God Movingposted on June 13th, 2012 / by Elisabeth Corcoran / 4 Comments
I’ve been wondering lately if anyone who looked at my life would wish they were me. My guess is no, and here’s why.
I am a Christ-following woman whose almost nineteen-year-old marriage is coming to its end. (I almost said “inevitable end,” but I guess I shouldn’t look at it that way.)
It’s been a hard road. It’s been filled with doubt and emotional abuse and addiction and anger issues. So much has been thrown at it to try and fix it … counselor and recovery groups and prayer and anointing oil and mentors and books and sermons and you name it, we did it. I’ve been threatened, I’ve been cut off financially, I’ve been called names. I would not have envied me, so I seriously doubt anyone else did either.
Ahh, but here’s where I get a bit concerned. My life as a follower of Jesus is supposed to be a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God. But as the person walking through the past couple decades, there appears to be very little delight that would be a gift to God, nor be an attraction to those who don’t know him yet.
In fact, my fear is that the way my marriage has gone and the messy way I have walked all of this out may have actually deterred people from looking for God.
If that’s what happens to someone who loves Jesus, no thank you.
But here’s what someone on the outside looking in perhaps couldn’t intuit on their own.
My life is a beautiful life. There is beauty every day. Every day now as my hard marriage ends, and every day then as I moved through the thick of the pain.
Yes, some moments found me lying on my bathroom floor, sobbing, begging Jesus to end my life or end my marriage.
Yes, some moments found me curled up in bed, not believing that my relationship had become so far beyond strained that it was not officially unsalvageable … that a group of men called elders could look at it on paper and say, “Released. Reconciliation does not seem possible.”
Yes, some moments found me on my therapist’s couch or my mentor’s couch or in the rooms of Al-Anon, and who does that just for the heck of it?
Yes, some moments found me attempting to explain to my children what addiction is, why Daddy was moving out, why we were now divorcing, why we were now moving.
And yet … and yet I’ve seen God move.
He freed me from years and years of abuse, most of which I didn’t even recognize as abuse until close to the end.
He freed my mind from obsessive thoughts, trying to untangle and solve an unsolvable problem, constantly wondering what was in that coffee mug … was it really just coffee? Was that really just water in that water bottle? I don’t need to think about this anymore.
He freed me from believing all the lies that I had taken on as my truth … that I am not worth fighting for, that vodka is a better, kinder companion than I could ever be, that I am an idiot who can’t take care of herself.
God is moving.
He is bringing healing to my soul, to my mind. He is bringing healing to my children. He is bringing healing to the way I think and speak and act. He is bringing healing to my life in the form of joy and gratefulness and laughter.
And here’s what else I’m seeing now as I look back: God was always moving. I was alone on that bathroom floor, on those couches, in those conversations. He was moving then. To bring me strength. To bring me direction. To bring me wisdom.
God is moving. He is bringing me back to life. And that is something that I know is a sweet aroma to God, and I pray, a bright light to those watching me.