We've all scrolled through Facebook, right? Down the screen comes endless photos of loving marriages, soon-to-be-professional-athlete kids, and Go-pro worthy vacations. Heck, even the desserts look perfect. Each touched up, strategically lit photo screams at those of us who are hurting, "Those people are perfect, you're not. They've got it all together, you don't."
Is that reality? I used to think so, but now I know better. Despite the smiling Facebook veneers, I know of marriages that are desperate, kids who are struggling, and finances that are on the brink. But if you were to only look at what you see, you'd think there isn't a single, struggling family in your circle of "friends."
I used to love Facebook, and I even posted from time to time. But as my marriage drifted further and further into a dark place, Facebook depressed me. As my husband worked more and more overtime to avoid home, there was that happy couple on another weekend getaway together, smiling in a selfie. As my husband blamed me for his unhappiness, that husband bought his wife another bouquet of flowers. Seeing those images again and again poisoned my heart and drew me deeper into despair.
Facebook can be a positive place to share good news and inspiration. It can also be a dangerous place.
Imagine the neglected husband or wife scrolling through Facebook. They see a post by a former high school flame. In a moment of weakness, they click on that person's profile. They go deep on the photos, and see how perfect that former flame's life has been. Aren't they a wonderful person now? So much better than the current spouse. They click. They send a message. The other person responds. They plan to meet, just to catch up. And soon, an affair begins. It happens all the time.
To be honest, I've considered it. Wouldn't a revenge affair be awesome? Wouldn't that heal my wounded soul, and remind me that I'm valuable? Loved? That I'm not a freakish monster? Thankfully, I never walked that path. But I've been desperate for love and attention, and desperate people do desperate things.
I'm not anti-Facebook. I'm in the "be careful of Facebook" camp. Be careful what you share. Be careful who you connect with. Be careful of how you receive those images. And remember: behind every smiling face is a story. Sometimes that story is full of pain, loss, denial, desperation, envy, rejection, and heartbreak. Everyone is dealing with something, even if it doesn't seem like it.
My nephew calls Facebook "Fakebook." And isn't that the reality?
Until next time...
(our view)
In December of 1994, my husband and I bought 7.5 acres of rugged, wild land in northern Los Angeles county. There wasn't a spec of water, electricity or gas attached to the property. What stands here today was brought in by us, built by us, nurtured by us. A week before our oldest son was born, the foundation was poured, and we etched our names and date into the soft concrete.
And now, we prepare to list it for sale. We've known this moment was coming, but still, that doesn't make it easier. This is the only home our sons have ever known. So many memories have been made here...birthday parties, family gatherings, end-of-school swim parties. The boys and I have laid on the driveway at night and stared up at the clear, starry sky countless times. It's a special place.
It's also well known in our small community. When my sons participated in Every 15 Minutes, there was an audible gasp in the auditorium when the camera panned our home. Most of the teenagers in that room had knocked on our front door, played tag on that wide expanse of grass, laughed at that kitchen table.
We've planted roots here. Deep roots. It breaks my heart to see my husband so detached from our marriage, our family, and the home we built with our own hands. And yet, here we are.
I'm focusing on this truth: the memories made in our home were not because of the house itself. Special memories were made here because of the people. Wherever we go, we'll take that with us--the tightly bonded family, the ever-present friends, the games we'll play around the kitchen table.
As the boys and I prepare for this next season, our hearts are heavy but hopeful. Heavy for what we're letting go. Hopeful because we know God is directing our path, and guiding us with wisdom.
Buying this land was a blessing. Building our home was a blessing. Raising our sons here was a blessing. I'm so thankful I recognized that while we've been here. I've been grateful for this lovely home all along.
As we venture forth into a new frontier, the boys and I know we're not alone. If you're the praying kind, I humbly ask that you keep us in your prayers.
Until next time...
My oldest son and his friend were driving along a local freeway, when they passed a billboard for a divorce attorney that read, "OOPS!" In a nutshell, if your marriage was a big mistake, call us and we'll quickly sweep that nasty mistake out of your life.
My son told his friend, "I hate that billboard." She asked him why and he said, "Because they're making light of something that destroys people's lives." And then he wept.
Wow.
Such honest thoughts and emotions from a tender-hearted young man. His words make me wish I could grip the shoulders of every single person out there who's contemplating divorce--the husband or wife who's asking themselves these questions:
"What will make me happy?"
"What do I need?"
"How do I improve my future?"
Me. Me. Me.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I. I. I.
So much focus on self.
I wish I could shake that same person's shoulders and encourage them to ask the following instead:
"How can I make someone else happy?"
"What can I do to improve this marriage?"
"How can I be a better husband/wife and father/mother?"
"What's the right thing to do for my family?"
Yes, people survive divorce. Spouses survive it and children survive it. But it changes them forever. It leaves deep and lasting scars that could've been avoided if the married couple didn't have the attitude of, "Oops!" followed quickly by, "Next!"
I'm not suggesting that couples stay together just for the kids, or that an abused spouse stay in a dangerous situation. What I'm suggesting is that you seek help. Find answers. Search your own soul. Think about the other people in your family more than you think about yourself. Don't think that pulling the escape hatch on this "oops" will slip quietly into the night without collateral damage.
Marriage is a solemn promise, a covenant between you and your spouse before God, family and friends. "Oops" in marriage isn't the same as buying the wrong car, or choosing the wrong melon in the produce section.
If you're the person contemplating divorce, if you're the one who's committing adultery, if you're the one who's checked out of the marriage, I urge you to stop. Just stop! Think about what you're doing, and who you're doing it to. If you have children, think for a moment about them and what they need, and not just about you and what you need.
Until next time...
If I were to list my biggest struggles, forgiveness would rank high. It wasn't until I was deep into this paralyzing season of my life that I realized I was harboring a whole lot of unforgiveness.
Rick Warren did a series entitled "The Amazing Power of Forgiveness." In that series, he points out that forgiveness doesn't excuse the other person's behavior, nor does it force us to trust that person who's hurt us. Besides, forgiveness isn't for the other person. It's for us. Forgiveness enables us to release bitterness and soften a hardened heart.
As the image above suggests, the person who refuses to forgive is the prisoner. The other person may have moved on and doesn't even care if you do or don't forgive.
One of Warren's suggestions is to grab a pad of paper and a pen, and isolate yourself somewhere quiet. Write at the top of the paper 1 John 1:9, which says, "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." Humbly pray with an open heart, asking God to bring to mind anything and everything that needs to be forgiven. Then ask God for forgiveness. If there's a person who's been wronged on that list, if possible reach out to them and ask for forgiveness. Finally, tear the paper up, knowing you've been forgiven.
That's it!
I did this exercise, and believe me, it was powerful. It was also quite liberating. Three pages later, I was finally done. I'd been forgiven. Now when things pop up that I know I've done wrong, I immediately ask for forgiveness, and then I accept it with gratitude. My slate, and my conscience, are clean.
Soon after my husband left, I read a book about marriage (I can't remember which one) that suggested I acknowledge my part in the failed marriage. My natural inclination was to blame my husband for everything. So it wasn't easy, but I did it. I made a list of areas where I knew I was wrong, and went to my husband and asked his forgiveness. He said he forgave me. He truly hasn't forgiven me, though, because he still brings up those ancient issues. But that's a heart issue between him and God. I can't control that.
Next came the hard part: forgiving. It's easier to ask for forgiveness and receive it than to offer it to someone who perhaps doesn't deserve it. But what I've learned is that I truly don't deserve it, either. But still, God graciously gives it to me. And so I've forgiven my husband every day, even though he's never asked for it. Not even once.
What I've noticed is that I'm not carrying bitterness around with me anymore, like a heavy backpack full of jagged rocks.
Your person may not ask for forgiveness. They may not deserve it. And you most definitely won't feel like giving it. But carrying around all that unforgiveness is a burden we aren't meant to carry.
Ask for forgiveness, forgive your person, and then let it go. You'll be glad you did.
Until next time...
