Redeeming Your Story

We all tell ourselves stories; narratives about why the future is going to look a certain way and reasons for why the past turned out the way it did.

Sometimes our stories take unexpected left turns.  Which is why I found myself first fighting back tears, before eventually just letting them flow, while listening to this sermon during last year's Christmas Eve service.
Funny, I re-listened to that sermon later and it felt much less direct than it did that night.
Pastor Tim talked about Jesus stepping into the story-gone-wrong for the people of Israel and how that act of Incarnation 2,000 years ago is still allowing Jesus to step into, and redeem, our broken stories.  I found myself in some serious need of redemption last Christmas Eve.

The following will be a brief summary of how I've found some of that redemption.

One way is in reshaping the narrative I tell about myself.  For years, I saw myself as The Good Kid.  The one who could perform and follow the rules, even when no one else could.  If I wanted to keep my scholarship, keep my ordination, keep my social standing, keep my....   I had to follow the rules.  And I was good at it.  Mostly...

During the above mentioned Christmas Eve service, I sat next to someone I'd been friends with since high school, attended seminary with her husband and served with in starting a "New Married" Sunday School class way back in the day.
During a college reunion in 2005, she joked to the rest of the group that, back during our church camp days, Donnie (i.e. The Good Kid) was always the only one who, unlike everyone else, didn't have a bunch of sins to confess. Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.
Just as in the other example I'm about to share, she and I talked through that recently because I had to go back and revisit that conversation, over a decade later.  While she graciously apologized for making that off-hand comment, the simultaneous pride and shame that her statement birthed in me was all on me, not her.

Ten years previous to that college reunion, exactly ten years to the month, I was sitting in the back of the school bus with a close friend as we were returning home from being the sacrificial lamb to Washington High School's homecoming sacrifice to the football gods (I'll forever be sans a big toenail thanks to the 300 pound lineman I unsuccessfully tried to block during that game).  Just like me, this friend grew up in a strong, Christian family.  He spent his high school years, however living by a slightly different moral code than did I.
"Donnie, I respect you, man.  You're always the one who can be counted on to make the right decision, even when everyone else is going the opposite way."

Yep, that was me, The Good Kid.  

Not surprisingly, he and I revisited that conversation.  It happened 21 years later, when coming back from a Royals game.  I had to be honest about how that conversation had shaped the identity as The Good Kid but how I'd fairly recently arrived at a different identity, how I'd been able to change that narrative.
The new identity (what was actually true all along) and the narrative I'm trying to live by is that I'm just A Kid.  No qualifier or adjective, I'm just A Kid.

So much freedom to be found in living into a role rather than living by rules.


Another part of this story, a recent development that I in no way saw coming, is this new role of helping others who are finding themselves in the midst of their own hard left turn (also known as a divorce).
Within an hour of sharing my first blog post via Facebook, I was overwhelmed by people reaching out to me, sharing their own stories and even asking for advice (as if I really have much good advice to give, other than to share my own experience).
The power to help others redeem their own story isn't found in my amazing advice-giving skills, though but in the simple fact that I'm publicly discussing such a difficult topic.  Facebook messages, phone conversations, prayers and counselor recommendations are just some of the activities I've recently found myself engaging in.

To quote the friend who sat next to me during the Christmas Eve service, "Donnie, it sounds a lot like ministry."
Or a good friend who pastors in Central California, "Don't waste your pain, Donnie."
Or a good friend who pastors up the coast in Northern California, "Donnie, in speaking with a pastoral voice but with a freedom no practicing pastor actually has, you are living into your calling."

Well, that was a little unexpected, especially when all I wanted to do was write.  But I believe that's how God's Incarnation-into-Redemption usually works, it comes as a surprise.  A baby?  A blog post?  Okay... that might be a stretch...


I think though, that it could be understood how I felt like this theme of our story being redeemed came, at least somewhat, full-circle when Pastor Tim preached this sermon on the first Sunday of Advent about our good and generous God who is writing a good and generous story.

And it was no stretch at all to feel like things had come full circle last night, when sitting in the same balcony, next to the same friend and preparing to once again light the Christmas Eve candles.  Even though it was just less than 24 hours ago, I can't remember anything about Pastor Tim's sermon.  I can, however remember the presence of peace in my heart, the acknowledgement of newly earned wisdom in my brain and the new sense in my spirit of how God truly is redeeming my story.

I gave my friend a hug before leaving and told her it was nice to sit next to her and not cry this Christmas Eve.  She agreed.

A Rewrite

So... I rewrote some stuff.  Here's the stupidly naive, ignorant or self-centered thing about it all... I didn't expect to have to do so.  I'm not quite sure what all was going on in my brain, but I think that maybe those narratives I shared were so ingrained in my memory that I didn't think about how they'd feel to those closest to Erin.  It was stuff that happened.  That's it.  It was, however, my view on the things that happened.  I'm fully aware that other viewpoints exist.

Another crazy thing is that I shared these posts with quite a few friends before sharing on Facebook.  Each friend I shared them with would be someone I'd describe as insightful and honest, most of whom love and care for Erin.  Yet none of them challenged me on anything.  In fact, some of them thanked me for the attitude with which I wrote the posts.  Maybe they were just avoiding conflict .  Quite possibly the intention with which I thought I was writing the posts actually came through.  Maybe they saw the bigger picture of what I was trying to do and thus didn't think much of the parts that would be labeled as "hurtful."  Whatever the reason, we all clearly missed something.  For what it's worth, I take some solace (i.e. feel less like an insensitive idiot) that those people missed it.

Then those closest to Erin read the posts.... that's when the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.  I guess it would suffice to say that they believed me to be forming a narrative that made myself look good by demeaning Erin.  Which, surprise, surprise, they believed to be slightly below board (or just downright inexcusable).

My initial reaction was to be defensive, "of course you have to say that, you're family."  Upon further reflection, I decided I needed to listen to their perspective, which means I do two things: 1) apologize and 2) rewrite the parts perceived to be out-of-line.

Later on, also upon further reflection, a lot of those friends who first didn't see much hurtfulness came back to me and said, "Donnie, I can certainly see how some of what you said could be perceived as hurtful."

I for sure need to listen to those voices, so I am.

Years ago, when I was leading a church, I had some difficult conflict.  All pastors go through it, but this was my first time handling something of that magnitude.  As is often the case, I had no idea it was going to cause such a shit storm, but it sure did.
I had some voices from outside the situation, people for whom I have great respect, telling me, "it's okay, Donnie, you did nothing wrong, stand your ground."  So I adopted that siege  mentality and stood firm.
Needless to say, that didn't work so well.

So now I find myself in a similar situation.  This time, I'm going to listen much more readily to the voices of dissent, those telling me that what I did was wrong.  They can obviously see something in my actions that I was either blind to or intentionally ignoring.

I can be "right" and alone or gracious and apologetic and stay in relationship with people.

Two things convinced me, last night, that I needed to make some changes and apologize.
1) I read this quote:
"Behavior which is superficially correct, but is intrinsically corrupt always irritates those who see beneath the surface."
- James Bryant Conant
I think it's quite possible that the former in-laws who are off-the-charts mad at me are able to see some motives in my writing that I'm not consciously aware of (at best) or justifying away (at worst). I'm not able to figure out the answer to that now, but I have listened to them, which means I'm rewriting some stuff and apologizing to them.  I took the parts of my story that I shared that they construed as hurtful and unnecessary and rewrote them with a much more neutral narrative.

2) My mom asked me, on the phone last night, "didn't it occur to you that what you wrote would be hurtful to Erin"?
"No," was my honest answer.
"Had she written similar things about me, it wouldn't have hurt me."
"Well, Donnie, she's a woman, so she feels things differently than you."
"Good point, mom.."

My mom used to always tell me, as a kid, "if you hurt someone, even if you don't mean to, you have a responsibility to apologize."

So I'll deal with personal apologies, but take this as my public apology.

I think that re-writing those hurtful parts allows me to focus upon what the whole point of what my blogging was in the first place, to talk publicly about the taboo topic of Christians and divorce, allowing myself and others to battle the shame that grows in the hiding places.

A mentor of mine, who prayed for us at our wedding, asked that we'd always remember the nine most important words of a marriage, "I was wrong.  I am sorry.  Please forgive me."  Well, that didn't work out so well for the marriage but I think those words also apply to navigating life after a marriage.

Causing pain truly wasn't my intent, but it happened, so I've gotta own that.  And I've gotta apologize for it.

So I adopt those words of my mentor as my own, again.

Public Grief

The ministry partnership that was "Donnie and Erin" touched a lot of people.  I sometimes forget, or lose perspective of, just how many people.
Just like how often I forget just how many FB friends I really have.

So I'm going to process some of the response I received... out loud... publicly... again.

Here's what I'd like to start by stating, I'm sharing my story, as I experienced it.
Erin has her own story and perspective.  If she doesn't publicly write about it, I'd encourage you to ask her share it with you.
I'd think that most people who know both of us would realize the truth likely lies between our two perspectives.

My former sister-in-laws believe I'm totally in the wrong.  My own sister thinks I'm totally in the right.  Once again, I'm sure the truth lies in the middle.  Of course, all of them experienced the breakdown of the marriage from their own perspective and have processed the grief in their own way, particularly how the divorce impacted their sibling.

So in a statistical analysis, you throw out the extremes and work for the mean (or something like that).

I received some polar opposite responses from people for whom I have the utmost respect, people with whom we've ministered in the past.  Some thought I was kind and gracious, some were upset that I went too far.

The vast majority thanked me for sharing honesty and respectfully, including the way I talked about Erin.  Though I'll readily admit that majority does not equate to rightness, maybe a lot of them didn't even read everything I wrote.  Not all were in agreement, however, some people took particular exception with my sharing what that counselor told me, after the fact, based upon what he'd observed in some pretty intense, open and honest circumstances.
That was an important part of my story and healing.  Even so, sharing it did make me nervous and I wasn't sure whether it was right.

I still don't know whether sharing that was the right thing to do, actually.  When I asked the friends who thought I was kind and gracious to re-read it, some of them suggested I take it down, while also affirming they could I understand why I wanted to share it.  They all, however agreed they could understand why it upset some people.

That statement was life-giving to me.  Sharing it however, was not life-giving to Erin or others.  For the meantime, I've taken it down off my blog.

Is that an apology or admission or guilt?  Not sure either are warranted, but I'm open to the possibility that they are.

I went into that meeting asking the counselor how I could love my ex-wife in a Christ-like way, which, believe it or not, I try to.  I try to be forgiving, understanding and let go of some things that are (in my perspective) unjust and hurtful. I believe Erin tries to do the same. We both fail quite regularly.

Some people were upset that I'd talk about the divorce openly at all.  I can also understand that perspective, though I don't agree with it.  I don't think it's wrong to process this publicly.  I can however,  be more careful about sharing certain details and be more self-aware of my motives.

Erin and I served in a lot of different capacities and touched a lot of lives.  Even if we fall out of contact with them, there still exists an emotional connection.  Maybe this whole FB drama is allowing our "long-lost friends" to truly grieve the loss of Donnie and Erin's marriage.  Or maybe I'm being too sentimental.

With that said, I never actually meant for it to be an attack on Erin, or working-out-of-our-issues on FB, though many see it that way.  Some of the reasons for people coming to that conclusion, I think, are due to a different interpretation than what I was trying to communicate.  Another possibility is people seeing something in my words that I'm not able to see for myself.

Or maybe it's simply some people who care about us pointing out that I'm being a douche-nozzle.  Maybe those who thanked me for the content and manner of my writing are wrong.  Maybe those upset are correct and I'm just deluding myself...

Why Do We Hide our Shit?

Within hours of sharing my first blog entry on FB, I was overwhelmed with the number of people messaging me, in private, thanking me for having the courage to talk openly about divorce and then opening up about their own marital struggles.  What struck me, and hurt me, was not only the sheer volume of messages I received, but also the fact that every single person asked me to keep their story confidential.

Here's something I immediately learned upon receiving all of those messages, We need to trust the grace of other Christians.  Not everyone will be safe, but it's worth being hurt by a few to receive the grace that will be offered by the majority.

Why don't we trust that majority?  Maybe it's our own pride keeping us from being vulnerable.
We say "I'm scared of how others will respond" but the deeper reason (the reason which we hide behind) is that we're too proud to share our failures, or too worried about how other people perceive us that we don't want to reveal our struggles.  At least, I certainly believe that to be true of myself.

I'm gonna share a story that I've processed through with several friends and therapists.  As the whole point of my public blogging is to overcome the shame I faced and to possibly help others do the same, I'll process publicly something I've already shared with various people.

We both had crutches.  We all, to be honest, have crutches.  Some are more consequential than others. I've talked with quite a few people about a couple of crutches I'm going to describe and I've been given various opinions in regards to how to interpret them.  

My first crutch, as I referenced in an earlier blog, was to check out.  And I did, check out, about 75% of the time from The Declaration till The Move Out.
 When I was checked out, I noticed how many nice looking women my age at church weren't wearing wedding rings and I began to wonder what it would be like to start over.
That wasn't great.  Not at all.  It certainly didn't help.  No, it was a strong contributing factor to le divorce.  As I've processed it with some people, they've suggested it was self-defense.  Maybe, but self defense isn't always justified.

The other crutch was an emotional entanglement.  It was basically a professional relationship, met on professional terms and with a somewhat professional goal.  Maybe the best way to describe it is that we both had a shared interest in linguistic and cultural betterment (is that clinical enough?)  I could sense where the line was and felt I only approached it once, in regards to sharing too personal of info.

But where I truly crossed the line was in using that friendship to cope with what was happening in my marriage.  Where I crossed the line was hiding that from my wife (at the time, though I eventually told her).  Even though it never became romantic, I used the fact that a smart and attractive lady was interested in my life as a crutch to deal with my pain.  Even with no romance being involved, it still felt great to get that attention.

Here's the ironic part; she never saw it that way as a result of both my subtlety and her being in a different place, relationally, than I was.  Which just goes to show how messed up my thinking was at the time, how I was desperately grabbing for anything.  Any type of attention feels like cold water when you're emotionally dying of thirst.

Those were two unhealthy crutches.

Worse than any of those crutches, though and what I believe to be the most significant contribution to the end of my marriage was that my heart became calloused.  I wrote earlier that from The Declaration till The Move Out, I was only fully engaged for about two full months.  Those were the months I felt like the engagement was being reciprocated.   Sure, there were many days in which I woke up determined that "today I'm going to love her like I should..." only to give into the emotional resistance that immediately came up between us as soon as we were in the same room.  That emotional wall felt stronger than any physical wall.  

There's so much other shit I could share, but I think this is a good start.  Shame loses its power when brought out into the open.

To quote that insightful prophet, Marshal Mathers, "... cause tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet."  Though I think the similarities between my story and that video stop with that quote...