At some point, amongst the crushing waves of pain and hard hitting despair, Kevin calls me, saying he has something to tell me, wanting to make sure I am home. This cold intro causes an intense reaction from my body. Historically, Kevin had always delivered the worst news, out of nowhere, a feeling, even now, percolates even when he opens his mouth to start speaking to me.
Before this Kevin had been given a sexual integrity test, which flagged him as addicted to sex. I was floored, feeling naive, and further betrayed. But Kevin has a seemingly laissez-faire attitude when telling me, I am confused as to what this all really means, and in reality, am in no way prepared for what this addiction really means.
As I waited for Kevin to come home, I went over hypotheticals, I had demanded he tell me what was going on, but he would not purge any sort of narrative. I completely thought the other person involved with him had killed themself or had tried to. This did not seem outlandish at the time, but, I think, in order to survive through whatever happened, even day-to-day survival, I was mentally preparing for the absolute, worst case scenario.
As Kevin walks through the door he looks like a ghost, but also has this loose force around him, of defense and push back. To get through what he is about to tell me Kevin has asked our counselor to be with us. I wonder why Kevin cannot do anything on his own, why he always needs a handholding, not really seeing how I am in need of the exact same amount of handholding.
He apologizes. Saying, I am sorry, I am sorry.
He begins to tell me how he has not been completely honest; he has, in fact, been involved with multiple people, in and outside of our church. I, again, initially feel nothing. I don't think I start crying at all until he is finished telling me the only reason he is at this truth is because of conversations unearthed and then found by church leadership.
Kevin tells me who these people were, close friends of mine, close family friends, and I cannot believe how I am at the center, the intersection, of all this brokenness. To be in the center of a charade, of a lie, of a falsehood, and be totally unaware of its depth, erases a lot of my understanding of myself, nearly all of my understanding of others.
Kevin physically vibrates and shakes in the chair across from me, I am so alarmed by this undoing, and I reach over and place my hand on him. His legs erratically leap up and down, I don't see his face, as he convulses around, constantly rubbing his eyes, placing his hands over his head, as if avoiding an incoming nuclear bomb.
After Kevin had resigned these same people, who had participated in their own affairs with him, took me out to dinner, coffee, hugged me, and reassured me. And, while I cannot delineate or define another person's heart, these actions, these masks of stone, are beyond offensive to me. As if all of this brokenness, the absolute pinnacle of dysfunction was not earth-shattering enough, but to pretend, everything is normal, instead of facing their own truth, leaves me feeling strung along, fooled, and disgusted.
With everyone.
Since Kevin and I have been together he has had multiple affairs, multiple betrayals, multiple whatever more palatable euphemisms you would like to insert here. I sit across from him. I am riding along, right in the middle of this narrative, and know I absolutely refuse to start drowning because of it. The shock helps me hold on to this refusal. My response to Kevin is simple. Utterly, simple. If he does not want me, he should just let me go. As I cannot move forward with any more of this dysfunction.
I will not.
I take no account of our children, of the institution of marriage, what my life could look like if we separated. There is no other reference for this other than myself, all of the calamity ends with me.
And now the story really does become about Who I Am.
I am now defined by a glaring light burning all of my efforts, all of my fist fighting mentality or gritty mindset. Everything I have ever done has only yielded and then resulted in a lot of failure. But this light is held by my own hands, I accept and surrender into the truest narrative I have ever allowed to be defined by, failure.
I will be told that this is not my fault, this has nothing to do with me, but, in reality, at least my reality, how could it not? Weeks earlier I was asked by one of the persons entangled in these affairs what about me, what about how I will be cared for and who is going to take care of me. I simply reply back, this whole circus is not about me, the only part I play in all of this is my position, reflecting, to the best of my ability, Jesus. Which is just as crazy as it sounds, and yet then, and now, the carry, the hold of Jesus, rising me against, and then above, the undertow is present.
To be inside of the currents, treacherous paths of so many ills, and be plowed into, over and over again, holds little meaning to my resolve. Because I am no longer tough. I am no longer smart or admirable. I am just lost. Broken.
I already know the answer to how could, why did, or is this real. It is. It is all real, with only one real answer.
Forgiveness.
There is an effortless extension of forgiveness to all of the people acting inside of this deep well of lies. There is multiple, open handed, release of this grace. Because I know better. I have been taught what is best, what is mandated. And, while those teachings can lead me to the lake, my choice, alone, accepts the responsibility.
This choice shatters the last residual parts, holding together my heart of stone.
As Kevin tells me he does want to be with me, with our family, a realistic doubt emanates from my body. I still don’t really believe him; my understanding of reality tells me this statement holds no water. His statements float dry around me; I look down at the floor, seeing a ridiculous amount of tears, painfully pooled by my feet. Our therapist looks down as well, and seems taken aback by the same sentiment.
I sit in the chair, bewildered, undone, unraveled. I do not want to be touched, I do not collapse into any available arms, and I am without any sense of movement, of understanding.
Days before this atomic bomb blows, another person, on the stage of the affair, takes me to dinner, and as I sit across from this person, responding to questions of how Kevin is taking some sort of responsibility for the affair. They seem taken aback, as if he has not done as much as he should be. After dinner, we hug, and I am told to reach out if I need anything.
The risk I have taken, being involved, being a part of all these lives, inside of the vacuum of ministry seems unfair, not futile, but radically unnerving after so many truths are unveiled. My truth has a much more ripping effect, a much more torn, shredded, with the dullest knife, effect.
Kevin was mightily sure that night I would leave him. But, I do not stay with him for any other reason than I wanted to. Not because of depression, or addiction, or any other savior-like orientation, I just wanted to be with him. All of my reluctance towards risk was gone. If he could not be truthful, and build a path towards recovery, I would no longer be alongside him, in any capacity.
After all of this, I sit in the office of our therapist, who asks if I have a safe person to share all of this with, a safe person to lean on. I immediately answer no; there is no one that would be able to handle any of this. Taking stock at this point of Who I Am only reveals one card. I really only have Him. I surrender to the feet of Jesus, a position I had come close to, but never all the way.
There is no one left, except a Father. And as I think about Who I Am then, and even more so now, I accept the yoke.
I am a Laborer.
This yoke is defined most clearly, in Matthew 9:35-38, “And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”
I cannot define any choice or understanding outside of my own very limited, very simple understanding. I give because of what has been given. I believe in this interconnectedness within all of us, with Jesus sewing through each life, using a perfect needle.
This understanding leads to a question to myself and then to us all. Who am I to give any less, or demand anymore?
If you are someone in your life is feeling suicidal, immediate help is available, call to speak with a counselor now at 800-273-8255
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
Jerika, wow. I still have a pit in my gut from reading this. More like a boulder. So raw. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. Your process in writing about this painful life event is truly inspiring 🙌
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