The Aftermath

{If you missed the first chapter of my story, find it here: Beautiful Things: The Rescuer. Blessings, M}

When Dane knocked on the door that cold and rainy night, I was shocked. I didn't think he'd ever come back. Nervously I opened the door to find a shattered man. Physically, he was freezing and soaked. Emotionally he was exhausted, guilty, and hurt. Spiritually...he was in the darkest place he'd ever found himself. My heart broke, when I didn't think I had anything left to break. I silently moved aside as he entered our home...a place that was no longer a haven, but ground zero.

We didn't talk much that first night.

The next morning was Sunday. Easter Sunday. I asked Dane if he wanted to go to church. He did. As we sat down together, looking very much like a happy newlywed couple, I sadly realized we'd been faking it for a long time. With each other, our friends, even God. But that morning, my heart ripped open, raw and bleeding, I was more alive than ever before. My desperation for rescuing made my very soul ache. Jesus's sacrifice had never seemed so real. He knows what it's like to be wounded.

That weekend, we decided that we weren't giving up.

The implosion of my marriage wasn't spontaneous - it was the result  of two people living for themselves. Rebuilding wasn't simple. There was so much damage in so many areas that we worked slowly, carefully setting things to rights. I remember one evening, as we returned home after a particularly rough counseling session, I told Dane to go ahead inside without me. He obliged (possibly grateful for a few minutes away from his über-emotional wife). After he left, a dam that had been straining against a flood of anger and pain broke. As I sobbed out my frustration and disappointment, I asked the question I had been wanting to ask for weeks. "Please, can't I just leave him?" 

"No."

Well. That got my attention. I'd never heard God speak before.

I had a decision to make: was I going to go through the motions and meet my husband halfway, or could I let go of my self and my expectations and my pride...and give not fifty, but one hundred percent of myself to our relationship?

The next day I sunk into our couch with my coffee and my Bible to continue my study of Romans. I found a verse that has become a part of who I am:

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts." Romans 5:3-5

I had a decision to make. I could let this suffering, this intense pain of betrayal and rejection teach me, or I could let it define me. By Grace alone, I chose to learn. Because even though I didn't trust my husband, I trusted God. For some reason, He had allowed this to be part of my story.

Over the next year, Dane and I allowed God to redeem our marriage. A lot of people have asked me what that actually looked like. We went to 6 weeks of intense marriage counseling. We attended Family Life's Weekend to Remember, which I heartily recommended for ANY couple - newlywed, oldlywed, healthy, unhealthy - in fact I'd love to attend again now that we're not a hot mess. We joined a life group. We spent hours conversing honestly with our best friends (love you James and Lynne!). We dove into Scripture. We spent hours talking about tough stuff, but also about fun, silly stuff. Basically...we got real.

Slowly, Dane rebuilt my demolished trust. We fixed the foundation - the fundamental issues that allowed our relationship to crack and crumble so quickly - and started over. I realize this isn't a revolutionary concept, but until I lived it, I didn't get it: marriage isn't about me. It's not about my husband either. It's about God using two imperfect people to demonstrate perfect love, and to bring Him glory. I wish that we had known that in the beginning, but looking back, I'm thankful that where we were broken, we are strong. Where there was confusion and anger, we have peace. Where I despaired, there is joy. 

Hope does not disappoint...

The Rescuer

A few months ago, Dane and I publicly shared our marriage testimony for the first time. His journey from his darkest moment to being forgiven and free is my favorite story of all time. We are who we are because he allowed God to save us. But as I always say, it is never 100% one person's fault. It can be 99.9% someone's fault, but there is always enough sin to go around. I want to tell you about my portion.

The day before my wedding, I felt so prepared. Dane and I had been friends for years and during our engagement attended marriage classes and premarital counseling. We had survived a car wreck and unsupportive parents. We had even gone on a mission trip together. Obviously this marriage thing was going to be easy. We'd be naturals.

As a nineteen year old bride, I was expecting Prince Charming. Dane was chivalrous, funny, and romantic. I thought he was perfect.

As someone who desperately needed rescuing - out of a bad family situation, out of depression and an eating disorder, out of an addiction to pleasing people - I found Dane to be solid and safe. So I married him. Not just because I loved him, but because I needed him. (Well, it wasn't him I needed, but I didn't know that yet.)

We threw ourselves into careers and college. When we weren't in class or working, we blew our money at restaurants, theaters, and on, well, stuff. We church hopped a little, but often we'd skip it. Many times have we looked back on that first year and marveled at our immaturity and selfishness. 

Even though we were obviously marriage experts (someone needs to invent a sarcasm font) we fell into bad habits. Our most serious problem was my shrinking faith in Dane's leadership. If you've ever read Love and Respect by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs, you can probably imagine what our relationship looked like. In a nutshell, we were in a crazy cycle of disrespect and unloving behavior. Any time Dane made a mistake - no, any time he was less than absolutely perfect - I flipped out. Eventually I started tightening control and shutting him out to avoid being disappointed again. The expectation of perfection was, I'm sure, suffocating to Dane.

This all happened our first year of marriage. How quickly we fell.

Unless the LORD builds the house,
They labor in vain who build it
Psalm 127:1

After our first anniversary, he started acting more withdrawn and was away a lot. I started to worry, and for a few months I ignored and denied it. It all imploded Easter weekend 2007.

I heard that our former church was doing a Maundy Thursday service. Anyone who knows me knows I love Easter traditions, and this was irresistible. I invited Dane to go with me, but wasn't surprised when he said no. So I went alone. I sat in the front, and for the first time in a long time, opened my heart and listened. I already knew I was a mess, but that evening I realized it was because I had quietly replaced Jesus with an imperfect husband, material c-r-a-p, and above all: my self. No wonder I was miserable. No wonder I was disappointed. No wonder Dane never measured up.

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.
Ephesians 2:13

And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. And He is the head of the body, the church, who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in all things He may have the preeminence.
Colossians 1:17-18

My priorities were upside down, and so was my life. My flawed foundation was finally crumbling, and my whole life was on the precipice of destruction. I needed to be rescued again - this time for real, this time for keeps, this time by Someone who really was perfect.

I'll close this with the video my church produced in order to share our story. I have so much to share about the aftermath and the good years that have followed. But for now, today, here is the story of how we almost lost everything - our life together and our faith. 

Dane & Melissa's Story from The MET Church on Vimeo.

Creation Cries Out

Have you ever prayed for someone you didn't know? Most of us probably have. Your friend's sick nephew, your neighbor's great aunt, the person being loaded into the ambulance as you drive past an accident. Just because they're strangers doesn't mean we can't whisper a prayer for them. Have you ever committed to intercede for a stranger, though? I'm guessing not as many hands are raised. About a month ago my church had a gathering for women in our community. We learned from a powerful Bible teacher and worshipped together as one Body. At the end of the night we also had the opportunity to take a card with a girl's name on it...a girl who has been (most likely) forced into prostitution. She is a slave, a victim of sex trafficking. The commitment was to pray "For Her" for thirty days. I'm not sure whose idea it was to find these girls' names, but it made all the difference for me. Mya, age 21. Funny how a name can instantly make someone less of a statistic and more of a person. 

I first prayed for Mya on my way home that night. In that moment she became my sister, my niece, my best friend...she represented all the girls I know. If not for the grace of God, it could've been any of them. It could've been me. Over the next few weeks I learned how to pray for her. I would wake up suddenly in the middle of the night (not a normal occurrence for me) and pray, knowing that she was probably working.

At the end of thirty days (about a week ago), a small group of us gathered on a living room floor to pray together, sing, and thank God for what he had done and will do. There was no set agenda. We didn't need one. The Holy Spirit was in our midst and we simply followed his leading. Someone would say, "Let's pray about this right now," or "Let's talk about this for a minute," or "We need to get on our knees right now and pray for this." We shared dreams and visions and scriptures we believe the Lord gave us for our girls about their freedom and our responsibility. We prayed with faith, believing that our God is all-powerful and he hears us and he desires justice. We also confessed our disbelief because some days it was just plain hard. The task before us seemed too daunting, to dark. But we know that Jesus is the Father of Light and we pray to HIM. So we praised him anyway. My level of belief doesn't determine his worthiness of praise. Sometimes there are no words left, no more tears to cry, and the only way your head could possibly be lifted is by His tender hand underneath your chin. Could Mya even recognize such a loving gesture? I don't know how anyone could live a life like Mya's without eventually becoming numb. It's a defense mechanism, a way to stop feeling when the only feelings left are pain and desperation. I pray God gives Mya the courage to keep feeling so that she can feel the difference between a hand intended to harm and His hand intended to rescue. And I keep praising through my tears which I now recognize as grace.

My prayer as we concluded the evening was that Jesus would encourage us with good news before the night was over. Let us see a tangible victory. Only I didn't hear of any girls being rescued that evening. There were no news stories on twitter that another trafficker had received a sentencing. Honestly, by morning I had forgotten about my prayer.

If you were to ask me my favorite of God's attributes I would probably have a different answer every time. This week my answer comes easily: He's personal. He has known my name and Mya's name since before the foundation of the world. And because he is personal he hears our cries and he responds to us! There are girls all around the world who's every breath cries out for rescue. They may not even know it's Jesus that they want, but He created us to long for oneness with Him. When he created the Garden of Eden he never intended for Man to fall and the world to be overrun with evil. He knew it would happen but it was not his desire for us. We were created to live in communion with our Creator.

Sin gets in the way, though, doesn't it? I'm selfish and when I take my eyes off of Jesus I focus on petty desires and I'm fearful and long for things of this earth. With my gaze turned inward I sometimes feel that maybe He's not so personal after all. When I'm believing that lie, I don't want to pray and I surely don't want to praise. I lock my eyes on my insecurities until they become faith-slaying giants and I'm paralyzed with fear and a sense of isolation.

He knows that the way to recapture my attention and restore communion is to show himself to be profoundly personal. I don't know how God reveals himself to you, but for me it's usually through nature. In Luke 19:40 Jesus says, "I tell you, if these [disciples] were silent, the very stones would cry out." No less than five times this week, when I could feel myself succumbing to fear God used the skies to remind me who he is. From a stunning sunset to a lightening storm behind the veil of a billowing cloud to a full rainbow reaching across the horizon. I took them all personally.

If we truly believe that we serve a God who hears his creation and responds, then for crying out loud, let's bring our faith to our prayers! If I dwell on the issue of human trafficking and think about all 27 million (can you wrap your mind around that number?) people who are enslaved around the world, it's daunting. When our twitter feed or television delivers more stories of rape and injustice than it does of rescues and raids, the temptation to give up is often very real. How vital it is, then, to fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. (Hebrews 12:2) Because we can't just do nothing while his creation cries out for rescue.

The prayer I forgot about, the one where I asked for a tangible victory? He answered me that night and I didn't even know it. I found out yesterday that at the very hour we were praying on that living room floor, a brothel here in Houston was raided. I'm still in awe. Praise you, Jesus. I came across Isaiah 65:24 this morning: "Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear." Amen. He delivers.

We have a responsibility, Church. I say this with all the tenderness I can muster, because I am speaking it mainly to myself: We have to step up and fight. We are in a war for souls. I'm not just talking about sex trafficking, although that is currently at the forefront of my mind. There are plenty of causes. Pick one. But for goodness sake, wearing a promotional t-shirt is only going to accomplish so much. (I'm not bashing the idea. I love my EndIt Movement shirt.) But all the awareness in the world is not a substitute for action. Action probably looks different for you than it does for me. We have different gifts and passions and resources. So let's leverage our diversity for the kingdom. And let's cover every single step with bold, faithFULL (not faithless), prayer.

He hears.

"For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power."

1 Corinthians 4:20

***If you would like to get involved in the fight against trafficking, you can join the "For Her" Facebook page. Also, Elijah Rising is hosting the Justice Summit this weekend. Details here.

Y'all, right after I finished typing this post I saw via the A21 Campaign on Instagram that a 23 year-old man was rescued from sex slavery today. It's not just for girls. Thank you Jesus, for the reminder, and for your deliverance!