to my ex-husband. I want him to be held to account for the sin done against me. What ugliness still simmers under the surface in my heart. 

So how do we hold this truth for ourselves and those who have hurt us?

If Christ alone can satisfy a longing heart, we need your help to believe this. 

Sometimes it feels like marriage is the better answer. Or children. Or a higher paycheck. Or job security. Those things are often set out as the ultimate reward for those who follow Christ. But my marriage crashed and burned, and I don’t always know where I fit when we begin talking about God’s blessings.

We are a community of treasure seekers.

We have sifted through the ashes of shattered marriages and broken dreams to find beauty. 

And oh, how we’ve found it, haven’t we?

When I was a 22-year-old blushing bride, I was full of so much hope—bursting with it, really. I had such grand ideas about marriage and life. I, of course, imagined only good things for us. I envisioned days in the sun, love overflowing, raising a family together, planting a church, growing old with him. 

My imagined life turned out to be a puff of smoke. And so often this chasm between how I thought it would be and how it actually is leaves me feeling dissatisfied. 

When I survey the horizon, I so often come up empty. And if I’m being honest, it all starts to eat away at my contentment with my life. It seems like everyone else has everything good, and I have a burden of loss strapped to my back. 

I feel dissatisfied with my life often. It’s hard to say that out loud, but maybe it’s time to expose what’s often under the surface? Maybe you feel that way, too?

The gospel can feel like a pipe dream for those who are walking the lonely road of abandonment by their fathers.

Share the Gospel with tenderness. Remind betrayed wives and their kids that there is a Father in heaven who loves them perfectly.

I can’t do it all. How will my daughters learn all the things? Who is going to guide and shepherd them while I wash dishes at 11pm? I can’t be BOTH Mom and Dad. It’s more than one person can bear.

I went to bed angry and plain over it all. It was too much pressure. TOO MUCH.

We are fully known and fully loved
by the only perfect Father
in all the universe….

When I learned of my husband’s infidelity, it felt like I was on the side of the road, my heart bleeding out, noise, chaos, trauma, confusion, pain—so much pain. A small number of people jumped out of their cars, ran towards me (literally—dropped work, got on airplanes, raced to get to me). They were the ones who worked to calm the chaos, triage the immediate pain, and hold me while I sobbed and surveyed the loss.

But most were onlookers…

My husband left me nine years ago. Since then, I’ve been confronted with countless memories—most carrying echoes of sadness, shame, confusion, nostalgia or dread. I wasn’t prepared for the need to question the REALITY of those moments as I reflect back. So often deception, hidden behaviors, and twisting of truth were happening behind the scenes, and I was completely unaware in the moment. There are incidents of hurt that now make sense. I can now see that much of my self-blame was actually misplaced. There are explanations today that I didn’t have at the time.

On top of that, there is the pain of wondering if what I was feeling in those moments was real. Was my love true? Was that joy fake? Was the love I felt I was receiving a figment of my imagination? 

These are hard questions to face! We can drive ourselves mad as we analyze and sort through old memories. I’m not very far down the road, but here are some helpful steps I’ve learned along the way:

I wanted to be strong and self-sufficient. But honestly, I couldn’t get through the day without help. As the months stretch on, I still need so much help, even after nine years.

Sometimes I lay awake at night feeling like such a massive burden to the people who love me. I feel so needy all the time. My friends and family have never begrudged helping me—ever. But it’s still a struggle to believe that I’m not a total drain on them. 

Maybe you feel this way, too? 

I don’t have all the answers, but here are four things I’ve been pondering…

I’m fine. I have it all under control, really!

(Except, I don’t. Not even a little bit.)

Life seems to get more difficult with each passing year. My needs stack on top of one another & it all feels like way too much. 

The truth of the matter is that I need help. And you know what I’ve found? That’s a very good thing…

I felt so weak. So pathetic. So useless. I had nothing in my hands. How would I manage all of this by myself? How would I take care of kids? Our new rented home? Myself? I was so unkind with my words and attitude towards myself. I remember calling myself stupid, foolish, spoiled, a burden, a waste of space, useless. 

All those feelings and labels that were born inside my marriage were still there, ready to smother me again.

My prayers were pretty short and desperate during those days. Lord, the girls need new shoes–please help. Lord, rent is due on Tuesday–please help. Lord, the girls asked to get pizza tonight because they are tired of PB&J sandwiches–please help. 

Please help. 

Your marriage has crumbled before you. Dreams of growing old with your husband have died. Life is now characterized by loss and ruin—words you never thought would epitomize your story. Life has shattered, and the pieces feel impossibly broken. Can I tell you today that I get it? My story is not all wrapped up with a pretty bow. Let me explain…

Oh, Church, how desperately we need Jesus! It might feel like you need to do something extraordinary to help and support us, but the best thing you can do for us is to gently carry us to Jesus, over and over again. You can do this in so many simple ways…

Friends, our Jesus, Man of Sorrows, has promised that our pain and grief will have an end date. Yes, we have sorrow now. But in that sorrow, we have One who understands–one acquainted with grief, betrayal, heartache, and abandonment. Jesus has walked through more suffering than we could ever comprehend. But he pushed through the sorrow because of the joy set before him in heaven (Heb 12:2). His endurance through sorrow was his gateway to eternal joy. 

One day suffering near to You has PROVEN more lovely, more secure, more peaceful than the days we’ve wandered in the bitter, barren woods of Our Own Way.

There is no peace apart from You.
Even from the pit of Death Valley,
your presence warms and steadies us.

Because here’s what we remember—
on the cross, Jesus, You really did suffer
every
last
drop.

Why do the flowers come up in the spring? 

The ice isn’t finished, and the days are too short. The sun hides in the shadows of an early bedtime, and the frost graces the hill in the morning. And now, here they are, wildflowers pummelled by the rain. Such delicate beauty, thrashed by the storms. Is it weird to look at my window and feel sympathy for daffodils? Because I do. I can’t help myself. 

They thought it was safe to stretch up towards the sky. They opened themselves to the world around and were met by the harshness of winter’s remains…