I often summarize the year by stating, "it was simultaneously the best year of my life and the worst year of my life." I wrote all about that year on this blog, so I won't go into detail about that year. Other than to tell this story.
It was a beautiful spring day. The day before, Erin and I made plans to take Dawson to school together and then take the train into the city, spending the day together in Paris. In what was a common refrain that year, well intentioned plans fell apart. Neither of us handled this change of plans very well, leading to yet another intense fight. This fight was different than the others, though.
Somehow we moved from the Hotel de Ville till we were standing in the middle of one of the city's medieval bridges spanning the Seine River. What happened next will forever be seared in my memory. In the middle of a raging argument, time seemed to slow down and I became intensely aware of my surroundings; the feel on my skin of the warm sun combined with the chill in the air, the tourists passing us by and the cold, grey stone which composed the bridge. What struck me most, though was the beauty of the sun's rays dancing on the waves of the Seine. The bridges over the Seine, linking the two sides of Paris, quite possibly one of the most romantic sites in the entire world.
I don't remember the words but I can feel the intense anger. I can also still hear my own voice inside my head, "well, this is it. Our marriage is going to die right here, standing on a bridge over the Seine in the 'City of Love.'" Maybe it didn't end right then but it was a serious nail in the coffin.
As I wrote in the first entry in this series, the death of our marriage (an inevitable event?) was sped up during our year in Paris. And yet, as you would notice were you to read a few entries from the blog I linked to above, I thoroughly enjoyed the year in Paris. As someone in our church remarked, "Every street in Paris is an outdoor museum." And I explored as many of those museum-streets as possible. I also tried to take Dawson to every park in the city. We often spent weekends exploring parks in every arrondisement of the city.
I lead so many groups and individuals around the city, both during that year and later with a collegiate study-abroad program that I finally tried to follow the advice of all those people who told me I should be a Paris tour-guide. Last year, I tried to put together a guided tour of Paris. A lot of people expressed interest and in the midst of receiving all that interest, N decided to join me on the trip. Well, none of those people who said they wanted to go ended up joining the trip, so it ended up being just the two of us; N had her own private tour guide.
It was an amazing week. We visited the touristy stuff sure but I was also able to show her some of the more hidden gems of that city. To her credit, N convinced me to try some places I hadn't visited during that entire year in the city. We even got to share a meal with some of the people from the church where I'd served as a volunteer pastor.
I was able to share the many aspects I loved about that city with an amazing travel companion. Our last night was spent walking along the Seine, observing the various ways Parisians experienced their joi de vivre in a city full of sensual delights. N turned to me and said, "I wasn't completely sold on Paris the first few days, but now I understand why you love this city so much."
That statement made my trip. It was wonderful to experience the joys of that city with her.
As I wrote earlier, I broke up with her a few weeks later.
In response to that emotional decision, I decided to take another trip to Paris. I did so in late September/early October. While my trip with N was about exploring the light and beautiful parts of Paris, the solo trip ended up being about exploring the emotional darkness of the city where my marriage fell apart and about facing and reuniting with the congregation we tried to serve while we were there.
Back in October of 14, when leading the group of college students around Paris, we had the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon in the Versailles Gardens with some close friends. While walking around the basin, feeding ducks and swans, the husband made an off-hand comment about how he can't understand why people can get a divorce.
That was a comment that I shamefully carried with me for years.
What I'm about to share, though won't be a surprise if you've been reading this blog...
When that couple found out about the divorce, they made a point to tell me that I'm still loved and a part of the church family. I got to spend a wonderful afternoon with that family, an afternoon filled with quiche, wine, good conversation, laughs and grace.
The church even had a post-worship meal together, welcoming me back. It's hard to put into words how wonderful that felt.
I also had the chance to spend hours talking with the missionary whom I worked with/for while there. We talked about so much yet I can hardly remember the details. I do know, however that the conversation will likely be remembered as one of the more significant post-divorce healing moments.
Making the conversation more significant was where Brian met me. He met me at the park outside the apartment where we'd lived. I told him I'd be spending some time there that morning, sitting on a bench, looking at the apartment where Erin first said she wanted a divorce and I eventually came to agree with that decision.
I had to feel that pain. I had to retrace my steps, immerse myself back into the dark pain caused by the death of my marriage. I had to face that apartment on Rue Parc d'Ardenay. I had to face the congregation I was trying to serve while simultaneously knowing Erin and I weren't going to make it. I had to have an honest conversation with the missionary I'd tried to help for a year while also trying to hide from him just how miserable my life was.
And I did. I faced it all. The apartment lost its power over me. The church welcomed me with open arms. The missionary helped set me free from some false guilt and unwarranted regrets.
I did sit on my seat on the plane for the flight home, but I think I might've been able to fly back across the Atlantic with my own wings. The absence of that emotional weight was physically noticeable.
I still love Paris. I can't wait to go back. Again and again...
Somehow we moved from the Hotel de Ville till we were standing in the middle of one of the city's medieval bridges spanning the Seine River. What happened next will forever be seared in my memory. In the middle of a raging argument, time seemed to slow down and I became intensely aware of my surroundings; the feel on my skin of the warm sun combined with the chill in the air, the tourists passing us by and the cold, grey stone which composed the bridge. What struck me most, though was the beauty of the sun's rays dancing on the waves of the Seine. The bridges over the Seine, linking the two sides of Paris, quite possibly one of the most romantic sites in the entire world.
I don't remember the words but I can feel the intense anger. I can also still hear my own voice inside my head, "well, this is it. Our marriage is going to die right here, standing on a bridge over the Seine in the 'City of Love.'" Maybe it didn't end right then but it was a serious nail in the coffin.
As I wrote in the first entry in this series, the death of our marriage (an inevitable event?) was sped up during our year in Paris. And yet, as you would notice were you to read a few entries from the blog I linked to above, I thoroughly enjoyed the year in Paris. As someone in our church remarked, "Every street in Paris is an outdoor museum." And I explored as many of those museum-streets as possible. I also tried to take Dawson to every park in the city. We often spent weekends exploring parks in every arrondisement of the city.
I lead so many groups and individuals around the city, both during that year and later with a collegiate study-abroad program that I finally tried to follow the advice of all those people who told me I should be a Paris tour-guide. Last year, I tried to put together a guided tour of Paris. A lot of people expressed interest and in the midst of receiving all that interest, N decided to join me on the trip. Well, none of those people who said they wanted to go ended up joining the trip, so it ended up being just the two of us; N had her own private tour guide.
It was an amazing week. We visited the touristy stuff sure but I was also able to show her some of the more hidden gems of that city. To her credit, N convinced me to try some places I hadn't visited during that entire year in the city. We even got to share a meal with some of the people from the church where I'd served as a volunteer pastor.
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| Some Parisian "joi de vivre" |
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| The Versailles Church building |
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| The Thursday afternoon in June meal |
I was able to share the many aspects I loved about that city with an amazing travel companion. Our last night was spent walking along the Seine, observing the various ways Parisians experienced their joi de vivre in a city full of sensual delights. N turned to me and said, "I wasn't completely sold on Paris the first few days, but now I understand why you love this city so much."
That statement made my trip. It was wonderful to experience the joys of that city with her.
As I wrote earlier, I broke up with her a few weeks later.
In response to that emotional decision, I decided to take another trip to Paris. I did so in late September/early October. While my trip with N was about exploring the light and beautiful parts of Paris, the solo trip ended up being about exploring the emotional darkness of the city where my marriage fell apart and about facing and reuniting with the congregation we tried to serve while we were there.
Back in October of 14, when leading the group of college students around Paris, we had the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon in the Versailles Gardens with some close friends. While walking around the basin, feeding ducks and swans, the husband made an off-hand comment about how he can't understand why people can get a divorce.
That was a comment that I shamefully carried with me for years.
What I'm about to share, though won't be a surprise if you've been reading this blog...
When that couple found out about the divorce, they made a point to tell me that I'm still loved and a part of the church family. I got to spend a wonderful afternoon with that family, an afternoon filled with quiche, wine, good conversation, laughs and grace.
The church even had a post-worship meal together, welcoming me back. It's hard to put into words how wonderful that felt.
I also had the chance to spend hours talking with the missionary whom I worked with/for while there. We talked about so much yet I can hardly remember the details. I do know, however that the conversation will likely be remembered as one of the more significant post-divorce healing moments.
Making the conversation more significant was where Brian met me. He met me at the park outside the apartment where we'd lived. I told him I'd be spending some time there that morning, sitting on a bench, looking at the apartment where Erin first said she wanted a divorce and I eventually came to agree with that decision.
I had to feel that pain. I had to retrace my steps, immerse myself back into the dark pain caused by the death of my marriage. I had to face that apartment on Rue Parc d'Ardenay. I had to face the congregation I was trying to serve while simultaneously knowing Erin and I weren't going to make it. I had to have an honest conversation with the missionary I'd tried to help for a year while also trying to hide from him just how miserable my life was.
And I did. I faced it all. The apartment lost its power over me. The church welcomed me with open arms. The missionary helped set me free from some false guilt and unwarranted regrets.
I did sit on my seat on the plane for the flight home, but I think I might've been able to fly back across the Atlantic with my own wings. The absence of that emotional weight was physically noticeable.
I still love Paris. I can't wait to go back. Again and again...
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| I just love wandering the streets of Paris |
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| Paris at night, in the rain - a beautiful sight |
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| After our Sunday meal |
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| "Les esclaliers de la butte..." |
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| Brian Ketchum, AKA "The Missionary" |
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