Read these first:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Our wedding was a blast. All of our friends from college and high school came all the way to North Carolina in a tremendous display of support. Looking back, I think I just sort of expected it. Now I realize just how blessed we were to have so many people who cared about us and our marriage.
During the toasts at the wedding reception, my BFF Amanda said something that struck me. I don't remember it word for word, but she said that if we had God in our marriage it would last forever. She said something about a cord with 3 strands being strong. I brushed it off. I mean, Luke and I had made it through some pretty hard stuff without God. Why in the world would I need him now that we were married?
When we returned from our honeymoon, our friends weren't there. Married life was not what I expected. I was working as a 3rd grade teacher and Luke was traveling North & South Carolina, Georgia and parts of Tennessee. He would usually leave on Monday and return of Friday. I was lonely.
On the weekends, Luke and I had pity parties for ourselves. The only friends we had were my parents' friends. They were great, but they weren't OUR friends. Over the course of 3-4 months we contemplated moving back to Arkansas. Each time we talked about it, my heart would pound. I didn't want to be near her, I couldn't.
Finally, we made some great friends. They were good people and we spent every waking minute with them. We would go out every night of the weekend and life was great. THIS is what married life was all about. However, we didn't have that 3 strand cord.
It was Halloween night 2003. We were out partying, like usual. The night started off great and ended with the separation (and ultimately divorce) of our best friends. I was heartbroken.
That night, after visiting my girlfriend and seeing their emptied out house, I sat on the front steps of our home with Luke. I began to sob. It was the kind of crying where you just can't stop. The kind that rocks you to your inner core. I had never experienced sympathy like this before.
These were good people. They weren't "those" people. They were just like us. Then, it hit me. If they were just like us, what was keeping our marriage alive? What would keep us together?
I turned to Luke and asked him,
"Does this mean we are next? How do we keep this from happening?"
We muddled through the next few days, uncertain about how this could happen to people we loved, how this could happen to people who were good.
Two weeks later, Luke and I were laying in our bed. It was a weekend and I just had the strangest feeling. I got up, went into the bathroom and took a pregnancy test.
"LUKE! Can you come here please?" my trembling voice came from the bathroom.
"Yeah?" he said, walking in.
In disbelief, I pointed to the stick on the counter. "Does that say what I think it says?"
Wide eyed, we both just stood there.
Positive. I was pregnant. I was on the pill and I was pregnant. How does that happen? (I KNOW how it happens, you don't have to tell me.)
I LOST it. I cried and cried and cried.
Luke couldn't wipe that stupid grin off his face.
We were NOT ready to be parents. We had no money (haha, that's funny now), and this was not planned.
As I buried my head and sobbed into my husband's chest, he lovingly rubbed my arms and told me,
"You're going to be a wonderful mother."
Yeah, right.
Over the next few days, I had the worst abdominal pain imaginable. I went to the doctor SURE that I was having a miscarriage. After an ultrasound and lots of reassurance from the doctor, I left, with pictures to prove that I had a healthy baby (read: dot) inside of me.
As I drove home from the doctor, doubt flooded my mind.
"You can't do this. You're not ready. You haven't even been married a year. What if your marriage ends too? Where is your security?"
Then the big one,
"You don't deserve this baby. God will take it from you to repay you for all of the sexual sin you've had. Don't get attached."
For the entire first trimester I held my breath, waiting for something awful to happen. I shared my concerns with Luke, but I think he chalked it up to pregnancy hormones. He did, however, suggest we go to church.
What you may not know about my story is the excessiveness to which I offered my body in almost every previous relationship I'd had. Now that I was pregnant, I just knew God would punish me because of my mistakes. After all, God is a punishing God. He is self-righteous, and judgmental and ready to harshly remind me that I am wrong. He is stern, and coarse and unloving. For God to really love you, you must be one of those churchy people who never messes up. They've never had sex before marriage, they've never drowned their pains with alcohol, they've certainly never lived the life I have lived.
Apprehensive, Luke and I visited several churches in our area. Scared by a few of them (that's a whole post within itself), our last effort was at Rich Fork. We had visited a long time ago, and I wasn't that impressed. But, I figured why not?
We walked in and I knew it was obvious to everyone why we where there. We were the new people, clearly the hugest sinners in town. These people could see through my smile, surely they could judge my past with just a simple glance in my direction.
We took a seat and soon realized that the usual preacher was out sick. On stage was the (then) youth pastor. I wish I could say that the words he said stirred my heart and that day I gave my life to the Lord. Such was not the case. The truth is, the only thing I remember about that Sunday was that he held the microphone on his chin the entire time he spoke. It annoyed the crap out of me.
However, something about these people seemed more normal. We were not asked to stand, so that everyone could see we were new (and in my mind, mock us). We were not later called nor did we have hand written notes in our mailboxes (seriously, one church came to our house). In fact, we just sort of came and blended in.
I had heard preachers tell me that Jesus died for me. I had heard them say that I could be clean. Surely these preachers did not know my past. Certainly they hadn't seen where I had been. However, over time, something in me began to hurt. As the weeks went by, I hurt more and more. It was a hurt I could not explain. A physical and emotional pain beyond anything I had experienced. Now, I know where the hurt was coming from. It was coming from the One who had felt my hurt before, and He was drawing me to Him, begging me to come.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Our wedding was a blast. All of our friends from college and high school came all the way to North Carolina in a tremendous display of support. Looking back, I think I just sort of expected it. Now I realize just how blessed we were to have so many people who cared about us and our marriage.
During the toasts at the wedding reception, my BFF Amanda said something that struck me. I don't remember it word for word, but she said that if we had God in our marriage it would last forever. She said something about a cord with 3 strands being strong. I brushed it off. I mean, Luke and I had made it through some pretty hard stuff without God. Why in the world would I need him now that we were married?
When we returned from our honeymoon, our friends weren't there. Married life was not what I expected. I was working as a 3rd grade teacher and Luke was traveling North & South Carolina, Georgia and parts of Tennessee. He would usually leave on Monday and return of Friday. I was lonely.
On the weekends, Luke and I had pity parties for ourselves. The only friends we had were my parents' friends. They were great, but they weren't OUR friends. Over the course of 3-4 months we contemplated moving back to Arkansas. Each time we talked about it, my heart would pound. I didn't want to be near her, I couldn't.
Finally, we made some great friends. They were good people and we spent every waking minute with them. We would go out every night of the weekend and life was great. THIS is what married life was all about. However, we didn't have that 3 strand cord.
It was Halloween night 2003. We were out partying, like usual. The night started off great and ended with the separation (and ultimately divorce) of our best friends. I was heartbroken.
That night, after visiting my girlfriend and seeing their emptied out house, I sat on the front steps of our home with Luke. I began to sob. It was the kind of crying where you just can't stop. The kind that rocks you to your inner core. I had never experienced sympathy like this before.
These were good people. They weren't "those" people. They were just like us. Then, it hit me. If they were just like us, what was keeping our marriage alive? What would keep us together?
I turned to Luke and asked him,
"Does this mean we are next? How do we keep this from happening?"
We muddled through the next few days, uncertain about how this could happen to people we loved, how this could happen to people who were good.
Two weeks later, Luke and I were laying in our bed. It was a weekend and I just had the strangest feeling. I got up, went into the bathroom and took a pregnancy test.
"LUKE! Can you come here please?" my trembling voice came from the bathroom.
"Yeah?" he said, walking in.
In disbelief, I pointed to the stick on the counter. "Does that say what I think it says?"
Wide eyed, we both just stood there.
Positive. I was pregnant. I was on the pill and I was pregnant. How does that happen? (I KNOW how it happens, you don't have to tell me.)
I LOST it. I cried and cried and cried.
Luke couldn't wipe that stupid grin off his face.
We were NOT ready to be parents. We had no money (haha, that's funny now), and this was not planned.
As I buried my head and sobbed into my husband's chest, he lovingly rubbed my arms and told me,
"You're going to be a wonderful mother."
Yeah, right.
Over the next few days, I had the worst abdominal pain imaginable. I went to the doctor SURE that I was having a miscarriage. After an ultrasound and lots of reassurance from the doctor, I left, with pictures to prove that I had a healthy baby (read: dot) inside of me.
As I drove home from the doctor, doubt flooded my mind.
"You can't do this. You're not ready. You haven't even been married a year. What if your marriage ends too? Where is your security?"
Then the big one,
"You don't deserve this baby. God will take it from you to repay you for all of the sexual sin you've had. Don't get attached."
For the entire first trimester I held my breath, waiting for something awful to happen. I shared my concerns with Luke, but I think he chalked it up to pregnancy hormones. He did, however, suggest we go to church.
What you may not know about my story is the excessiveness to which I offered my body in almost every previous relationship I'd had. Now that I was pregnant, I just knew God would punish me because of my mistakes. After all, God is a punishing God. He is self-righteous, and judgmental and ready to harshly remind me that I am wrong. He is stern, and coarse and unloving. For God to really love you, you must be one of those churchy people who never messes up. They've never had sex before marriage, they've never drowned their pains with alcohol, they've certainly never lived the life I have lived.
Apprehensive, Luke and I visited several churches in our area. Scared by a few of them (that's a whole post within itself), our last effort was at Rich Fork. We had visited a long time ago, and I wasn't that impressed. But, I figured why not?
We walked in and I knew it was obvious to everyone why we where there. We were the new people, clearly the hugest sinners in town. These people could see through my smile, surely they could judge my past with just a simple glance in my direction.
We took a seat and soon realized that the usual preacher was out sick. On stage was the (then) youth pastor. I wish I could say that the words he said stirred my heart and that day I gave my life to the Lord. Such was not the case. The truth is, the only thing I remember about that Sunday was that he held the microphone on his chin the entire time he spoke. It annoyed the crap out of me.
However, something about these people seemed more normal. We were not asked to stand, so that everyone could see we were new (and in my mind, mock us). We were not later called nor did we have hand written notes in our mailboxes (seriously, one church came to our house). In fact, we just sort of came and blended in.
I had heard preachers tell me that Jesus died for me. I had heard them say that I could be clean. Surely these preachers did not know my past. Certainly they hadn't seen where I had been. However, over time, something in me began to hurt. As the weeks went by, I hurt more and more. It was a hurt I could not explain. A physical and emotional pain beyond anything I had experienced. Now, I know where the hurt was coming from. It was coming from the One who had felt my hurt before, and He was drawing me to Him, begging me to come.