— Chapter One —
The morning sun shone brightly through the windows in the family room on that cold brisk January morning. Usually, the rays would add warmth to the room, but not this particular morning. I felt as though I was standing in the midst of a cold and frightening holocaust. Words, hurled like rocks at windows, shattered my world into a million pieces when my husband confirmed what I had found concealed in a brown manila envelope. “I am in love with her and she feels the same way about me.”
No words could ever describe the intense pain and shock of those moments. In a heap on the floor, my pleas did not change his mind. I was completely helpless when he walked away.
“God!” I sobbed, “please help me! I can’t bear this! Please, just let me die!”
In shock, I immediately called our children. Two were married and lived several states away. All three came as quickly as they could. Nervously groping the phone, I then called the church asking to speak to one of the staff. They had to know. Within a few minutes, friends and church family converged at my doorstep. My eyes, darkened by shadows of unspeakable pain and utter disbelief, met theirs. After we embraced, we stood in shocked silence, gazing at one another like mourners at a wake.
I couldn’t hold back the tears when all my children finally arrived. Our hearts broke as we held each other. My son made several attempts to confront his dad—but to no avail. The cars of well-meaning friends lined the street in front of the house. My neighbors thought there had been a tragic death. Days ran into sleepless nights and when I had to tell my children goodbye, it felt as if salt were being poured into my already mangled wound.
Everyone left. Everyone. I was completely alone for the first time ever in my life. That was a hard place to be. Alone. Completely. I sat motionlessly at my kitchen table, exhausted, numb, and grieving. The second-hand on the kitchen clock punctuated this totally desolate barren time.
Several praise tapes were conveniently within reach. I picked one out and stuck it into the new tape deck my husband had given me a few months earlier at a surprise birthday party planned by friends. As the music played, I thought about that particular Sunday following my party when this gift had been anxiously anchored under the kitchen cabinet. “Why did he want to install it so quickly?” I had asked myself, knowing that this wasn’t the kind of chore he liked to do. But that afternoon it seemed as though he couldn’t hook it up fast enough.
At the time, I had thought he had done it to please me. Then it hit me! He was trying to get it done before leaving! The words on the tape continued to proclaim that God’s grace was sufficient as I cried inconsolably after I’d realized how blind I had been to what had been going on. When I stopped to catch my breath, unsolicited, unexpected, unholy thoughts brazenly forced their way in my mind.
“Well now, look at what your God has allowed. You say you believe in Him? You say you love Him? Look at what believing and loving God has brought you! So here is your reward for all that straight and narrow living. If you had done something really bad, then perhaps this would be payback, but you never did anything to deserve this! You say there is a God? If there is, then where was He when all of this was going on? If He is supposed to be so good, why didn’t He stop this from happening?”
Slam! Two points!
Over and over, the god of this world opened fire with a barrage of vicious accusations. I crumbled, unable to defend even one. Then within minutes I swung from a state of total desolation to cynicism, asking God, “What does that mean, ‘Your grace is sufficient for me’?1 I’ve heard that all my life and now look at me! If Your grace is so sufficient, then it has to mean that somehow You can pick up the pieces of my broken life and put me back together again!” Then an unpremeditated remark venomously rolled out of my mouth. “Look what loving You cost me!”
Like a child caught for saying a bad word, I put my hand over my mouth wishing I had never uttered those words. For God lovingly penetrated my numbed heart by responding, “My child, look what loving you cost Me,”2 as the song continued to play.
I helplessly confessed, “Lord, I can’t pick up my shattered pieces and put them back together. I just can’t!”
I was frightfully aware of my powerlessness to do anything. Trying to gain composure, I lifted my head from the kitchen table ready to barter with my heavenly Father.
“If I read my Bible everyday, pray, and trust You, even though that will be hard, will You help me? God, can You give me a reason to want to live? Will I ever have that abundant life You’ve promised?3 Will I ever experience joy in my life again? If I do, it will have to come from You. But if Your supernatural power doesn’t hold me together and joy doesn’t come, then You are not real and You have nothing to offer me. I will keep a journal as proof. You write the pages. And remember Lord, I can’t pretend very well!”
With great precision, God chiseled these promises into my heart of stone. “Donna, My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness. I hear your cries.4 I am here with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you.5 It is from Me that you will draw your strength so that you might live. I’ve promised that you will have an abundant life, and that kind of life is found only in Me.6 Donna, I want you to believe Me. I want you to trust Me.”7
Copyright 2001, 2004 Donna Christensen
All rights reserved.
Published Online by: The Biblical Reader
www.biblicalreader.com