Four // Chapter 7
We both agreed—we were ready to move out of our season of separation and work towards coming back together again. As husband and wife. As a family of four. It was time to rebuild. And I was in. All in.
So my girls and I boxed up the little we had left after selling most everything we owned in Scotland. We booked a hotel and arranged a meeting with a realtor to view rental properties. We packed up my little 1999 Honda CRV and drove 13 hours to our new state. We were ready for our new life. I remember that drive so well. We laughed and sang and took in all the beautiful scenery. We ate way too much fast food and bags of candy. We were so full of hope. We talked about our new city and all we wanted to see and explore. We were three girls with high hopes and clear plans.
We met him at a restaurant and told the hostess we needed a table for four.
Gosh, I was full of pride and joy in that moment. Four again. It had been so many months since we had been four. We clicked back into normal so easily. Conversation was easy. My daughters beamed as they updated their dad on the past several months. It all felt so good and so right.
Admittedly, I had no idea how we would move forward. It felt like we were eating that meal in the base camp of an enormous mountain. We had a steep and difficult climb ahead of us. But I had my proverbial hiking boots on, my backpack locked and loaded and I was ready. I was in. All in.
We viewed several houses over the next few days and signed a lease together. I remember seeing both of our names together again—signed, sealed, and secure. It made me smile.
We bought a sofa later that day. A dark green velvet sofa. I remember hesitating, feeling like maybe it was a bit too small for four. How would we all fit on movie nights?
I thought, "stop being silly, Rachel”—we will all pile in and make it work; it will be cozy and sweet. We picked up the keys to our new home and headed straight to the paint store. We found the most perfect shade of pale blue-grey. We loaded up the car with supplies and headed home to tackle our new bedroom walls. I remember standing alone with him in that room as we both quietly rolled paint on the walls. This room would be our room. Our sacred space as husband and wife. It felt significant that we were painting over the dingy butter-yellow walls with crisp, fresh, lovely new paint. I prayed as I painted, Lord, I don’t know how we will move forward, but here we are now. A fresh new start. You can do impossible things, and I know you will. And I’m in, Lord. I’m all in.
The next day we ran some errands and stopped for lunch. We decided to have a little picnic in the car instead of enduring the lunchtime rush. Plus, he wanted to talk. He needed to share something.
And that’s when everything fresh and new began to crack.
Before the paint was even dry, he decided it was beyond repair and he wasn’t in, all in.
In fact, he was very much out.
I called my sister in hysterics. We just signed a lease! And bought furniture! We are in a brand new city 13 hours from family! And the girls are beaming with joy and hope! And we have freshly painted walls in our bedroom!
I was in. ALL IN. I mean, every fiber of my being was in. He was everything to me. I would have bent over backwards ten million times over to make it work. I would have trudged through hell and back to make it work. I would have scaled that proverbial mountain.
Two days later, the doorbell rang. The furniture store has this silly little tradition where they literally roll a red carpet out across your floor as a little show of pomp and circumstance. Hi, Mrs Setliffe, we are here to present your beautiful new sofa. We’ve rolled out the red carpet and here it is—
Your beautiful new green velvet sofa.
Just big enough for three.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Missed the first 6 chapters? Head back to the beginning to read Chapter 1: SHATTERED
**Maybe you are also in a place where you feel completely hopeless? While the writing of my story is going chapter by chapter, I would like to fast forward you today to the most glorious ending. Hopelessness doesn’t have the final say when Jesus steps into the story…
