Lauren’s Story:
For months, I had walked through the valley of the shadow of the death of my marriage, always holding on to hope. I believed the same God who raised his friend Lazarus from the grave would save my marriage. Yet it died—and along with it a part of me.
I maintained dignity and composure while I signed the divorce papers in my attorney’s office. But when I got in my car and drove away, something inside me broke and tears flowed—hard, sorrowful sobs. My wails poured out as I mourned the death of my ten-year marriage and the death of my dreams. In that moment of brokenness, I found no comfort in theology about trials. I could have explained the facts about God’s sovereignty in suffering: He would use it to shape my character and help others. Truth about God seemed no help, though, in the face of what I felt—deep sorrow and creeping despair.
Along with my tears on that miserable drive home, something deep, dark, and deceptive gripped me. An abysmal message took shape. The message contained truth choked out by lies, like an insidious vine wrapping around a plant to block out the light.
The message said, “Now that I’m divorced, my life is over—a part of me buried forever. I’ll never experience a 50th anniversary or grow old with the man I love. I’ll certainly never serve the Lord or minister to others in any meaningful way. I will never be whole. I can’t even afford my house.”
Just as Jesus lingered three days before going to Lazarus, He showed up for me later than I wanted him to. I had wanted Him to prevent the death of my marriage—or resurrect it immediately. He did neither. Instead, He spoke truth to my soul, much as He had spoken truth to Mary, Lazarus’ sister, as she mourned the death of her brother.
“I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus said. “Whoever believes in me will live, even though she dies” (John 11:25). He then proved his authority over death by raising Lazarus from the grave. Though not audible that day in the car, His words to Mary resounded with truth and weight as the Holy Spirit reminded me of them.
When I faced a chasm of despair, God reminded me of the truth. He gave me faith to believe that even though a part of me had died with my marriage, I could go on living because of Jesus. I could nurture belief in His simple but profound truth instead of dwelling on despair. I would be okay. Because He lives, I could go on living too.
Honesty compels me to admit my situation changed little after this treasured encounter with Jesus. With divorce, I gained a new reality and a word that stuck in my throat. For months, I could barely speak the D-word. My son lost the luxury of one home—his wardrobe, his weekends, his holidays, and perhaps his heart were split in two. And though I loved my volunteer ministry position, I was required to resign because of my new marital status. I added hours to my work week and began making solo financial decisions.
I also fought a deep root of bitterness and unforgiveness. Digging it out took hours of conversation with trusted friends, family, and therapists. All the while, I began to notice other divorced women and to share in their sorrows, just as others were doing for me. Walking with the brokenhearted in their pain and suffering became a holy privilege. Perhaps, after all, I could still minister to God’s people.
I now accept divorce as my reality, but not my identity. Since that day I signed divorce papers, a beautiful resurrection-life has unfolded in ways both messy and meaningful. This new life builds on the foundation of Jesus as the Resurrection and the Life. Because I believe in Him, even though a part of me has died, I live.
