Every Season

photo cred

Fall is my favorite time of year. I love everything about it. There are aspects of each season that I enjoy, but none make me giddy like Fall. From the cooler weather to pumpkin everything, and from boots and scarves to Thanksgiving, what's not to love? But without a doubt, my favorite part is the trees. Vibrant reds, blinding yellows and golds, and toasty oranges take my breath away every year. I've been known to hop in my car and drive towards the country in search of the winning display of color. Granted, I live in Houston, where green is the predominant color year-round. But there are bursts of color to be seen, and this nature girl appreciates every tiny brush stroke. One day I will drive through the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall (my bucket list is simple), but for this life season I will enjoy my apartment's tiny porch, the yellow vine woven through "my" trees, and the whoosh of traffic that I pretend is the sound of the ocean.

There is a joy that accompanies finding place and peace in the midst of life's traffic. It may look different for you. Mine looks like the sun peeking through branches, illuminating a delicate, silky web I hadn't noticed a few feet in front of me. It sounds like a strong breeze rushing through the leaves, and a Brown Thrasher foraging its way through the crunchy underbrush in search of its next meal. My soul can breath even here in this urban wilderness.

Seasons are curious things, aren't they? The part that puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step will eventually make me sad. The same way a "hello" always means a "goodbye." Call me sappy if you will, but as the yellows and reds fall to cover the green earth I can't help but mourn for the naked trees. (Maybe I need a support group.) But there is beauty even in death, you see. The cleaner branches provide a clearer view to watch the crimson Cardinal that is chirping at me. He doesn't know he's part of my background music. Maybe it's about perspective. Or acceptance (not complacency...there's a difference). Choosing to dwell on the good. Death is occurring, yes, but it's a necessary death that gives way to life. The trees must shed the old to make way for the new. The crisp brown leaves on the ground serve as a warm blanket, insulating the seeds that have also fallen. Because the seeds are protected from the frost, they will spring up as flowers and young trees in the months and years to come.

There is a comforting rhythm to seasons. They speak of a Creator who is consistently faithful...one who knows that this earth and these people can only stand so many days of triple-digit temperatures. And as He blows the leaves off of the trees, He graciously blows through my heart and kindly declares, "This part needs to die. But don't despair; I am making all things new." And when springtime comes, and it always does, He whispers to the seed He has been covering and tending, "Grow." And when we see the fragile green sprig that has pushed its way up through the soil, we marvel at its strength and thank God for all seasons past, and every season yet to come.

A Prayer

Jesus, I confess that I have a prideful heart. Forgive me for forgetting that I need you. I need you so desperately. But sometimes I think I can do it all on my own. I have often left my manna sitting outside my tent and gone hunting instead. Forgive my ungrateful spirit.

It should be no surprise that I feel distant from you. I've been angry and frustrated that I'm not hearing from you. I haven't wanted to spend time with you.

But you are with me...

I see in this moment that there is beauty in the struggle. Struggle means there is life and breath. The greater danger is numbness and lethargy. The unrest in my heart is a grace. A battle can be a good thing and right now my flesh and my spirit are warring over my faith. Thank you for not letting me stay complacent in my self-sufficiency. Thank you that I am seeing now how much I need you. Keep showing me. But please be gentle with me, as you are so faithful to be.

Thank you for your patience...allowing me to work out my salvation. You are working it out in me (Philippians 2:12-13). Help me fight. Remind me to put on your armor every day. When I step out the door without my shield I am defenseless against the fiery darts of the Accuser. Guard my mind. Strengthen my faith.

Forgive me also for my short-sightedness. When I attempt to live by my own strength, my gaze turns inward. Like a horse with blinders on, I am unaware of the world around me. My petty cravings and discomforts infect my mind. I lose sight of the Kingdom. It becomes "my will be done, not thine." If the Kingdom is a green, fertile land with rich soil waiting to be tilled and grain ready for harvesting, then my short-sighted territory of self-sufficiency is a parched desert. Step after step on hard packed earth and no water in sight.

It is lonely there.

I feel defenseless and seek protection in houses built on sand. I have let myself become swallowed up in one of those sinking frames.

So God I confess my deep desire for the approval, applause, and acceptance of man. I lay my insecurity before you. There was a time when I rested in your steadfast love. Help me to take back that piece of ground the enemy has stolen from me (Psalm 44:5). Seeking man's approval does not please you. It distorts my thinking and leaves me feeling less-than. Which leads to more striving. It's a toxic, pointless cycle. And I'm done.

I repent. You are enough. Fill this specific cavern with your truth. Truth frees.

Thank you for your perfect love. Thank you for hearing my prayers and responding. God, you are a refuge for me. You are a refuge. A safe place. A trustworthy haven. Oh, that I might know you, LORD! Let me press on to know you. You will respond to me as surely as the arrival of dawn or the coming of rain in early spring (Hosea 6:3). All glory to YOU.

Let it be.

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; 

my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, 

as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. 

So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. 

Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. 

Psalm 62:1-4 

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.