“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. —Isaiah 55:8 (niv)
Mary and I sat at the large wooden table with two copies of our divorce papers in neat white piles, His and Hers. I felt strong. I wasn’t as fragile as the last few times we’d almost signed. For months there was always something that caused a delay: missing information, an item we forgot to bring, canceled appointments. Each time I wondered, Lord, is this You? Are You going to turn things around?
The mediator smiled sympathetically as we took our seats. “Shall we go over the document to make sure everything is in order?”
I knew there would be no restoration. There would be no more delays. The pen was in my hand, ready to sign away my vows. And although I now felt at peace with letting go, it suddenly seemed so final. The strength I felt that morning slowly faded, and on a crowded train on my way home, I had to disappear into my jacket to hide my tears and muffle my sobs.
Why didn’t You intervene? My heart quietly asked God. Why couldn’t You make us a family? After all those months of healing and acceptance, I now had to mourn all over again.
When I got home, my children ran to me. Their happy faces urged me not to dwell on what I’d lost. So I hugged them tightly, holding on to what I still had, to what is yet to come.
