I Didn't Deserve That

It was about this time eight years ago when I first met my husband.    He was charming and happy-go-lucky.  I was still trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart which remained strewn about after a very painful break-up.   It didn’t take long for him to win my heart, and we were married just a few months later.

Having recently celebrated seven years of being very happily married, I was completely caught off guard last night when I was filled with sudden rage toward my ex.   As I laid down to sleep every memory of that painful time came in like a flood threatening to sweep me away in the current of anger, hurt and devastation.   Each thought began with “I didn’t deserve…”    

I didn’t deserve to be lied to.  I didn’t deserve to be told over instant message that he could “no longer be [my] boyfriend, just [my] best friend”, so he could take some time to work things out with God.   I didn’t deserve to be ignored when I called my “best friend”.   I didn’t deserve to be kept on a hook, believing that he still loved me and that we would ultimately get back together (those were his words, after all).  I didn’t deserve to sit in church and watch him cuddle with another woman.   I didn’t deserve to get messages from him telling me how much he loved me while all of this was going on.   I didn’t deserve to have my heart broken with such callousness.  I didn’t deserve….

As these thoughts stirred up every negative emotion I felt choked in the bile called bitterness.   This was surprise number two.   I thought I had worked through all of my pain.  I thought I had already forgiven him.  I thought that the wounds had healed.   I was wrong.   There was another layer sitting dormant, a layer I had not yet released, and it was kept hidden in the “I didn’t deserves”.    

I wrestled with the idea of “deserving”, wondering if I even had the right to say “I didn’t deserve,” and as if my questions were spoken as prayers, I felt the Father say, “You’re right; you didn’t deserve any of that.”    It was so sweetly spoken, and it soothed the red hot rage immediately.  It validated the wound, acknowledged the pain, and answered the questions.    Yet, the richness of the statement invited, no demanded a response.  As the knife was removed from my heart, it was clear that I had to make the choice to forgive….again.

This time, though, it didn’t feel as hard.   It was as if the sweetness of His voice mixed with the lemons of my pain making refreshing lemonade of His grace for this man who had hurt me so badly.   My heart was overwhelmed with a compassion that I couldn’t even explain.   How broken must he have been?  Had he ever known LOVE at all?   Could he even see how he was destroying me, or was he so blinded by his own pain and rejection?  “Oh, Father, please forgive him, he didn’t really know what he was doing,” I cried as my tears of rage transformed into tears of intercession.

I didn’t deserve any of it.  He didn’t deserve my bitterness, anger, and rage.   Neither of us deserves the grace that has covered the multitude of our wrongs, but it’s offered so freely, just waiting for us to take hold of it.

  

“See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled.” ~Hebrews 12:15