When I was a little girl, my mom and dad sat the three of us down at the kitchen table one Saturday afternoon and told us they were getting a divorce. The meeting was short. The few necessary details were given to support the fact that this decision was based on solid data, then reassurance that they both still loved us commenced, followed by a short Q and A. The board meeting was thus adjourned.
They nailed it if they were going for low-key. We ended with some awkward hugs and pats on the back that were delivered with hollow enthusiasm.
As if it’s possible to give this kind of meeting a positive spin.
I left the house and wandered the neighborhood alone, the hollow news echoing in my brain for most of the afternoon. The news sank into the earth of my young life only after what had previously been a firm foundation was softened by an afternoon of tears.
It never stopped being complicated after that day.
So years later when I said yes to Mike, I was saying yes unto death.
Statistics tell us that kids from broken homes have a higher risk of divorce themselves. I didn’t know about that statistic back then, but I did know I never wanted to do this to my children, even the ones I didn’t yet have. Staying married has always been my only option. I knew this at seven, and I knew it still at nineteen when I became engaged to be married. A year later the man of my dreams became the man of my reality.
Apparently deep convictions grow tall when seeded in tragedy-tilled soil.
Take Home: Are your non-negotiables God’s?
Have you gotten beyond past mistakes, yours and others’?
Linking today for five minutes on Friday with Lisa Jo. Today's topic is Beyond.