Let me preface this whole thing by saying...God hates divorce. I am for marriage, so do not use this post as an excuse to leave your spouse. I am a 36 year old peace maker and a woman who has walked with the Lord since the age of 13. As a teen, I felt condemned to hell for my sins and continually went to the alter by myself when the preacher called for prayer on Sunday mornings. I have always been a person who wants to do it "right enough" and to be good in everything I do. I am a people pleaser, which has caused me grief and joy. I am a well thought of Christian lady who has the perfect family who does it all right, at least in the public eye. I am nice to everyone, even when it's not easy, and people love me. I have the favor of God on my life and that shows in my work, my kids, and my friendships. All that to say... I really have a heart for Jesus Christ and have been in love with him for some time. I seek Him daily and pray and praise Him on an hourly basis... I believe I am a "real Christian" not perfect in any way, but knowing that my righteousness is as dirty rags. Only through Christ am I redeemed and only through Him can I be saved daily.
I have been in a relationship with a man, who I love, for 16 years. We met in college, because we sat together in nearly all of our classes. Our last names were in alphabetical order... After a few months of dating, and promiscuity, I became pregnant with my oldest girl. I remember having the thought as I was dating that my boyfriend took such good care of me. He was in total control and I didn't have to worry about a thing. Control was there from the beginning, and I missed the warning sign. Anger and control go hand in hand...and a rageaholic quickly became his montra. While he NEVER laid a hand on me physically, he emotionally battered me and my kids for most of the 16 years and even to this day. So many occurances that I don't remember them all... by God's grace. I can point back to a few instances so you get the idea. October of 1993 we were together with our 5 day old baby girl in church. My mother was there, it was my home church where I grew up. We had moved to my hometown because my mom was dying of Adrenal cancer. Mom wanted to hold the baby and show her off to all of her friends.. He wouldn't allow her to hold the baby. He was a proud daddy and he wanted to show off his baby. My dying mother was of course crushed, as was I when I had to tell her that she should not make me choose between her and him. I would have to by all Christian duties choose him. Thankfully, Mom let it go and loved him as best she could. I am still grieved over this immature mistake, and though I have forgiven him for it, realize that it marked my life. There are undoubtable many, many incidences that have dulled my senses through time...my friends however, can quickly recall the time he threw his baseball glove at me because I had forgot to grab his cleats (even though he was there too). Or when he abruptly announced it was time to go home during the middle of a party or gathering. Or when I was told to shut the "f" up for adding my two cents to any conversation he was dominating. And the list goes on.
The turning point for me was last October 2008. We were in the middle of a very heated argument over who knows what. We stopped at the gas station to get gas and he spurted one too many angry words at me. When I went to get out of the car, because I was mad, I apparently spilled his spit cup on him. I in turn recieved a wad of slimy, packed snuff thrown in my face at which I got out of the car and walked for about an hour to our County Fairgrounds and hid and cried. He never came for me... I was all alone, he had my kids, and I had no phone or way to get help. It was approaching dark, and I contemplated sleeping in the covered arena area...after all, I was on the fairboard, if anyone came by and questioned my being there. After much prayer, I decided I had to get to my children. I could not imagine the torment they were in worrying for me. I walked to a nearby neighbor's house to borrow the phone. I regretfully submitted once again to my husband. I wrote him a long and thought out letter explaining that I was not interested in divorce, but that I did want him to seek help. I gave him the rules that I needed him to adhere to so that I could see progress in our relationship. I asked forgiveness for my own disrespect and willed to try and fix it. It worked!!! He got better for at least a whole week. Now...he doesn't even remember that happening. That was the first time, I felt a true nudging to leave him.
Several major battles broke out through the winter and spring months.. but the final blow for me was when he exploded at a Little League Baseball game. He has always coached my son in whatever sport was in season. It was always bad, for he could never look good enough as a coach. His team could win every game by 10 points and he would still come away angry and hurt at the defeat of one strike out or mistake. My poor children are driven to be the very best they can be at everything they do... Driven out of fear, for if they fail, they'll have to hear him harp. After our epidsode in October I had begged him not to coach this year. He knows it always drives a wedge between him and his kids and me. He had promised he wouldn't coach. Then...one of his long time coaching buddies called and asked him to coach so, of course, he did. His team was the worst he had ever coached. Not bad players, just no wins. It was a very humbling season for him and he was overly frustrated. Of course, that meant that my son should do exceptionally well to make up for his failure. Jesse, poor fellow, NEVER strikes out. In all of his years in ball, I can recall maybe 1 strike out. He might bloop the ball and get thrown out, or caught out, but he always swings to hit. The pressure was on...Jesse was up to bat and he was coaching first. Come on, son, I have to have you! Jes blooped out to the pitcher. Head down and so hurt with himself, he moaped angrily to the dugout. His dad came to chew him out... I was ready to leave then. But the game went on. Jesse in his heart and maybe outloud spoke that next time, he would strike out on purpose, just to show his dad. He did. He without effort...struck out. It was obvious, but the repricussion was uncalled for. His dad threw his cap, got in his face and yelled for him to get the hell off HIS field. Get OUT... He through his only son, one of the star players, out of the ballgame with bold demonic force.
I took Jesse, found Eliza, and we left. I could not stay with someone who could so blatantly hurt his child in public. You know if he's that ugly in public, how bad it can be at home. I stayed gone for all of 2 weeks. I hid in a place of peace that was constantly interupted by phone calls and begging and pleading. He had to have us back and would change. Yeah, right....
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