infidelity

Innocence

“To the pure all things are pure, but to those who are defiled and unbelieving nothing is pure; but even their mind and conscience are defiled.” – Titus 1:15

Have you ever found some artifact from your distant past–a book, a souvenir from a family vacation, a CD–and reflected on how much life has changed since you last held that thing in your hands?

When you last read those words, touched the edges of that familiar nic-nac, pressed “Play” on that disc and absorbed the melodies coming from it 10…15…20 years ago, you had some form of worldview of what life was like. You had hopes of what your life would become one day. You hadn’t considered how or when your relationships could or would go away. You had no idea the people you’d meet who would bring you great gladness or open your eyes to beauty. Or introduce you to a pain you wouldn’t dare–or even know how–to imagine.

Sometimes, I’ll come across something–maybe a picture or a note from high school or college–I shake my head and grin as I face that younger me and reflect on how hard I tried to be funny. Or cool. Or anything else that I wasn’t. Can’t say I ever thought I had the world all figured out, but I certainly always wanted it to like me–and worked countless angles to make it so. The world scared me before I even really stepped out into it.

Now, what really makes my heart weigh a few pounds heavier are those pieces from my pre-adolescent-era life. When the only hurt I knew were my parents’ spankings and confirmations that, no, we weren’t going to Chuck-E-Cheese for dinner. So much innocence. Not that I acted innocently–hence the spankings. But I didn’t even know to expect anything out of life outside of countless pick-up baseball games, Little Debbie snacks in my school lunch and agonizing countdowns to overnight trips at the grandparents’.

The last time I read through the pages of a Henry Huggins book was at my son’s age of nine. My kids like me to read about Henry and Ribsy and Ramona Quimby’s adventures out loud, which I’m more than glad to do. Just like my son and seven year-old daughter now, when I last read this story, I didn’t know rejection nor had I ever betrayed anyone who trusted me and broke their hearts.

I hadn’t failed an important test or lost a job…nor lost a loved one…yet.

I hadn’t faced the fear of growing old alone or wondering where the money was going to come from to pay my mortgage.

I didn’t pine for the someone else’s approval of me to affirm that I was OK, in my humanness, as it was.

I hadn’t questioned if God really liked me, much more, loved me.

I hadn’t really messed anything up yet.

And then, for a minute, comes a deep longing to go back to that moment. Before I’d scarred or been scarred. When I read that book or listened to that song free of nagging pains of what my sin has done or what others’ sins have done to me circling my consciousness.

This is all kind of heavy thinking, for sure. Not to back-pedal, but it’s not that I live in this space 24-7. There’s freedom from that sort of misery. And I’m grateful for the journey toward that, fully. But how beautiful is that innocence. The kind I see in my 10 year-old son and seven year-old daughter, yet very much does dwindle away a little by the hour as travelers exposed to the World’s destined-for-death elements.

An author named John A. Ritenbough once wrote:

A well-known series of scriptures, beginning in Matthew 18:1, touches on innocence and its destruction. It starts with a question from the disciples: “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” Jesus replies that unless we become as little children, we will not be in the Kingdom of Heaven. Is not the beauty of their innocence and the harmless vulnerability of little children a major reason why we find them so adorable? They produce no harm, shame, or guilt. But what happens as they become adults? They become sophisticated, worldly, cosmopolitan, cynical, suspicious, sarcastic, prejudiced, self-centered, cool, uninvolved, and many other negative things. They also seem to lose their zest for life. Sin does that.

Of course, we can never become children again; and none of us really want that anyway, really. God mercifully gifts us with wisdom (James 1:5) and discernment (Proverbs 2) as we persevere to mature through life (James 1:4), in spite of what we’ve done and what we’ve been exposed to. To live in naiveté as an adult is novel, but it’s also dangerous–which is why children can be rarely left unattended–and dumb.

I don’t know that I’ll experience the same “zest for life” again until heaven. Which makes me all the more eager to get there, though I also don’t want to die anytime soon. Father, give us the faith to believe that we are, in fact, whole and seen as flawless in your sight because–only because–Jesus’ blood has made us that way. Let us be glad in that above any and all of our deceitful hearts’ (Jeremiah 17:9) guilt or shame.

 

 

Stumbling & Not Falling

“If the Lord delights in a man’s way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.” – Psalm 37:24

“For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again, but the wicked are brought down by calamity.” – Proverbs 24:16

“Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light. Because I have sinned against him, I will bear the Lord’s wrath, until he pleads my case and establishes my right. He will bring me out into the light; I will see his righteousness.” – Micah 7:8-9

I met with a new-er friend for lunch today. Because we’re young in our relationship, having only met up twice prior, there’s a lot of “getting to know you” ground to cover. There are times when I think I’ve hit my limit on the amount of people I can adequately maintain in my social circle. But when a guy like John comes around who’s inquisitive, transparent, and intentional about building a friendship–and also insightful and biblically perceptive–I always gladly find a way to stretch out that circle to fit in one more. Guys like John are gold to me.

He’s taken a lot of interest in my four+ years-old decision to stay single and wait out the potential for God to restore a presently-divorced marriage between my wife (not a fan of “ex-wife”) and me. That means remaining abstinent and not getting involved in any kind of romantically-inclined relationship. It also means facing the loneliness, frustration, extra work of being a single parent and sometimes-gigantic void of sexual intimacy.

“Man, I don’t know how you do it,” John said, gazing off over my shoulder, head shaking. “…I don’t think that I could”

He was pondering what a lot of men who sit down with me ponder. “Could I be that obedient? That consistent? That self-controlled?”

NOTE!!: Though that is truly my assignment–and I am determined to stick through it, I’ve been far from the poster boy of self-control. I’ve wandered off the path–sometimes by a step, sometimes by an overseas voyage–uncountable times.

Yes, it has been a very tough exercise of faith to abide by what scripture clearly directs divorced Christ-followers to do: remain unmarried or reconcile with my wife. No, I haven’t always had enough faith to act obediently to this direction. But the point of this post is to emphasize what I believe is true for everyone who chooses a way that chases the spirit’s leading over the flesh:

Though you stumble, there is opportunity for you to rise again. If your path is purposed to delight (and delight in) the Lord, He–the Father–won’t let you fail. At least not in a way that disqualifies you from your heart’s ultimate desire: wholeness and satisfaction. The real kind, not the kind you get from a compliment, a delicious meal or a compelling concert experience. That’s cool, but it’ll fade–and there’s still SOME sort of disappointment involved. The fact that it was a brief, temporary moment is disappointment in itself, right? The real kind of wholeness is unending and the real kind of satisfaction brings God glory, which is what we were created to do. Believe it or not.

I don’t always believe all of this.

In fact, it’s a struggle to believe it, even most of the time. I’ve made so many blatantly-wrong decisions, that, in my weakest moments of trust and/or hope, I can be pretty convinced that I’ve used up my allotment of “stumbles.” And now it’s just waiting to reap whatever ugliness I’ve sowed.

And, yes, there have been/will be consequences for my actions (Gal. 6:7-8), to be sure. Still, as I learn to trust God more, I’m getting to know him less as a coach that’s about to pull my athletic scholarship because I’ve completely failed to meet expectations and more as the high priest described in Hebrews 4:15. The one who isn’t “unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.” Jesus experienced all the limitations of living in a fallen world and he understands my carnal struggle t0 want to go a route that differs from God’s best.

One of the things I’ve had to pray for wisdom about the most is knowing the difference between God’s plan for my life, and Satan’s. I’m well-aware they both have one for each of us. As I seek to know the Lord better, I trust that I’ll grow deeper in love with him and THAT will be my main motivator to stay away from sin. While I do think sin and its after-effect stumbling equal a lot of pain and, practically, a lot of wasted time, I don’t want to not sin for that reason. I want to not sin because I delight so much in my heavenly Father, that, by comparison, I’d look at sin and be like, “Why would I want to do that?”

John Piper says, “Faith is not merely believing that Christ died for our sins, but also that he is far better than sin.” We’re going to sin. I’m going to wander off of the path God has me on. I want the faith to always know that, wherever I’ve stumbled off to is far less appealing than where God had me. And even in my stumbling, wandering in dark places…He will see my desire to live righteously and pick me back up, into the light.

 

One way to start a season, Part 1

We don’t always get a choice when we start a new season of life.

Someone you love is diagnosed with cancer. Or you are diagnosed with cancer.

Your boss fires you. Or your spouse walks out on you.

You lose everything in a tornado. Or in a fatal car crash.

There are countless circumstances that can dictate the end of one season and the beginning of another. Circumstances that form a line between “the way things were” and “the way things are now…indefinitely.”

As Ecclesiastes 3:1 says for every activity under the heavens, there’s a season–we’re always living one out. Good or bad.

Sometimes, we make decisions that can (and will) immediately change the trajectory of our life, which ultimately leads to the unfolding of a new season.

We make an impressive discovery or resolve at work that leads to a huge promotion.

We absentmindedly swerve our vehicle into another highway lane and clip a motorcyclist we couldn’t see during the quick glimpse in our mirrors.

We take a job across the country.

We tear our ACL playing basketball with the kids in the driveway.

For me, my season-turning born from the decision to divulge a secret to my wife. Something that didn’t feel too secretive at first, because it didn’t totally feel too…wrong. But that’s how all extramarital relationships go, right?

In September 2009, about 14 weeks into a relationship with a co-worker that went from, “You and her need to figure out a way to work together” in May to blatant flirtation in June and physical “intimacy” in July, I finally realized this whole thing was only destined to get worse if I didn’t blow all of this up and bring it into the wide open.

I had tried to stop the relationship dozens of times before. Tried talking with her and rationalizing with her. She (also married with child) agreed. But when no one’s watching (because no one knows to watch) and the thrill of being a part of something “sexy” that’s just between you and someone else is right in front of you every day, it’s impossible to face those demons alone in the dark. And you are alone because you’ve decided to not let anyone else in.

Could I have kept it a secret forever? Maybe. I don’t know that she would have ever told her husband. He worked in the same office we did (even!). It would have been super-messy for her to bring that to the surface. So, I convinced myself that God’s grace is enough to take care of my sins. And, for a short, miserable season through August and early September 2009, I tried to convince myself that I was forgiven and, thus, free from my sinful burdens–and any real need to bring this up to anyone in my circle. God and the woman and I dealt with it. We’re good.

And this is what I learned on the night of September 5th, 2009 is called “false repentance.” Interestingly enough, I was supposed to lead my church Sunday School class through Chapter 5 of the book we were reading through the next morning on this exact topic of false repentance. The more I read, the more my heart pounded. Did God forgive me for my infidelities? He’s an amazing Father and yes He did. Did God have big things in store for me and my life and my family? Yes he did. Could we go through the rest of our lives with a secret? Yes. Would I be stealing from her? Yes. Is stealing disobedient? Yes. Does God honor disobedience? No.

So, I had a decision to make, lying next to my wife that night. My wife, who had just two weeks prior given birth to our second child. That night was among the worst of my life. Sweat poured out of me. I couldn’t get physically comfortable. I was too tired to cry and too wired to sleep. I tried to rationalize and thought of dozens of worse-case scenarios. They were all worse-case. A best-case scenario was still going to suck, bad.

Ultimately, it came down to this: I can not tell her about my adultery and go on living the rest of our lives together with a secret. Because there’s a secret inbetween us, we’ll never experience maximum-level intimacy in our marriage. In fact, that intimacy will continue to decay over time, most likely. It may rise up now and then, but it’d never rise over maybe 50%. We’d peak at a 50% intimacy level. OR, I get it all out now. Drop our current intimacy level (surely) to 0% and, at LEAST over time, have a chance at 100% with her. One hundred percent intimacy would never be possible if I didn’t share what was going on.

So I did. Early the next morning.

As expected, she was stunned and angry and indignant. I was scared, self-protective (defensive) and mostly numb to her. We’d gone through similar things like this before. I had dropped a bomb on her 18 months earlier about a couple hours once spent with a woman that turned into more than a conversation. She almost seemed to expect this might happen again. Not even two hours after I shared the news, she had packed the kids in our Highlander and taken off for her parent’s house in Michigan, just as I expected she would.

I cried as she left, but I didn’t really feel sad. Just scared of what all of this was about to mean. I knew she was gone, but was sure she’d come back and, over a lot of time and pain and truth, we’d work this out.

That never happened. And this is how a new season begins.