At the beginning, she began her story describing her heartbreak and fear that her seemingly model marriage brought her, and how she battled every night for months to years at a time feeling alone and trapped. She describes her and her ex-husbands relationship as one that towards the end, cause for redemption from the other person. She says, "he wanted a settlement and all of our money, and I just wanted the door." She later explains that towards the end, all they wanted was the end and they "had the eyes of refugees."
I was reading, or rather listening, to this woman's tale and thought "Geez, thats painful and broken and I never want that." She said, "I wish for you, my delicate reader, that you never have to go through a divorce in New York" to which I could only reply, "Amen."
It seems, that for the first time in what feels like ever, I find myself outside of myself and my surroundings noticing that where I am when I'm in a certain unnamed place...I have the same heart of needing redemption. When I am here, I have the eyes of a refugee. I want out all of the time, and everything is beyond a stab in my back, but a punch straight to the gut. All day, in and out, punch, punch, punch, with the occasional slap in the face.
Most would say run. But having the heart of a believer, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. Which is ridiculous if you ask me, or really anyone. Whether you're suffering for righteousness sake or not, you're still suffering...and hard. I suppose I really only have myself to blame. I walk around dressed as a human punching bag attracting, and part of me feels even desiring, for those who need to take a punch to do it, because I feel I can handle it. There is, however, some truth to the fact that I can handle it. Again, being a believer, knowing the Lord, and understanding as much as I humanly can why this is my role most of my life, I find peace in this fact. But then I hear this: "You MUST be a really crappy person. This isn't the first time this has happened to you. After a certain amount of time, you're always here. No matter where you flee, no matter who you meet, after that amount of time they will see that you really are a terrible friend. The gig is up, stop pretending, because sooner or later they will see that you really do in fact suck big time. What do you think will happen when your husband reaches this point? He'll just leave you and remind you further of the fact that you aren't good enough and no matter what you do, you will never please anyone in the slightest bit."
punch to the gut.
After laying on the floor in pain from that ever-so-lovely string of statements, I stand up, brush myself off, and with my actions loudly proclaim, "do it again."
I wish I had a redeeming way to end this. But for now, I have the eyes of a refugee.
