It was a regular Wednesday evening. The day had been clear and sunny. There was no forecast of rain, no storm on the horizon. At least that’s what I thought, when D-day number two occurred.
In a moment, a flash of a phone screen, everything changed. The next few moments played out like the climax of a tragic movie. Painful questions, even more painful answers and flurry of chaos, tears, pleading, and hopelessness filled the room. I stood looking at a man I had loved for thirty something years, and I no longer recognized him. The one I thought I loved, the one I thought I knew, the one that knew me, was gone. I had no idea what to do, but knew I didn’t want him near me any longer. At my insistence, he left, and I was alone.
A Shattered Reality
Trying to describe the depth of pain I felt was near impossible. I could only liken it to being thrown into a glass door and having it shatter, shards of glass digging deep into my skin. The wreckage of the moment lay all around me. No matter where I walked, my bare feet felt the sting of another hurt, another loss, another lie. Slivers of glass wedging deeper into my flesh. How could I recover from this? Emotions of every kind overwhelmed me.
Days after discovery, I stood in my den, holding the evidence of his betrayal in my hand. I hadn’t fully understood the depth of the betrayal, but in that moment, it all became evident. My knees buckled under the weight of the truth. Face in the carpet, wails of grief pouring over my lips, the only words I could speak were a simple anguished prayer, “Jesus, see me!” I was alone. I wanted no one to know the depth of this hurt. It was ugly, too ugly for anyone else to join me. Yet, my heart cried to be seen, for someone to understand just how deeply my heart had been ripped open.
Please See Me
Over and over, I begged, “Jesus, see me! See me! See me!” I breathed deep to try and gain some control over my emotions that threatened to consume me and opened my eyes. And there he was – Jesus – laying on the floor next to me, holding out his hand. His face pressed against the carpet like mine. His cheeks stained with tears, like mine. His heart broken, just like mine.
I grabbed his hand and cried some more, but this time with a little more hope. He had seen me! He did understand. I wasn’t alone. He wasn’t afraid of my pain. In fact, it was his pain, too.
I didn’t expect to meet Jesus in such an undignified way that day. My heart knew, however, that He was the only one who could meet me in all that grief and not be scared away.
My friend, my sister, He sees you too. He will meet you wherever you are – face down in the carpet or standing in the middle of recovery or divorce, however that may look. He’s not afraid. Grab his hand as I did that day and take another step toward healing. He will always walk with you.
With You in Hope,
