So here I am back again. Just a few weeks shy of my last blog post anniversary which was a year ago, August 8, 2013. A LOT has happened since then. And when I say, "a lot." I mean, I vaguely recognize my old life, its so dramatically different now.
The only vivid, and colorful reminders of it are contained here, in the record of this blog (which is very, VERY painful to read through, so I generally avoid it). The other reminders, are the far sighted memories of dreams lost.
I had dreams.
Dreams that once made me smile, now only bring tears from a cavernous sadness. The sadness is indescribable.
Visions of homes with flowers in beds, family sitting down to another night of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Dates in dark movie theaters, sneaking kisses and holding hands with the one I love, our daughter's wedding day, and brightly lit delivery rooms, still grasping sweaty, nervous palms as grandchildren enter the world. I had dreams of unity, of purity (God how I crave purity), of that blessed life and that "forever" vow that I so believed in.
I had dreams.
I believed ferociously in them.
I was promised that life...over and over. He promised.
But, September 8, 2013, a month to the day of my last blog post, my husband, who I've written about so extensively here, told me he wanted a divorce.
He said he didn't love me anymore. He said he wasn't happy.
He said, he said, he said.
I vaguely remember my beautiful, old life, but I remember his words. I remember all of them. I can't forget them. But it's hard to forget a knife fight where words are the blade that cut mortal wounds into your very soul. Maybe I'm being dramatic. But there's a reason why the Bible says, "Reckless words pierce like a sword (Proverbs 12:18)."
And the wounds don't heal quickly. They don't even heal slowly. Those wounds remain raw...for a long time.
It's been nearly a year, and the wounds are still raw. The healing is slow, but I am being healed.
And so we begin friends.
I've healed enough that writing doesn't make me want to throw my laptop across the room or spit venom of bitterness with my own words (which I've done...a lot!).
I need to write.
I need this community.
This community needs me. It needs my story.
Because I've walked through the fires of hell on earth and here I am.
This community needs my story of broken dreams and of tremendous glories!
You need hope too!
You need to hear the reason why I didn't drive my car into the side of a mountain and how I was able to climb up out of the pit day, after day, after day.
And the reason...the only reason is...
Jesus. The sweetest name I know.
I hardly recognize my old life or the old Angie. She's divorced now. She's a working mom. She's a single mom. She's lost 70lbs, she lives in a new town, she has lots of new friends, she's stronger than she ever imagined she could be, and she's not as naive anymore.
She knows that dreams can be broken...that families can be broken.
But I also know that peace that passes understanding.
I am astounded by it. And I want to tell you about it!