>(To read part 1 go here: http://realliferealmessy.blogspot.com/2011/01/romantic-notions-part-1.html)
This brings me to my next point. This is about wounds. I’ve noticed this process that I’ve walked through since Stacy left in 2009… He left, and I was wounded. I was wounded previously to that, and this just carved a deeper wound and left me empty inside. Top that off with me feeling completely replaced by another woman and the events that very much have caused me to believe she’s the reason he left – I was broken. Well, in my brokenness I wasn’t turning to God like I should. So I have this gaping heart-wound, and I lack the tools to stitch it up, or sterilize it, or bandage it, properly. And I’m not asking God to, which is my bad, I know He was waiting, and He was reaching out trying to help.
So, with a dirty bandage and some not-so-sticky tape, I wrapped up my wound, and I trudged on. The danger in this is that, now I’ve got this painful wound, so I’m already protective, but with my lack of tools to properly heal it, it got infected. Ever had an infected wound? Now, a wound can hurt pretty darn badly, but one that is oozing with infection? OUCH! So the wound festers, and my heart is hurting, and it’s tender, and the strangest things can create a shooting pain that makes my head hurt too, and sometimes I don’t even know what did it. So I’m constantly defensive, to the point of becoming slightly offensive, because I don’t want my infected wound to hurt anymore. Still trudging on, working hard, trying to raise my kids – which let me tell you, that last one is extremely difficult when you are constantly protecting yourself…because kids hurt. And kids that have been devastated by divorce hurt even more. They say the simplest kid things, and it burns so badly you just want to hide. Now, I make sure to keep that dirty bandage in place, it hides the wound and it’s my way of protecting it. And a whole year goes by this way. Now we’re into the fall of 2010, and Stacy and I are having civil conversations, and this very strange thing happens. He starts staying on my couch. Everybody thinks I’m nuts for letting him be around that much, but you should have seen my kids. Those boys realized how much their Dad was around it was like they both did a 180! They became so exuberant again, and it seemed like the weight of the world came right off of them. I couldn’t deny my kids that kind healing and hope. So, even when I feel like screaming at him to get out of MY apartment and go away and never ever come back again (until Friday, cause he can still pick up the kids, but GET OUT RIGHT NOW) – I don’t. I keep my mouth as mostly shut as I can. Sure I grumble and I certainly call my poor Mom and let her have an earful about how hard he is to live with, but I don’t throw him out. You know why? Because this is real life. Real messy. It’s hard to live with someone, whether you’ve been wounded or not.
(Part 3 will be up tonight! Please feel free to comment!!)