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when the heartache sometimes haunts you
five years ago this october, i went through one of the most heartbreaking, messiest, soul-tearing experiences of my life. after nearly seven years of marriage, i found myself in the aftermath of a divorce, picking up the pieces of broken dreams and shattered expectations. it took me a long, long time to get over him, but the day finally came around when i could think of him without crying + when forgiveness had settled itself down deep in my bones. i remember how freeing it felt to finally be able to take a breath without feeling the crushing force of heartache in my chest. i was wide-eyed and hopeful once again, stronger and wiser than i had been before.
still, it was then that i made a grave mistake, a misinterpretation that would haunt me in the months to come. i drew a correlation between my healing and a lack of pain; i figured now that i was put back together again, i would no longer hurt over what was lost. i was wrong.
the Bible teaches that marriage is not only the union of two in body but also in heart + soul + spirit. divorce is the tearing of that union, the brutal, bloody severing of what had been fused into one. though i was now divorced with my ex no longer in the picture, there were parts of me that still throbbed and ached from being ripped from what i was once fused to.
[Photo from Gabriella Camerotti on Flickr]
it was like experiencing phantom limb pain, where nerves at the point of amputation send pain signals to the brain, making it think the limb is still there. pieces of my heart and soul would start to hurt, seemingly out of nowhere, and i began to understand how every part of me was learning to process the trauma of amputation.
as human beings, our natural inclination when we feel pain or discomfort of any kind is to immediately alleviate it, by any means necessary. take a pill, avoid the pain source, shut down completely if we have to–anything to make the hurting stop. i was no different. i became desperate to find another to cleave to, to make me “whole” once more. i was reckless with my heart and my emotions, believing that it was the price i had to pay in order to fully connect with somebody again. i accepted the lie that i needed somebody else to complete me, that i couldn’t be enough on my own. like i said–anything to make the hurting stop.
the thing is, the old adage that time heals all wounds is actually true. i’ve reached the point where my phantom pain is all but gone. sure, i feel a twinge now and again, but it’s nothing like the dull ache that used to seem a part of my very existence. and i’ve come to realize that i don’t need a man in my life to make me happy. would i like to remarry? of course i would, and i believe that will be my lot in life one day. but that’s not where i am right now, and i have learned to accept that for what it is + even to give thanks for it. in my singleness, i have grown as a person and grown even stronger in my walk with God. i’ve traveled, spending years living overseas. i have had opportunities that simply would not have come my way had i been married. and it would have been foolish of me to throw it away just for the sake of jumping into a relationship as a quick fix for the parts of my heart that were still hurting.
neither my life nor my self is diminished in any way, shape or form, just because i am single. i have great friends, literally all around the world, who love me deeply, and i feel the same for them. i’m smart, compassionate, and probably one of the funniest people i know–and i will wait for the man who sees, understands and appreciates that. i still believe he’ll come around one day, but the difference is now i’ll be okay–more than okay, really–even if he doesn’t.
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saying goodbye to Lamie
today, i write to honor the life of a friend. i met Lamie around Easter of
this year, while i was still in Liberia. he was sick and listless, unable to move (presumably because of a stroke he had suffered.) he was sleeping on the ground, in a pile of garbage, directly across from a dumpster. during the day, he was there, baking in the hot sun. at night, he was there, exposed to the elements. he was starving; he was thirsty; he was homeless. he had been abandoned and left to die. upon investigating, some friends and i were able to find out more of his story, and our hearts were broken for this man who had suffered so greatly. we knew we had to help. nobody deserved to have to live as he did.fast forward a few months. Lamie was off the streets, had a roof over his head, and seemed to be improving. it had been a rough go, both for he and those of us involved in helping him. he’d gone from sleeping in the garbage heap to sleeping in his own room to sleeping on my front porch to sleeping in a Liberian-run facility for the elderly. poor Lamie had been tossed around from place to place, and my heart broke as i imagined how badly he ached for home.
then, it was all of sudden august. it was nearing the end of my stay in Liberia, and i knew that i had to walk away from Lamie. i knew i had to entrust him to the care (and i use that term loosely, unfortunately) of the people running the home he was staying in. more importantly, i knew i had to entrust him to God. i had to be okay with walking away, not knowing what would happen, but knowing i had done all i could to love Lamie and care for him as Jesus would have.
this is the last photo i have of Lamie, taken only a week or so before i left Liberia. this is how i always want to remember him:: fat cheeks, bright eyes, and a tender spirit. he never once complained about his situation or all that he had gone through. he would smile wistfully as he remembered his younger years, when he had been a tailor and had a family. he’d get this dreamy look on his face, and i knew he was longing to go back to that time. yet he also accepted the cards life had dealt him, and i believe he really did try to make the best of them.unfortunately, Lamie died last month (and i just found out about it today.) i have no idea what happened, other than he had been sick. i don’t know what he was feeling when he passed away, if he was lonely, if there was anyone at all by his side. and if i let it, the not-knowing will shatter my heart and crush my spirit.
so instead, i choose to join my friend Ashley in seeking the joy in an otherwise terribly sad situation. she says it best in her tribute to our dear friend::
Lamie’s body is whole again. Lamie died knowing that those crazy white people loved him. We fed, clothed and gave cold water. We fought for truth, justice and for what was right. It didn’t matter that we were different or that he was from a certain tribe or that he was a stranger. It didn’t matter that he was physically disabled–his heart was gold! He brought laughter and unity and compassion. He was an example, and a reminder. There is no happily-ever-after for this story and this morning, Lamie’s story came to a close. But, I know that his story and his life weren’t told and lived to be forgotten. He lived his story so that he could be remembered. He faced insurmountable obstacles, but he kept that spark in his eye. [He had] joy in his smile, despite his circumstances. [He was a] literal example for us to be the Good Samaritan. Lamie was my friend–my beautiful, laughter-filled, sweet-spirited (unless he wanted a haircut from Momo) friend. At one point, Lamie had taken everything out of me, but I pressed on because Jesus filled me and equipped me to keep going. Lamie was and is a part of my story…and a reason why I just can’t walk away from Liberia.Lamie was–and is–a lesson to me to love others. to love freely, wildly, without holding back. to love with my whole heart. even when it hurts. even when i think i have nothing left to give. he taught me to love others because sometimes, my love is the only Jesus they will ever know.
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a love letter to my body
[i’m a little late at jumping on the “love letter to my body” train that’s been taking the internet by storm lately. but better late than never, right? so here it is. and ps: more info about this project can be found on SheLoves magazine’s syncroblog.]
to the body that belongs to elena teresa ann:: this is my love letter. for you. {yes, you.}
i know, i know. why the sudden kindness?, you ask. you’re certainly not used to it. we’ve spent many, many years together, and i’ve hidden you away for most of them. i’ve covered you up–because i was ashamed. i’ve compared you to every other woman i have met–and despised you because you didn’t measure up. i’ve whispered ugly, hateful things about you–sometimes even to you.
i am sorry. it’s taken me nearly twenty-nine years to get it, but now that i do, i am so, so sorry.
i’m sorry i treated you like a curse instead of a blessing.
i’m sorry that i’ve only seen your faults and never once praised you for your beauty.
i’m sorry for feeling like you’ve let me down.
i’m sorry for wishing i could trade you in.
i’m sorry that i have never been thankful for the miracle that you are.really. you’re extraordinary, and i love you.
eyes::
i used to be disappointed by you because you’re weak. but you are not defined by your weakness. you are so much more; you have seen so much more. you have grown wide in amazement at the sight of indescribable beauty. and you’ve wept countless tears that have healed the soul from the inside out.
eyes, you are beautiful.nose::
i used to be angry with you because you’re big. i see now it’s because i was listening to a society that tells me something is beautiful only if it doesn’t take up much space. that is not true. yes, you’re big–but you’re also pretty cute. and i like your freckles, by the way.
nose, you are beautiful.hair::
i used to stare at you in the mirror and wish you were different. more…plain. easy. not the unruly mane of wild curls that you are. i’ll be honest:: i still wish that most days. but i am learning to appreciate you for the fierce beauty that you possess.
hair, you are beautiful.arms::
i used to pinch you in all the places that seemed just. too. much. i treated you as the enemy instead of being thankful for all the ways you have been my friend. you have held children:: sick children. crying children. hungry children. you have rocked them and loved them and comforted them. you have done beautiful things, arms.
you are beautiful.hips::
i used to loathe you because you’re wide. i hated you because you never let me fit into those skinny jeans, no matter how much weight i lost. but now i see that your curves are one of the most beautiful things about me. i know that you will help me give birth to my babies one day, and i will be grateful for your width.
hips, you are beautiful.tummy::
i used to cry over you because you would never become what i wanted you to be, instead of accepting you for who you are. you give the world’s best belly laughs, and you know how to appreciate a good meal shared with good friends. i love that about you. and one day, there will be a child growing inside you. and you will love him and nourish him and help him grow. thank you.
tummy, you are beautiful.legs::
i used to hide you because i didn’t like the way you dimpled in certain places, and i was embarrassed of how you looked in certain outfits. that was unkind of me, and i am sorry. you are so important to me, legs. you have enabled me to walk down roads that many others have not, and to do it with strength and grace.
legs, you are beautiful.all of you, every single piece of you, is beautiful.
because you were knit together by a wonderful Creator who doesn’t make mistakes.
and yes, you will grow old and one day return to the dust.but i am determined that, when you do, it will have been after a life of living in peace with the soul that inhabited you.
