“Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster; and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you.” -Friedrich Nietzsche
I stand up from my desk to meet him. Before I turn around, I put on my fake smile, my friendly façade.Hand to hand we touch, a handshake, a formal introduction.Our eyes lock, and I am immediately unsettled…a violent reaction crashing through me, a hint of darkness and devastation.
I blink, unsure of what just happened.I want to snatch my hand away, furiously wipe his touch away, turn and run away.Dancing around the edges of my unexplainable fear is the awareness of professional etiquette, of maintaining my composure. I can’t run away, because this is my job.
We casually chat, the talk of strangers in a business world. He asks me to lunch to learn more about the company, to network.I want to say (scream) no but my boss is standing right there. I say yes, because this is my job.
I don’t know, then, that the Holy Spirit is frantically beating at the doors of my hardened heart at that exact moment. Warning me, trying to steer me away, before it is too late.
The next day, we walk to lunch. His gaze slides over me, up and down, settles.He glances back up and catches my eye, says “I like your shirt.” I blush furiously, mumble thank you, try to change the subject.I am all too aware of the meaning behind his comment. We keep walking, because this is my job.
We enter the restaurant and sit.I am nervous, won’t meet his eyes. I play with my napkin, play with my fork, barely eat.I answer his questions about company culture, people, and expectations. The lunch drags on, and he seems to grow aware of the awkwardness, my discomfort. He says something funny, the mood grows lighter.I start to wonder if it is just me, misinterpreting his actions, his words, his glance.
The weeks pass by, and we fall into an easy work relationship. He is funny, charming, charismatic, as we talk about work, family, God, church.
The mention of God, of church fills me with wonder and hope, and makes me dismiss my initial feeling about him.I have been lonely, empty, scared for so long.The devastating fallout of a childhood full of abuse and neglect and the crumbling pieces of my marriage have been crashing down for years.I follow the rules, I am a good girl, but I also define myself as a victim, see the world through the eyes of despair.So nothing seems to be changing. And I think that maybe, this thing called God, can help. And maybe, this man so full of God, can help.
One day, months later, we talk about my childhood, the effect it has had on my marriage, my relationship with my husband.He asks, “Are you together?” I look at him, at first confused, my naivety wrapping itself around me.Then I realize what he means, and that feeling from the first day we met rushes back in.Only this time, I ignore it, and I shake my head no, too embarrassed to say out loud how empty my marriage has become, how I have failed my husband emotionally, physically.
I needed a friend.
And in my desperate need, I made him my savior.
Not understanding, then, that a line had just been crossed. Not understanding that he, as a Christian, knew better then to ask those questions, knew exactly how he should proceed in the care of my unsaved soul, of my destroyed marriage.I am unaware that he is a sex addict, a predator…and that I am now his prey.So he didn’t do what he should because he had also been lonely, empty, scared for so long.Hurting and hiding and running from a God he knew intimately.
This pattern in our relationship goes on for months.The ebb and flow of casual friendship interspersed tragically with more moments like these.Inappropriate connections and conversations designed to keep me attached to him, dependent on him.Me willingly hanging on to and encouraging the slivers of attention and acceptance dangled in front of me, the small doses of hope meted out whenever he sent me Bible verses or talked about God.
By the time it finally happens we are both already lost.We have continually compromised, steadily given in to the monsters inside.We have gazed into the abyss of our hearts and justified our need, our selfish desire for far too long, flirting with disaster.All the while Satan has waited, crouching, laughing for the final surrender.
That first kiss…so violent, so needy, so demanding.I close my eyes and lay back, breathless with the dark release, trembling with the pounding of the demons flinging themselves into an orgy of victory in my soul.
In this moment, I am no longer following the rules, being a good girl, being a victim.
I willingly become a whore.
I shatter then, resigning myself to the pull of my dark need as each stolen moment passes and days full of agony and shame drift by.I know I am drowning in a foul pit of destruction, know I am bending and swaying to Satan’s siren call.
And the most devastating knowledge of all, the foretold rottenness ingrained in the very nature of my humanity uncovered, raw, exposed…
At that time, my husband, Brian, and I had been married five years and our oldest son, Chance, wasn’t yet a year old. This man and his wife were close couple-friends of ours. We went on family vacations together, spent holidays together, our kids played together, we did ministry together… close.
I could make up excuses to how I let this happen: “I came from a divorced family”, “I grew up without a dad”, “My mother was abusive”, “My husband was distant”, “The other guy made the first move”… blah blah blah… but what it all boils down to is this:
I made my own grown-up choice and I WALKED INTO adultery.
I walked into a relationship that didn’t belong to me and didn’t walk away until I let it overtake two years… no… THREE years of my life.
In April of this year (2009), I finally told Brian about my affair. The affair had lasted two years, but I let it steal three from my family and me by hiding it and not revealing it in all its ugliness.
You see, secrets were something I kept well. I had a lot of secrets, so I thought, “why not just add this one to the list?” I never told ANYONE. I was never caught. But as I tried to keep this one hidden, it felt as if my soul was tearing away from me. The affair was no longer taking me away from my marriage and family, but now, I was stealing ME from myself. Worst of all, it was claiming everything I ever had with Jesus.
In my secrets, I was holding back any and every blessing I could have been or given to my kids and husband. I thought I was self-preserving… but in reality, I was self-mutilating my heart. I was failing at everything. In my quest to prevent complete brokenness, I soon found myself failing even that.
Brokenness ensued… and I embraced it.
The next six months proved to be the most trying time of our lives. After some prompting from Brian, I ended up telling all our closest friends and family about my affair. Some were gracious… some were not. That’s part of the package of sin… and I had to learn to not own their feelings as my own. That’s a whole ‘nother post though.
In our time of healing and recovery, there were times of good and bad. Sometimes, we clung to each other, grateful because we almost lost each other. Then there were the other times, when we didn’t know if our marriage was going to weather the storm.
Brian and I dove head first into counseling and life-coaching, dealing with our issues face-to-face 3 to 4 times a week. We needed surgery on our marriage. It was brutal, painful and exhausting… but every minute was worth it, because God was stitching us back together better and tighter than we ever were before.
In all rights, Brian should have left me but ultimately chose to stay. We didn’t want a divorce, but a divorce HAD to happen. We divorced our old marriage, and took on our new one. It was painful. Though there were many bad memories in the old marriage we didn’t mind getting rid of, there were also just as many wonderfully BEAUTIFUL ones we had to abandon roadside. We mourned our losses. We still find ourselves mourning those sometimes, but today, we also find ourselves making brand new, even more amazingly gorgeous memories… untainted by the memory of an affair.
One of the biggest healing agents to our marriage was prayer. Not just ours, but prayers from friends and friends of friends. We ASKED for prayer.
Allow me to stray from my story for a minute and address something. I have received over 1,000 emails/notes/messages of people sharing how they have experienced or ARE experiencing an affair and their marriage didn’t/isn’t survive(ing). The reason is simple: Satan still has a hold on it.
I’m not saying that there’s an easy fix to the dilemma at hand or that your situation isn’t complicated. You’re definitely wedged in between a rock and a hard place. What I AM saying is your marriage hasn’t completely been handed over to God.
Maybe the affair isn’t over.
Maybe your spouse can’t get over the hurt.
Maybe you can’t trust they won’t do it again.
Maybe you just can’t forgive.
Maybe your spouse won’t change.
Maybe the relationship can’t heal right because it wasn’t broken enough. Sometimes, when you break a bone, it doesn’t heal correctly. The only way you can ever get that bone to work correctly for you is if the Doctor RE-breaks it and you sit… and allow it to re-knit itself. Both of you need to choose to be broken, but you CANNOT control or choose for your spouse. You can only choose for yourself.
“Breaking you” may mean you need to tell your secret not only to your spouse and family… but to your community… your church. Let all the secrets out (I’m not saying to reveal every little detail, in fact, I would advise against that. Tell your story in categories… not in details) so you may be released from Satan’s hold. Satan cannot bind you if you don’t give him a rope and duct tape.
After telling my story, only my actions proved my new boundaries. Revealing it all left me raw. Friendly male encounters that didn’t used to faze me now left me feeling VERY uncomfortable. I knew this was good.
My boundaries had changed. Instead of running up to “the line” and testing how fast I could stop before stepping on it, I deeply planted a very thick hedge in front of the line. If I were ever to get bumped towards the line, I would wrestle with that hedge a bit, but would be SO far from that line I’m certain I would never cross the line.
Today, Brian and I have a marriage that is stronger than it’s ever been. We are finding ourselves more in love than we ever thought possible. Our healing has been nothing short of a miracle… but His miracles aren’t only for us.
Three questions for you:
1. Are you willing to tell your story? All of it?
2. Are you willing to be TRULY broken?
3. Are you willing to plant that hedge?
None of this is easy… but I can assure you, it is ALL worth it.
Jenni can be found on facebook, you can follow her on twitter and you can read more of her writing on her website.
Why is it that the Christian world needs to copy the Non’s and make their own version of things? The copycats are cheap, poorly put together and embarrassing. If you critique the market at all, they think they’re doing something right and they up the cheese factor.
There’s a company who sells complete ‘cool Christian’ outfits. From the shoes, the wrist sweatband, the dog-tags to the baseball cap, you can look like a Christian knock-off of K-Fed. T-shirts are advertised as ‘bold’ with graphics mimicking everyone in the department store from Affliction to Ed Hardy. By ‘bold’, I’m not sure if they mean their ‘extreme’ graphics or the words sprawled across the front on the shirts. There is one that can be seen at least four stores down in a mall hallway that reads, ‘I killed Jesus.’ I’m sure you can get a thumbs up from the other guy wearing the t-shirt that looks like it has smeared blood spelling out ‘Washed by his blood.’
I’m not trying to be a butt for the sake of being a butt. I just don’t know who these products are for, because they’re not for the Non’s. The Non’s think they’re socially inept. It’s just another way for you to divide yourselves off into a secluded section of existence.
Who gains the most by maneuvering Christians out of society by making them look like ridiculous posers and giving them alternate ways to interact with each other without entering the rest of the world? Who gets to lick the icing off the cake when those people slap high fives and use Christianese to communicate their gratitude for successfully removing themselves from the ‘fellowship’ of ‘the world’ and are just enjoying the ‘blessings’ of one another? I heard the term ‘Christian Ghetto’ recently. Perfect.
What the unbelieving world finds off-putting is the severe level of detachment from reality that they see inthose who wander out of the Christian Warehouses. Any market knows that if you put the ‘JC’ brand on a pack of breath mints, they’ll sell like hot cakes on the Trinket Jesus store front. Anyone who refuses to turn the Gospel into an outdated graphic slapped on the cheapest surface available will be bombarded by hoards trying to prove their Kingdom worth with their vinyl suits and microphone breath. Christians have earned the appearance of sweaty pre-pubescents wearing cheap and awkwardly bedazzled Cliche Costumes thinking nobody notices. Then they think it’s their ‘Jesus glow’ that makes people ask them why they stand out.
I need to go iron my ‘Abreadcrumb & Fish’ t-shirt and play with my bobble-head Jesus and BibleMan action figure while I search for the Christian alternative to Ray LaMontagne and figure out how to market my handcrafted ‘The Shack’ air fresheners.
You cast your lot and you’re waiting for the engine to roar to life. Your bags are packed, belongings sold, windows boarded.
But, the wet from your goodbye kiss has already dried. Your stomach is growling, your new boots are pinching your toes and the clock keeps reminding you that he’s there. There was no band to greet you and there are no familiar faces waiting to guide you.
You knew doubt would be part of your journey, but the onset is like a blanket of fear that covers the brochures you tattered while you daydreamed in your bed.
When is it okay to get angry? Can you step out of Keeping It Together and scream at nothing? It’s all falling apart and maybe it’s supposed to, but it still hurts like hell.
‘Take heart,’ He says. ‘Don’t quit.’
But you have nothing to hang on to. You have nothing to let go. You have given up everything for a promise and the promise is a breath in your ear rather than substance in your hands.
They’re all watching. Those who heard the lilt in your voice and watching you carry your estate to your front yard. They tried to give you an out, but you refused. You knew your Hope would not let you down. But, oh, how if feels like He’s letting you down. Letting you drown. Forgetting the command to pick up your cross and follow Him.
Warm me, your servant, with a smile; save me because you love me. Don’t embarrass me by not showing up.-Psalm 31:16-17
‘Take heart’, He says. But you rant and cry. You cramp and quake until your whole body aches. You drink to numb, but still wake up alone.
Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God, “Why did you let me down? Why am I walking around in tears, harassed by enemies?” They’re out for the kill, these tormentors with their obscenities, Taunting day after day, “Where is this God of yours?” -Psalm 42:9-10
‘I have nothing to hold on to!’ I have nothing to hold on to. The cries of the one who found out Who was sovereign and Who can do as He pleases when He pleases whether or not it pleases me. ‘I have nothing to hold on to’ are the screams of ‘self’ that is giving it’s last effort to find something within existence to give her hope other than to simply hope in the One who says we can put our hope in Him.
Be brave. Be strong. Don’t give up. Expect God to get here soon.-Psalm 31:24
I am not brave, Father, and I am not strong. I’m just a girl who wants you to show up. I listen day and night for the sounds of the drummer in the distance announcing the arrival of the One who will turn valley’s into mountain tops and groaning into laughter.
And so we wait. When you have no voice left to scream and no tears left to cry, when you don’t care about getting and you just wait for sleep to come while you breath in and then breath out. The quiet is comfort the shivering has subsided. The ‘self’ has succumbed as the lamb lies on a bed of grass under the stars.
Morning is peering through your dreams and creation wells up as if to speak.
What’s God going to say to my questions? I’m braced for the worst. I’ll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon. I’ll wait to see what God says, how he’ll answer my complaint.
And then God answered: “Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what’s coming. It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait! And it doesn’t lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It’s on its way. It will come right on time.-Habakkuk 2:1-3
Have you seen the movie, ‘Point Of No Return’? Bridget Fonda’s character is a drugged out girl from the streets who gets sentenced to death for murdering a police officer. She gets the lethal injection only to wake up, later, in a chamber of a secret compound. She gets the choice of life or death. If she chooses life, she has to give it to this assassin agency and her old life doesn’t exist. To the rest of the world, she died from the lethal injection.
That’s kind of how I see my life. Minus the drug use and assassinations… but I deserved death and was given life, but with the stipulation that my life is no longer my own.
I get so confused when people talk about looking for evidence of God’s grace in another’s life. What are they looking for? I’ve had people ask me how God has shown me His grace. Do you want to know what the biggest evidence is for me? My faith.
For throughthe grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith. -Romans 12:3 NAS
I can’t explain the difference between my faith and understanding now versus my faith and understanding before my fall. It’s night and day. And to think that it came through my shattered self-righteousness. God’s grace, to me, is found the ‘measure’ He’s given me. And I find my faith in its purest form when I emphatically understand and agree with Job when he says:
Because even if he killed me, I’d keep on hoping. -Job 13:15
What demands can you make to a God who owes you nothing? Life is given when death is deserved. Life is your grace. If you’ve lost it, you’ve found it. Don’t put your hands on it again. You get to live what isn’t yours.
My point of no return was answering the call to go through death to find life. I can’t reenter the blind life because I can’t un-know what I know or un-see what I’ve seen. I’ve lost my naivete.
I don’t choose what I’m used for. Maybe a thorn, maybe a sword.
Stop looking for monetary value. Stop searching for sparkles and asking for proof. I’ve had an encounter. Somewhere in the desert of life, I was collided with the Creator. I can’t be bothered with proving my worth, I have a hard enough time trying to articulate the visions streaming through my head. But, I have the most fun trying.
Since we have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, each of us is to exercise them accordingly… according to the proportion of his faith.-Romans 12:6 NAS
Do you remember your point of no return? When did everything change for you?
