Petals // Chapter 6
He knew I loved flowers.
And hot tamales too. When I clicked on the light I saw the bouquet and the candy on my nightstand. The tears started to fall as I climbed into bed. I felt so known. So loved. So welcome.
I had been so nervous to see him.
The flowers weren’t from my husband, but my brother-in-law, Daniel.
He picked out beautiful flowers for my new room. A “welcome to your new home” gift. When our lives shattered and we became homeless, my sister and brother-in-law immediately invited my girls and me to live with them—for as long as we needed. I remember sitting on the plane from Scotland to Florida feeling plagued by guilt.
I’m sure my sister was happy to have me in her home. We are best friends and we always have each other’s back. But I was so nervous that she had convinced her husband to give us a home. That he was dreading the invasion of three very broken family members. I felt so guilty about living under his roof, rent-free. Eating his food, taking up space. He had never once made me feel like a burden. Ever. But as I sat on that plane, my mind played tricks on me. I started to think that surely he said yes out of duty. What man takes in three of his in-laws with joy and easy hospitality?
I will tell you who: Daniel Duncan.
My brother-in-law.
Truly, the best and most selfless man I know.
I had spiralled into a place of deep shame by the time we arrived. I was so nervous to meet his eye that night.
But this humble and godly man met us at the door. He embraced us fully as his own. Within minutes he iterated that his home was now our home. In every sense of the word. We were welcome, as we were. In our brokenness, our grief, our shame. For as long as needed.
I was homeless and he gave me his home. And in that home, sat a beautiful vase of flowers and a box of hot tamales on my nightstand.
His welcome was the first bit of salve that began to heal the acute shame that plagued my broken heart.
I stared at those beautiful flowers as I cried myself to sleep that first night in my new room.
I wept for the goodbye I had just spoken to my husband hours earlier.
I wept for my daughters and all they had lost by leaving our life in Scotland.
I wept for myself.
I wept over the shame I walked in the door with that night.
I wept over the welcome I was given that instantly cast down that shame.
And I wept over the flowers on my bedside table. I wept because I should be in Scotland, in our bed, next to my loving, committed husband and the flowers that he bought for me.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was so devastated by all I had lost. And so grateful for what I had gained.
The wrong man gave me flowers.
But those flowers brought healing and ushered in a new chapter.
(**I’m not at liberty to share many details from this season, so I will say this: my husband and I entered into a time of separation for 5 months. During this time we spoke weekly on the phone. I was fully committed to my marriage and I was all in. I was resolved to move forward with my husband, however long it took and however hard it might be. I had no idea how, but I fully believed God could (and would) save my marriage.)
For the next five months, we lived with Daniel, Emily and their two sweet kids. They gave up so much to welcome us into their home. But they never once made us feel like a burden. They fed us, allowed us to have terrible days, cried with us, and treated us to camping trips, beach outings and ice cream after dinner.
There were so many bright and beautiful moments during that season. It was like cousin camp every day. The kids dressed up and ran around like the lost boys in Peter Pan. They had a campout in the backyard. They skateboarded and rode bikes every night after dinner, always staying up too late for dance parties (with glow sticks obviously!) We still talk about those days and all the sweetness that brimmed over and pushed away the darkness.
But the darkness was always there. Under the surface. Our eyes told the truer story. We were afraid. So afraid. We were homesick and full of grief. We acted out with tantrums and hurtful words. We cried a lot. We bickered and left messes and bottled up our true feelings. We woke up in utter despair some days.
I bought a chalkboard to hang in my bedroom and lettered the words: DWELL IN HOPE.
Hope.
What an elusive thought.
It felt like a winged bird that couldn’t land.
But I was so desperate for it.
As I look back at pictures from this season, I see lots of smiles but I also see fatigue and turmoil on my face. I was so weary. And the inner dialogue in my head was brutal.
It sounded like this…
We had such a nice date night back in May. His smile was warm and our conversation was easy. He held my hand and kissed me goodnight.
HE LOVES ME.
But now I know that we got home and he took a call from her after I went to bed.
HE LOVES ME NOT.
Our phone call went really well this morning. We said hard things. His apology sounded genuine this time. I was able to share my heart and I really think he was listening.
HE LOVES ME.
Today was my birthday. And he didn’t call. Did he even remember? Does he even care? I bet he remembers her birthday.
HE LOVES ME NOT.
The flowers he sent today are beautiful. The florist card says, “I love you”, so surely,
HE LOVES ME.
He’s not here. I’m parenting two desperately hurt kids alone. He made a covenant with me. And he broke it.
HE LOVES ME NOT.
Petal after petal, thought, after contradictory thought, fell in my mind day after day after day. It was agony. My mind was in agony.
He loves me.
Maybe?
No, he obviously does not.
But?
Yes, he does. He loves me.
No. He never has. He never will.
Maybe if I was more ____________?
No. I will never be enough. She is far prettier. And younger. And more fun and free.
But of course, he loves me. He made promises of forever.
Oh, I forgot…
H E L O V E S M E N O T .
TO BE CONTINUED…
Missed the first 5 chapters? Go back and read Chapter 1: SHATTERED now
**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 in to the story…
