Three Days in May
[Excerpt from Monumental Hug: Divorce, Cancer, Grace & Healing]
I went to my first church men’s retreat at the age of forty-six. Up to that point, I couldn’t be bothered with such things. I didn’t want to waste the time, share a room with someone, or spend the money. Even worse, I was self-righteous and didn’t think I needed to go.
That began to change shortly after I arrived and the organizers showed a video entitled Flame.[1] In it, the narrator describes three different Hebrew words translated into the English word love in the Song of Solomon, a collection of Hebrew love poems in the Bible. One of the words, raya, means “friend, companion or soulmate.” A second word, ahava, represents such a deep affection for, desire to be with, and commitment to someone that your heart aches if you’re not together. The third word, dod, represents passion and sexual intimacy. The narrator talked about how these three things (i.e., flames) were meant to exist (burn) together and the satisfaction (heat) that results when they do.
Now, here’s the awful part. I remember thinking, I don’t have that anymore toward Diane, my wife, for each of the words he described. I actually got up, left the meeting room, and went to a private place to cry. In that moment I realized how broken my twenty-two-year marriage had become.
I spent the next two days thinking deeply about what had happened, seeking advice from other men at the retreat, and building up the resolve to change. I drove home and immediately hugged my wife. It was something we almost never did in those days. Her response was chilly. She stood with her arms crossed and forehead furrowed when I wrapped my arms around her. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “You’re only hugging me because you went to a men’s retreat.”
I responded by saying, “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” She was unmoved and didn’t hug me back.
The next morning, I created a short list of things I was determined to pray about every day. First, I began asking God to profoundly change me — to change the way I think, behave, speak, see, hear, feel, and react. Second, I asked Him to give me uncommon faith, Godly love, and the wisdom of Jesus Christ. Finally, I asked Him to give me five things in my marriage, none of which I had at the time. The following is what I wrote in my prayer notes:
Change our hearts. Put the strong desire to change in both of us, the ability to do so, and lead us to actually do it.
I know your will in general. I don’t know how we can follow through on it in a practical way after repeatedly hurting each other. What’s the answer? Longsuffering? Grace? But how?
Help us treat each other “as we should.”
Help us have fun together.
Bring us out of this period with a better marriage than ever — one with Jesus at the core — deeply changed for the better and able to help many others.
I also began striving to treat Diane with more kindness and patience, but it soon became evident that her hurt was deep as she responded with cynicism, indifference, and hostility. I reacted poorly to this and we quickly fell back onto our toxic patterns of behavior.
Eight months later, on a spring morning, I was driving home following a workout at the gym. I had just wrapped up a difficult ten-month consulting assignment six days earlier and was looking forward to exercising more frequently and generally recharging. I was also planning to launch a new business and had lined up some financing from a local bank.
I got a call from my stockbroker who started our conversation by asking me where I was. When I told him I was driving, he asked me to pull over. Once I stopped the car, he told me that my wife had called his office and had them freeze all of our accounts because we were getting divorced. This was news to me. I felt shock and disbelief. It seems that, despite my retreat revelation, I had been in a state of denial. While I knew we had our problems and had admittedly grown apart, we weren’t dealing with issues like extramarital affairs, drug use, physical abuse, or bankruptcy. Because of this, I had deluded myself into believing things would never reach the point of separation and divorce.
I sped home, saw Diane’s car, and burst into the house in search of her. She was upstairs gathering her things for work. I called out to her from the foyer on the main level and demanded to know why our broker had called me and said what he did. I watched as she moved between rooms across the upstairs landing, repeatedly disappearing and hardly saying a word. After more yelling on my part, she came down the stairs, calmly handed me her lawyer’s card, and told me to call her. Then she left for work. She had been well coached. I was stunned.
At that point things got real, fast. As I worked through the initial shock of the following few days, I had several major revelations. The biggest one was that I had slowly come to live in a state of perpetual “un-grace” in my marriage. I had become angry, selfish, impatient, grumpy, and, sometimes, downright mean. I had tried to get my wife to do the things that were important to me by increasingly showing my displeasure with her. I had kept a record of her wrongs, often grumbling and cursing with displeasure, and could barely offer up a smile when I was around her. Of course, she wasn’t perfect either, but I realized that the only person I could change was me. I also realized that behaving ungracefully had brought me right to the brink of divorce.
I began to think seriously about the example Jesus Christ set as recorded in the Bible. What I saw was truly amazing. I saw how badly Christ was treated throughout His life by many people He met, and how He was eventually beaten and crucified. I realized that He accepted all of this without lashing out or using His power to force people to change. Instead, He traveled around the countryside teaching and healing the sick, taking the time to listen to the lowliest of people, and even crying with compassion when He saw suffering. This made me realize how badly I had been behaving. Instead of appreciating my wife’s differences and using them to help me change and mature, I was continually exerting pressure on her to change.
So, I decided to do several things. I committed to start seeing my wife through God’s graceful, loving eyes and not my own selfish ones. I also committed to treating her with grace, no matter what happened. I simply did not want to get into the “tit for tat” downward spiral that characterizes so many divorces and the world in general. Finally, I realized that the only person I could change was me. I decided to focus on identifying the things that God wanted me to change in myself, and not the things I wanted my wife to change in herself.
I shared these resolutions with my wife, but she was not impressed. Her lawyer told her that these were simply the empty words of a desperate man willing to say anything to avert a divorce and financial loss.
After Diane told me she was leaving, she lived in our house for another three weeks while searching for a place for her and our thirteen-year-old daughter, Shannon, to live. This made for many uncomfortable moments. Most notably were the times when I had some sort of admission or idea I wanted to share with my best friend. The problem was that my best friend was my wife and she was no longer accessible to me. She was the one who had set the divorce proceedings in motion and was not interested in hearing anything I had to say.
Three weeks after Diane pointed me to her lawyer, I found myself sitting in a courtroom for a pendente lite hearing. Diane was seeking temporary alimony and child support that would enable her to move out of our home and pay her bills while we worked toward a final divorce decree. The courtroom was filled with people who were seeking similar relief from the judge. One after another, couples were called before the bench and their attorneys slugged it out for fifteen minutes. Then the judge decided on the matter, and the bailiff called forward the next couple. The whole scene was sad and depressing. I wondered how I had reached this point.
Eventually our names were called. Diane was put on the stand and questioned by both of our attorneys. Then I was seated and questioned. Then the judge ruled. It was over in fifteen minutes, but it felt like thirty seconds. In the end, the judge ordered me to pay thousands of dollars of monthly alimony and child support to Diane, even though I had no income, and all our bank accounts were frozen except one. The one unfrozen account was nearly drained by my own lawyer’s retainer fees.
As I left the courtroom, I suddenly realized my wife had invited some of her friends over to our house that night to pack her and Shannon’s belongings. I had been so focused on preparing for the trial and working through the initial shock of the divorce that I hadn’t even considered where I would stay while they were packing. There was no way I could go home that evening.
I decided to go to my parents’ home, a small condo about twenty minutes from our house, to sleep on the floor. My dad was in his late seventies, my mom in her early eighties, and they were both in poor health. My mom was also quite a character. She had been one of the first policewomen in the city of Baltimore back in the 1950s, and she could be very combative. As we talked that evening, she said a lot of things about me that I didn’t like. Hard things. True things. Things I needed to hear. She talked about my anger, selfishness, and overbearing nature. She talked about how I hurt people.
Of course, when people close to us tell us things that hurt, it’s a natural reaction for us to get mad and highlight all their faults because it moves the spotlight away from us. At one point, I got so angry and offended that I jumped up from my chair, walked to the front door and grabbed the handle. I threatened to leave.
I’ll never forget what happened next. My dad, who was usually uninvolved in conversations between my mother and me, had been sitting on the other side of the condo listening to us go at it. As I stood at the door, he rose and shuffled his unsteady body across the living and dining rooms. When he got close to me, he hugged me, told me he loved me, and pleaded with me to stay. We embraced, weeping. My mom cried too. I wound up staying.
The next morning, I got up early after a sleepless night on the floor. My parents were up as well, hobbling around, trying to help me in any way they could. They kept handing me twenty-dollar bills. I thought, Based on yesterday’s court ruling, I need way more than a few twenty-dollar bills. Still, it was very sweet of them, and I took the money.
I got to my house that morning around 6:00 a.m. I entered through the garage door and found my wife at the kitchen sink. Standing about six feet from her, I told her I didn’t think the court ruling was fair, but I wanted to honor my grace commitment. I then told her I was going to help her move. She didn’t say a word or react in any other way, so I immediately got to work. I started breaking down the kitchen iMac and some other electronics. I loaded them in my car and headed to her new place. I met with the utilities folks that she had scheduled and got all her services up and running.
I would eventually drive back and forth between our house and Diane’s new apartment four times to transport delicate items, tackle issues that arose, and do whatever was needed. At one point I got a call from a neighbor who asked, “Why is there a moving truck in your driveway?” This immediately reduced me to tears. Since I was standing near Diane when the call came in, I left her apartment and went down the hall to talk. I explained what was happening and hung up, eventually composed myself, and got back to work. Ten hours later the move was finished. I tipped the movers, sent them on their way, and found myself standing in the living room of Diane’s new apartment. Our daughter was in her new bedroom on one side, and my wife was in hers on the other.
It occurred to me that this was unusual. Usually, a spouse who leaves wants to get far away from the other spouse and perhaps not even leave a forwarding address, yet here I was, standing in Diane’s new apartment.
I went into my daughter’s room to say goodbye. The moment was gut-wrenching. I remember very little of what we said, probably because it was so painful. Then I went to my wife’s bedroom. She was standing at the far side of the room, facing me. I walked up to her and said, “I love you and I’m proud of you.” I was shocked at the words coming out of my mouth. My human nature wanted to scream, “Look what you’ve done to me?! Look at what you’re doing to our family!! How could you do this?!” Yet I felt compelled to say something radically different—something that wasn’t focused on her and the bad things I thought she was doing, but rather on an unconditional and shocking expression of love and grace. I then gave her a hug and a kiss on her forehead. She was speechless. Saying nothing else, I turned away and left the apartment. I felt horrible walking down the hallway to the garage. I knew I was heading back to an empty home.
To this day, I’m still blown away by what I said and how I behaved. I’m utterly convinced that God spoke through me as a reward for my persistent prayers and strong desire to genuinely change. He moved me to say words I hadn’t said in years, words my wife dearly wanted and needed to hear.
I drove back to our house, walked in the door, and was greeted by a huge mess—the result of a 24-hour packing and moving blitzkrieg during a daylong driving rain. Besides the tape, clothes, and household items that were strewn everywhere, water and mud from the mover’s shoes had collected in many places. Despite not sleeping for thirty-six hours and being exhausted, I couldn’t go to bed with the house in that shape, so I cleaned and straightened the first and second floors for several hours. Then I crawled into bed and passed out.
When I woke up the next day, it was surreal. My wife and daughter were gone, along with half of everything in the house, and things were still quite a mess. When I walked into my closet, I found it half empty, which was a jolt. I experienced the same reaction when I saw Shannon’s empty closet. Then I went downstairs and noticed that sound echoed in the living and dining rooms because there was so little furniture left in them. I was heartbroken.
Somehow, I slogged through the day, moving from one straightening or cleaning task to another. At one point, the neighbor who had called me the day before stopped by with her new husband to offer support and encouragement. Her husband had been divorced six years earlier after a long marriage and raising three kids. He had lots of advice, including warning me not to get involved with other women as I worked through the months and years ahead. I took his advice seriously.
Later in the day, at around 4:00 p.m., something surprising happened. My wife called me. After we exchanged greetings, she began to describe how difficult things had been for her through the separation process while juggling her job, graduate school, and caring for our daughter. I was amazed. Once again, my human nature wanted to point out the toll her decision was taking on our family and me, but I remained silent and listened to her.
When she had finished sharing her difficulties, she mentioned that there was no food in her apartment, and that it was Mother’s Day. Understandably, I had forgotten Mother’s Day. She then asked if I would bring Shannon and her a pizza. I was shocked. I wanted to say, “Are you kidding me?! You want me to bring you a pizza after everything that’s happened?!” But I also found myself feeling happy and thankful for the opportunity to serve my daughter and my wife.
I told her I’d be glad to bring them dinner and asked her to call her favorite local restaurant and place a carry-out order. She hesitated, as if she realized how strange this all seemed. I sensed her pause and reassured her that I was happy to help. We agreed on our plan.
I was pretty excited when I hung up the phone. I grabbed a house-warming gift I had bought for her—a compact tool kit—and ran out to my car in the garage. I then realized I had forgotten something, put the gift down on the floor of the garage, and ran back inside. When I returned to the garage and pulled my car out, I promptly drove over the tool kit. I got out of the car and inspected the damage. The kit had fared amazingly well, so I tossed it in the car and split.
It was pouring rain again, and I got totally drenched picking up our meals and getting into the apartment building. I didn’t care. I was excited to have another chance to extend grace. When I arrived at her apartment, Diane had set the table. We unpacked our food, sat down together, and ate dinner as a family. I don’t remember a lot of the specifics about our dinner together, except that it struck me as strange. What I do remember is what happened when I went to leave. As I stood at the front door and said goodbye, Diane walked up to me sheepishly, thanked me for bringing them dinner, and hugged me. I was stunned and hugged her back.
As we stood there with our arms around each other, thoughts flooded my mind. I first thought, I’ve been pounding on this dear woman for years trying to change her into something I wanted, and it brought me to the brink of divorce and likely financial ruin. Now, after two days of extending genuine grace, she’s hugging me. I then thought of Jesus Christ and the sacrifice He made for us—one that doesn’t require our worthiness or performance. In a flash, I understood the Gospel like I never had before. This was a revelation bigger than any I’ve had in my life.
Little more was said, except that I told her I loved her as I went out the door. Once I was in the hallway and the door closed behind me, I looked up toward heaven and told God, “I’m all in! I’m going to build my life on Your grace, and only grace, from now on, for the rest of my life.”
[1] Flame video by Rob Bell. See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYfCXsSmZ7s.