It only matters that I start.

So this post today is actually two blog posts in one. I wrote the post below last month. But I left it in my notes as a draft and didn’t publish it. I didn’t publish it because I felt like there was something else I was supposed to share that day and so I wrote a different post. At least that’s what I told myself anyway. But I think the real reason I didn’t post it, is because if I posted it, I would have to actually do it. If I posted it, I’d be accountable to follow through. And it’s funny because the thing I ended up posting about that day was fear and doubt and how they steal our now from us. 

Yet, I apparently missed my own preaching. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Once again, I let the fear of failure, of not being good enough, and the doubts of how something I want to do could actually become a reality, get in the way of my purpose. I let the doubt and the fear tell me who I am and what I’m capable of. 

And I had forgotten about that post. Until this morning . When Dusty Takle stood up on that stage at church to deliver her sermon and reminded me who I am. She talked about Song of Solomon 2:4 – “Let him lead me to the banquet hall, and let his banner over me be love.” She talked about how a banner is a covering, and how God covers us with His love. And how we need to be each other’s banner. Covering each other with love. She also talked about how she had known for years that she is supposed to write a book. And about how she had let fear and insecurity get in the way. How she had made noble excuses about why she couldn’t do it. Kind of like these excuses I’d been making:

1. I don’t have time. I have a full time job. I’m off 3 days a week, during which I also need to clean, shop, and spend time with my family. Writing is intensive and all consuming and it takes focus and when I write, everything around me fades out. So I told myself it’s not fair to my family for me to take that time. I didn’t want them to feel like they were less important or like I wasn’t present with them.

2. I don’t have the ability. Sure, I’m a decent writer. But, I have no idea how to turn all these thoughts and stories into an actual full book. I also have no idea how to go about procuring a publisher. I’m also a bit of a control freak and not having all these things outlined and planned out step by step freaks me out a little. I don’t like the feeling of going in blind. 

So, let’s break those down. 

1. Kate’s back to school now, so even if my week gets busy, at the very least, I have about 8 hours to myself every Friday. Surely I can carve out some of those to devote to writing.  Also, Jeff looked at me in the car on the way home and said, “So, it’s time you started writing that book.” To which I replied, “I know. But I have felt like it’s too intensive and that it will take too much of my time and focus from y’all, and I just don’t know how to do it without our relationship suffering.” Then, taking a line from the sermon this morning he held his hands up and said, “I’m holding your banner. I’ve got you covered. We’re ok. You can do this.” 

2. Ahh control. It’s kind of a joke, isn’t it? If the past two years have taught me anything, it’s been that God’s plan is the best plan. That the world will throw all kinds of things our way, some really good, and some really, really bad. But, despite what the world throws our way, when we’ve let Him, He’s done things and made things happen for us that we never would have seen coming in a million years.  Things that should never have been possible with all the bad the world threw at us.  Things that were virtually impossible two years ago are now our reality. Because He is good. And He is able. 

And He is in me, and I am in Him, so that means I am good. And I am able. I don’t have to know the plan. I don’t have to know the process. I just have to step forward and walk through it. He will provide the way. He will clear the path, all I have to do is keep moving. 

So today, I’m posting that draft that I’ve been sitting on for all these weeks. If God’s whisper weeks ago wasn’t prompting enough, His direct words through Dusty this morning definitely got my attention. So thank you for that, friend. Sometimes, when we get too still, we need someone to give us a little nudge to get us moving again.

July 23, 2017

I haven’t been doing any writing this month. Not sure why, just haven’t felt compelled to do so. Thought about it a few times, but never really got any clarity as to what to write about. What I do keep having though, is a recurring thought that I should maybe take a break from writing here, and start putting pen to paper, (or fingers to keyboard) and start working on a book. 

I’m not really sure what that looks like. If it will just be a retelling of my story in book form, or if it will be a book about how to survive when your life falls apart, or how to rebuild a marriage, or how to get it right from the beginning so that you don’t have to rebuild, or maybe even just about the goodness of God in all of our days, the good ones, and the really, really, bad ones. Maybe it’s going to be just one of these things. 

Or maybe it’s going to be all of them. 

Honestly I have no idea how this whole book writing thing works. And publishing… that’s a whole big world with very few doors. Publishing houses don’t really accept submissions that they didn’t request from you themselves anymore. So short of a miraculous intervention, self publishing is the most likely avenue and even then the options are confusing and also can be rather expensive. 

I tend to think way ahead and worry about the details of things, which tends to lead me to doubt things and limit the possibilities. Realistically, being able to put a book together and actually get it published , well, let’s just say the odds are against me. But then, I’m reminded that my odds are not regular odds. 

My job is just to write the book. God can handle the rest. 

I have to remind myself that I wrote my first blog with the thought that the odds were that only a handful of people would ever see it. At the time I was actually kind of counting on that, as putting myself out there like that was pretty terrifying. 

I wasn’t even sure what it was going to be, how much I would actually share of my story or what all I had to say. I just knew I needed to write it. 

And here we are, a year and a half and thousands of visitors from over 40 countries later. Never would I ever have imagined that. I didn’t make that happen. All I did was write some words from my heart and press the publish button. 

So regardless of what I know or don’t know about writing books, it doesn’t really matter. It only matters that I start. 

God can take care of the rest.

❤️

Amy Thurston Gordy

Always call your Mama

All the boxes were packed, the uhaul and cars loaded with all of her things, old and new, that she will need to start her new life. 
I walked into her room and although her furniture is still there, most of her personal items are gone and there’s an eerie emptiness about it as the realization settles in that she won’t live here anymore. It’s an odd feeling. 

It’s hard to explain how I can be so excited for her, so proud and confident in the woman she’s become, and yet so heartbroken that it’s time for her to leave me. 

Before she was born, I wanted to be a mom more than anything. I would imagine her perfect little face, a head full of dark hair, her tiny hand wrapped around my finger. But after two years and a bunch of tests, I was told that because of a uterine abnormality and infrequent ovulation , the chances were slim. 

I prayed for her for so long. When I finally got pregnant, I knew she was a girl. I don’t know how I knew but I did. I felt like I knew her, my sweet baby girl, before she was even born. She was my miracle.

The day she was born, we both nearly died. My blood pressure was dangerously high, and they worried that I could have a stroke. The Doctor came in to take me back for the emergency c-section. She told me that the baby’s tests had not looked good, that the only thing they saw to be hopeful about was that her lungs seemed to be functioning, but that she was in a lot of distress and that I should prepare myself that she may very well be stillborn. They said that if she did survive, she would most likely have serious issues that would require a long stay in the NICU. 

But God had other plans. 

She came out, and had the most perfect, strong, but tiny little cry. I’ll never forget that sound, and the sound of the laughter and clapping from the pediatrician and nurses that were there waiting, fully expecting that they were going to have to try and bring her back to life. 

Her existence was a miracle for the second time. And I’ll never forget the relief and the joy in that room as they handed her to her Dad. No sadness. No machines. No NICU. Just 4 lbs and 9 oz of perfection and determination, with that same head full of dark hair that I had imagined. 

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 20 years since that day. It’s gone by so fast. And I’ve loved every minute of it. I haven’t been the perfect mom. I’ve failed her at times. And as mom’s do, I’ve beat myself up about those moments and wished more than anything I could have a do over. But I hope she knows that in all things, the good and the bad, in every moment, I have loved her fiercely, with every fiber of my being. 

Her name, Emily, in Latin, means hardworking and conscientious. In Greek it means tender hearted and kind. 

Grace in Latin, means God’s favor, and in Greek it means beauty and joy. 

She is all of these things and so much more. 

Her ambition in life makes us so proud. She has such a capacity for kindness and empathy with people and animals. Of course we all know she likes the animals best though, ha. 

She is incredibly beautiful, smart, strong, funny, and talented. And she has brought me more joy than she could ever know. 


Just after my maternity leave, a friend of mine that didn’t have kids yet asked me what it was like going back to work and leaving her in daycare. 

I remember telling her it was like taking my beating heart out of my chest and handing it over to a stranger to take care of. 

Today feels very much the same. Today I left a big part of my heart in Athens.
Home won’t be the same without her there. 
Today, I pray blessings over her. I pray for God’s protection, and His favor. I pray the world treats her well. I pray for peace whenever she feels anxious or overwhelmed. I pray for comfort whenever she feels lonely. I pray for prosperity and that her path to success will be clear. I pray for her to have good health. I pray for her to always have confidence and strength. I pray that she will have wisdom in her decision making. I pray for her to have great friends, great opportunities, and I pray for her to have SO much fun. 
It was a long day, spent moving, putting together furniture, shopping for the last few needed items and groceries, and making everything look nice. 

The apartment is beautiful.


Seeing her here today, in her new room, her new home, I’m not at all worried about her ability to live on her own. She is smart, mature, and independent. She always has been. So I’m not worried. But my goodness, I’m going to miss her. So, so much. 

Thankfully she is only a couple of hours away. There will be lots of weekend visits and lots of fun new restaurants and bakeries and places we can explore. And hopefully she will come home often. 

I’m pretty sure she will because she will miss this sweet doggie of hers. Don’t worry Em, she will be well loved while you’re away.

She will share the apartment with two of her cousins, and I’m so thankful they will have each other to experience this new beginning with. They started their lives together. They were virtually inseparable as kids and it is so comforting and fun to see the three of them do this part of adulthood together. I know they’ll be good to each other and look out for each other. I am so excited for them and all the fun memories they are going to create there. I hope they enjoy every single minute. 


And I hope she calls her Mama. I hope she always calls her Mama. 

There is so much goodness ahead of her, and I want to hear all about it. 

❤️                                                                                                   Amy Thurston Gordy

The fullness of now

Summer in Georgia is hot. Like sweltering, sticky, oppressively hot. The kind of hot that makes you imagine you’re a stick of butter melting into a puddle on the pavement. Which is why I find myself sitting in my room, lights off, curtains drawn, air conditioner blaring and fan blowing. 

There’s nothing quite like a Sunday afternoon nap in Georgia. A super cold dark room and some fluffy covers is like heaven when it’s 100 degrees outside. It’s much too hot to go out and do anything, so might as well enjoy just being still for a bit. 

It also gives me an excuse to sit and write, which is not something I’ve done much of this month, and I’ve missed it.
It’s been about a month since I last posted, and things have been going really well. We’ve spent some time at the lake, laid out by the pool, seen a few movies, and done some shopping for my oldest daughter’s apartment. I’m still pretending that she’s not moving out on her own in a couple of weeks. Mama’s. Not. Ready. Oh my heart. 

Overall we’ve had a great month. I did, however, have a couple of days where I struggled a little. Nothing really noticeable to anyone, (except Jeff, as usual). No particular reason, just had a hard time keeping my thoughts focused on the good ones and pushing out the bad ones. It happens occasionally. No major incident, just thoughts of insecurity, doubt, fear… you know, the usual suspects. 

They’re liars and thieves , those three. Really convincing ones. They are especially efficient in their attack. They bombard you with reminders of the past, and then they use that to fill you with fear of what could happen in the future. Because if they can keep you busy flip flopping back and forth from the pain of your yesterdays to the fear of what could happen in your tomorrows, they can very effectively steal today. And that’s all they want. Because your today, your now, is everything. Now is all we ever really have. 

So when you find yourself falling prey to doubt, insecurity, and fear, it’s important to get control of that as quickly as possible. 

To reclaim your now.

I clawed my way out of that fog and was feeling much better. But it seems those thieves wanted one more go at me that night.

We sat on the sofa that evening and decided we would find a new tv series to watch on Netflix. We weren’t sure what to choose. It can be difficult sometimes to find things that we can watch. A lot of the popular series are extremely explicit, and we try to avoid that due to the former porn issue. Some may think that’s silly, but it’s no different than the fact that you wouldn’t set up a fully stocked bar in front of an alcoholic or offer a recovering drug addict a sample of cocaine. They may be able to control it, but why take the risk?

Then there’s all the shows that have affairs as part of the main story line. Sometimes it bothers me and sometimes it doesn’t. It mostly just depends on how similar the details are to mine. 

Anyway, I had heard my sister and some coworkers talking about this series that they loved. They talked about it all the time, and so I suggested maybe we should try that one. 

I really had no idea what it was about, just that it was about this influential family that had all these secrets and that there were all these twists and turns to keep things interesting.

So we get cozy on the couch, start the show, and the scene, the very first scene, was a couple having sex in the back seat of a car. 

Of all the things. 

OF ALL THE THINGS. 

It had to be that. 

It could have started with any other sex scene and I wouldn’t have thought anything about it. I don’t think it was super explicit or even involved much nudity, if any. Actually I’m really not sure if it did or not because I completely checked out. 

I saw 3, maybe 5 seconds of it. 

That’s when my brain did that thing it does and takes me somewhere else. Somewhere that I never actually saw with my own eyes but have seen in my minds eye a million different torturous times. 

I didn’t see the actors on the screen anymore. 

I saw Jeff. With her. 

That’s all I can see. His face, her hair, his hands. And I look away. I can’t look. Make it go away. Make it go away. Please make it go away.

But it doesn’t help because the image isn’t only on the screen. It’s in my head. And I just want it to stop. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to hear it. It was only a few seconds. But it was long enough. Long enough for the panic to set in. For the painful tightening in my chest. For the knot to form in my stomach. For my lungs to forget how to breathe again.  

“Is that what it was like?” I hear myself ask him, realizing that I actually said it out loud and not just in my head.

Another one of those questions that I need to know and yet also do not need to know. 

His face is pained, his hands searching feverishly for the remote. 

I leave the room, busy myself with loading some laundry to try and clear my head and learn to breathe correctly again. 

It happens. 

It kind of stinks that something as simple as watching tv can be so complicated. It kind of stinks that there are a lot of simple things that bring the past to the surface. 

But it is what it is. We deal with it, and we move on. 

A few days ago, I made the executive decision to watch the show anyway. 

It was just an unfortunate coincidence that it started with that particular scene. 

We just skipped to the next scene and started there. 

We have to live our lives, regardless of the triggers. I do my best to avoid them. The ones that I can’t avoid, I deal with the best that I can. Thankfully, there have been very few this year that affected me that way. 

I’ve gotten pretty good at controlling the thoughts. 

I can’t say that I’ve gone a whole day yet that I haven’t had some kind of thoughts about the affair. I guess I’m not sure that will ever happen. 

But it rarely affects my now. There’s more of a separation. The thoughts are there. But the pain attached to them is not as overpowering as it once was on a daily basis anyway. 

The goodness of my now has gotten bigger than the pain of my past. 

And I like to imagine that it will continue to get bigger, so much so that the panic stops even with the bigger triggers at some point.

Those few minutes were tough. They took me back to a very painful time. And it can be overwhelming. 

But it was only a few minutes. I’ve had a million other great minutes.  

And all I have to do is remember that the panic, the pain, those things are not my now. 

My now is full of goodness.                                    My now is full of joy.                                               My now is simply….full. 
❤️                                                                             Amy Thurston Gordy

Forgiveness. It’s no Lifetime Christmas movie.

A few weeks ago I decided to face my struggle with forgiveness head on. I struggle with it a lot. There’s the rational side of me that says my anger and contempt for her is justified. Not to mention I just can’t figure out how I’m supposed to think of the woman that had an affair with my husband and have any kind of good feelings about her or not feel the anger or see her as anything but pure evil. I just can’t fathom how it’s possible. The other side says that I should be Christ like. Extending mercy and grace and forgiveness and seeing her as a child of God that simply made a bad decision. This side says that I should care about her soul just as much as anyone else’s. 
So it sounds simple enough. Choose to be the good side. In my mind I can choose it. I can say yes, I want to be that. But then I think of her, and feel nothing but anger. So I can say it. I can say it over and over, but it seems insincere. Because I don’t really feel any differently about her. 

Yep. Forgiveness is hard. 
Jeff and I are doing great. There’s been a lot of healing, a lot of moving forward, and a whole lot of happy. We have found an unimaginable amount of redemption in this past year and a half. So this unforgiveness I held for the other woman seemed to be the one major thing still holding me back. Keeping me shackled to the past. And the thing I hated most about it, was the fact that it gave her power over my feelings, my emotions, and ultimately my healing. And she doesn’t deserve to have that. 
So what does she deserve? That’s a loaded question. 

And probably not the best one to ask me. 

I should definitely not be the one to pull the trigger on that one. 

Because my first instinct is that she deserves a punch in the nose. 

Shame. 

Heartache.

Distress.

Unhappiness.

Bad luck. 

For her skin to shrivel up.

Her hair to fall out. 

Her tires to go flat.

For birds to poop on her head…

..Every. Single. Day.

To gain 50 pounds and undo every bit of that liposuction she had. 

Bed bugs. 

For her husband to leave her. 

For her friends to turn their back on her.

To be alone. 

Miserable and alone.

(And here y’all were all thinking that I was all sweet and precious. I am. Like 99.5% sweet and precious. But that other .5%…maybe not so much. You probably really don’t want to be on the receiving end of that .5% 😜)

But then…that voice of reason: 

“Well then, does Jeff deserve all of that too?”

Ugh. 

I don’t want any of those things for him. 

Did he deserve them? At one time, I’d have to say yes. Yes he did. All that and more. 

But he was sorry. He is sorry. And he isn’t just sorry, he’s changed. 

Reformed. Renewed. Rebuilt, reborn, transformed , whatever name you want to give it. He is that. He embodies it. He lives it out every single day. 

He’s not the same person that made those bad choices. I forgive him. I forgive him for being that person. And I am thankful for the person he is now. 

Sounds easy right? In some ways, I guess it is. Now. But in truth it’s been nearly two years of continual hard work, effort, and intentional persistence on both of our parts. It did not happen overnight.

I forgave him then, but every day when the reminders come I have to choose to remember who he is now instead of letting the memories be the filter of how I see him, and I have to choose to forgive him over and over and over again. 

In a conversation about infidelity recently, a friend made the comment that when incidents happen in which trust is broken or brought into question, “those things never really go away.” And a truer statement has never been spoken. They can’t be undone. They can’t be erased. 

Ever. 

If only people were reminded of the levity of that before making such a mistake, many hearts, lives, and marriages would still be intact.

But Jeff’s renewed sense of self, commitment to God, and dedication to our marriage makes it pretty easy to choose to forgive him. To love him more than ever before. Even when the reminders come. 

And they come less frequently. I mean, there’s probably not a day that goes by that I don’t have some thought about it. But not necessarily in the painful ways. It’s just a matter of fact. It’s my story. It’s our story. And it is what it is. I have to accept that. But occasionally I’ll still have a trigger. A few weeks ago it was a song I heard while driving home. I had never heard it before and I have yet to hear it since. So I couldn’t tell you what it was or who sings it. It was a duet, where the girl is singing something along the lines of “what if you’re not the one, what if you break my heart, what if you leave me… and the guy sings something like, “but what if I am the one, what if we grow old together, what if you’re my last first kiss”. I don’t know why any reference to that destroys me the way it does. But it just tears me apart. 

His last first kiss was supposed to be me. His last first everything was supposed to be me. It was mine. Mine. And she took it. And I can never be his last first kiss again. 

It will forever be her. 

And that’s a crack in my heart that can’t be easily repaired. You can’t restore that. Jeff can’t give me that back. That’s one of the cracks that only Jesus can fill in. And boy, does He ever have His work cut out for Him. Because the only thing I could think about in that moment listening to the words to that song about being his last first kiss was how much I hate her for that. 

I hate her for that. 
Wait…. I still hate her? I thought I’d moved beyond the level of hate. But that feeling I had when I thought of her taking that last first kiss, as much as I’d like to be able to deny it, is undeniable hatred.
The dictionary defines hatred as this: Extreme dislike, disgust, resentment. 

Yep, that pretty much covers it. 

I hate her for everything she stole from me. I hate her for never taking responsibility for her part in it and I hate her for never saying she was sorry and I hate her most of all for making me hate. I hate her for not wanting to do the right thing and for not having the decency or the conviction to reach out with a simple heartfelt apology for the pain she inflicted. 

Whew. That’s a lot. And here I had been thinking that I had made some progress in this area. I’d been praying about it. I’d been reading about it. And I don’t hate her at a level where I sit around constantly and think about how much I hate her. I’ve got way too much good stuff in my life to just sit and let thoughts of her consume my days. But in that moment, the hatred that I thought I had downgraded to a slightly less extreme dislike came back to the surface just as easily as a fizz bubble in a freshly poured Coca Cola. And I have to say, acknowledging this fact burns a little in the same way those fizzy bubbles sometimes do. 

And that’s when I realized that I’ve got a long way to go in this forgiveness stuff. 

And after hearing that song that day, I kind of put the whole subject on the back burner for a couple of weeks. 

Because it was….

Just. Too. Much. 

So I sat it aside and stopped thinking about forgiveness and stopped reading about forgiveness and basically just said “hey, I tried. Who needs it anyway? We’re doing really, really good.” 

And honestly I just enjoyed the heck out of these last couple of weeks. I had a week off of work and we did all kinds of things and I just gave myself a nice little break. 

Sometimes we need to do that. When a task is just a little too overwhelming, we just need to step back, lay it down, and let things settle. Sometimes we just need to give ourselves the time and space and grace to recharge.  

I guess I thought that if I just willed myself to make the decision to forgive her that it would be easy. That I’d somehow find the magic key to unlock the door and just let it all go.

And maybe one day I will. Or maybe it will just take time. And maybe part of the problem is that I’m just not ready yet to let her off the hook. Maybe, probably, if I’m being completely honest, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to not hate her. A part of me that can’t really fathom not hating her. 

I mean come on. I think most of you could admit you’d most likely feel the same. She SLEPT WITH MY HUSBAND after all. Not only that, but she had a relationship with him. For 9 months. 9 MONTHS. And she helped set the stage for it to happen for months before that. Years really, in all actuality. She set out to take what was mine. She took something holy, and sacred. She had no regard for the pain and heartache she would cause not just me and my children, but her own husband and children. She lit the fire that destroyed the world as I knew it. 

Jeff took the bait, yes. He broke our vows. He utterly and completely broke my heart. 

The only difference between the two of them is that he owned it. Every bit of it. And he was sorry. He apologized to me. To God. To our children. To my family. To our friends. And to basically anyone and everyone that he came into contact with. He apologized to her husband. And he has spent every single day of his life since attempting to make amends to me and every one else for it and build a new life.

And yet, she is silent. 
Despite the fact that she knows how to contact me.

Still silent.
Despite the fact that I feel pretty certain that she got the message that I sent through one of her friends that accidentally sent me a friend request when checking out my Facebook page. (Yes, that happened. And yes it was awkward. Thankfully, her friend was kind and forgave me for my initial reaction to her accidental friend request.😳)
Still silent.
Despite the fact that I reached out last year and wrote her a letter.
No response. Still silent. 
Despite the fact that I feel sure she has read my posts on this blog. 
Still silent.
Despite the fact that I’ve given her opportunity after opportunity to show me she’s capable of being a decent human being. One that I could possibly learn not to hate.
Still, all there is, is silence. 
So, what then? At this point, am I to assume she truly has no remorse? Or at the very least, if she does, she has no intention of sharing that with me? Which again, makes me think that she isn’t truly remorseful. Because wouldn’t that a make a person want to do everything in their power to set things right, as much as possible anyway? I can’t imagine if I were in that position of having caused such damage to a person, and to life as they knew it, if I were truly sorry I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t tell them so. Is that just me? Am I wrong to think that when someone is truly sorry, they would be compelled to apologize? Or is it that she doesn’t have the nerve to reach out? Or does she indeed carry so much shame that she can’t bear the thought of facing me? (Texting or writing would do. It requires much less personal fortitude. I’m just sayin’ )
I’m pretty sure her marriage is still intact. So she’s apparently convinced her husband of her remorse. For his sake, I hope and pray it’s real. I really, really do. Honestly he’s the only person that makes me not truly wish all those horrible things I mentioned above on her, because he deserves a happy marriage. A happy life. I truly want her to be as remorseful as Jeff is, and to be able to build something new and real with her husband. He deserves absolutely nothing less. 

So many questions. Questions that she apparently has no intention to answer. 

Does it really even matter?

Would I be able to not hate her if I knew how sorry she was? Would it be easier to forgive her if I knew how sorry she was? I think so, but I guess I may never really know. Looks like she’s gonna make me have to do it the hard way. I’m just going to have to find a way to purge myself of the hatred that bubbles to the surface. 

I still believe one day I’m going to wake up and find that she is nothing more than a fact, an incident, a character in the story of our lives that is no longer capable of producing any real effect on my emotions, except for the gratefulness for the story that comes AFTER her brief but destructive presence in my life. 
One day the hatred WILL be overcome by grace. And the grace WILL allow for forgiveness. And forgiveness WILL allow for FULL redemption. 
As is evident by everything you’ve read in this post, I’m obviously not completely there yet. And I have kind of wanted to beat myself up about it. But I’m not going to. I’m just going to keep moving forward. And maybe not put so much pressure on myself to be able to do this overnight. Deep wounds require deep healing. You can’t just slap a bandaid on it or put some makeup on it to make it look pretty. Underneath the band aid or the makeup it’s still ugly, right up until the moment that it’s not. 
So I’ve still got a little ugly that I need to clean out of my wound. 

I think the real problem I’m having with forgiveness is that I’ve been trying too hard to figure out how “I” can do it. I’ve been looking to solve my own problem, to find my own answer, my own solution. I’ve been trying to find a logical equation that adds up to an answer that makes sense to me. But the truth is, forgiveness doesn’t make logical sense. 

Wikipedia says that forgiveness means letting go of negative emotions such as vengefulness, with an increased ability to wish the offender well. (I can’t even believe I just quoted the wikipedia🤦🏻‍♀️but hey, they had a good definition) 

The hardest part for me has been that no matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out a way that it makes sense to me to not feel negatively towards her. Not of my own capacity anyway. I can read all the books in the world. I can comb over every logical written fact about the subject, and possibly even be able to make sense of it in my head, but all the while still be unable to reconcile that with the feelings in my heart. And I can beat myself up about it until I’m black and blue.

The fact of that matter is, I. Can’t. Do. It. 

If true forgiveness comes, it will not be because I’m a woman of such strength, or of such virtue. It will be because God himself stepped in and made it happen. It will be a true miracle of miracles. It’s going to take God working on my heart in a way I can’t even imagine. And I mean it when I say I literally. can’t. even. 

So I guess it’s a good thing we serve the God of miracles. 

I guess I’ve just painted a pretty ugly picture of myself here. Reading back through it, I can’t help but feel a little vulnerable. I can’t help but think that I probably should paint myself a little prettier. A little more like the “Chicken Soup for the Soul” or “Reader’s Digest” or “Lifetime Christmas movie” version of forgiveness and a quick tidy little story all wrapped up with a bow and life lesson. I could have come here and only written the things my head knows, without revealing the darkest corners of my heart. My head knows I need to forgive. And I could have just said that I did it. I’ve forgiven her. Easy peasey. Tied it all up in a pretty little package for you with a pretty little bow on top. I could have gone with that whole “Forgiving is the right thing to do so I’m just gonna say that I do forgive her” scenario. I could paint you a nice little tidy picture of perfect little me, easily offering forgiveness with not so much as a drop of sweat off my brow. I could have made myself look like the pillar of strength, Godly woman I’d surely like you all to perceive me as. 
But it wouldn’t be the truth. 
It would probably get me more blog followers. 
Probably a lot more Facebook shares. 

But it wouldn’t be real. 
Real isn’t always neat. Real isn’t always pretty. So even though I wish I had a pretty little easy package of forgiveness to present to you, I don’t. All I have is the reality of how truly hard it is. 

Those stories are out there. Those “forgiveness is easy” stories. Maybe they make some of you feel better, but I think the more likely truth is that if you find yourself on the forgiving end of heartache, those stories will just make you feel like you’re somehow not Godly enough or inadequate because it hasn’t come quite that easily to you. So I’m not going to hide my ugly. I’m going to share my truth. The truth is forgiveness is hard. And something tells me that I’m not the only one that needs to hear that it’s ok that it’s hard. It’s ok that it doesn’t come easy. It’s ok. We will get there when we get there. We just have to keep walking. 

As I was trying to finish this up tonight, I had to leave and go pick up my daughter. On the way home, the radio deejay said something about how sometimes there were scriptures that were just really hard to hear. He went on to quote several verses from Luke 6:27-36:
27 “But to you who are willing to listen, I say, love your enemies! Do good to those who hate you.

28 Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you. 
31 Do to others as you would like them to do to you.
35 “Love your enemies! Do good to them. Lend to them without expecting to be repaid. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to those who are unthankful and wicked. 

36 You must be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate.”

🤔 Well, that was no coincidence. He was speaking directly to me. 

I got the message God. I did. But love? Love’s a strong word. How about just: slightly dislike but not completely hate? 
Or could we go with: not quite love but not wishing for birds to poop on her head daily either?
No? 
No. The message is clear. I have to find a way to not hate her. I don’t have to “love” her. Not like I love my husband or my kids or my very best friends. I don’t think that is what this verse is saying when it refers to love. I think it means that I have to not hold her in contempt, I have to find a way to see her through the eyes of God, and I have to find a way to truly wish her well. 
I don’t think God was calling me out on the way home. I don’t think he was saying “Hey. You’re gonna do this or else!” I think it was more of a “Hey kid. I feel ya. It’s hard. But it’s possible. Come with me. We’ll do this thing together.”
I know it’s possible. I’ve seen real live examples of it. Of people who truly no longer feel the feelings of hate for the affair partner. I’ve seen the example of a woman who has come to actually care for the well being of the one night stand that had her husband’s baby. And truly want good things for her. You know why? It’s not because she’s a martyr. It’s not because she has some super human strength and the biggest heart on the face of the planet. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty amazing. An awesome, awesome person. But the fact that she can do the one thing that I haven’t figured out how to do sincerely yet, is because of what I said before. It’s because God is a God of miracles. 
I’m not completely sure how to get there, to the point where I don’t feel the contempt and I sincerely wish her nothing but goodness, other than submitting this wounded heart of mine to the Father and asking Him to work His miracle in me. 
That, and simply, time. 
I just have to trust that the things I know about forgiveness in my head, will eventually soak into my heart, and fill in the space where that hatred hides. My head knows the truth. My head knows the answer. I’m just waiting for my heart to catch up. 

❤️

Amy Thurston Gordy

Sweet summertime

Happy weekend y’all! Today’s blog is just a quick little hello and an update on our daily life. 

Today is Saturday and it looks like after a week of rain it’s finally cleared out and the sun is shining its happy little rays on us again. ☀️


Summer, that special time of the year, when no one has to be driven to school so I can sleep later, no lunches need to be packed, we have fresh tomatoes and peaches and watermelon, and weekends filled with cookouts and lounging by the pool! (Cue all the angels singing and all the mom’s shouting hallelujah) 😂

Speaking of lounging by the pool… my sweet and talented husband completed the tearing out and rebuilding of the deck around the pool. And it looks amazing!
But wait! There’s more!
He didn’t stop there. We needed lounge chairs, so we began searching high and low for nice, sturdy, long lasting and affordable lounge chairs. Everything we found was either affordable but not long lasting, or long lasting but not affordable. So Jeff pulled up a photo online, asked if I’d like to have some of these kind of chairs, then went to the store and bought the supplies, came home, and built them. Just like that. He built 4 solid wood, adjustable chaise lounge chairs. With his own two hands, y’all. He is most talented. 


I had him paint them white, and we added navy cushions. I wanted a crisp, clean look. 

We added a couple of navy Adirondack chairs, some potted palms and flowers, and a couple of bright yellow side tables for a nice pop of color. We strung vintage style lights on the fence, and I added a couple of bright pink Gerber daisies in cute little white planters for the finishing touch. 

I love, love, love the way it’s all turned out. I just need to find some cute outdoor throw pillows for the chairs to pull it all together. 

We still have two more sections of our deck to replace, and will hopefully be adding a covered outdoor seating area,  but for now I’m thrilled with our progress. 

Summer means the end of another school year. My youngest finished out her first year of high school with a 4.0 grade point average and several art awards. Apparently she’s been harboring a hidden talent all these years. Who knew?!! I think these are fantastic, and the one with the motorcycle is going into a frame and finding a place on one of our walls. 

She also got her learner’s license, and we’ve been letting her drive us everywhere. 😱🚗Jesus, take the wheel. And the tires, and the brakes. Oh and the blinkers. Just take the whole car. 😜 It’s basically terrifying. I kid. Sort of. I mean she’s only nearly killed us like twice. I’m kidding again. Sort of. Ha. She’s actually doing pretty great. She’s catching on fast. It’s more me having issues than her. I think my anxiety has just gotten worse in my old age, lol. 

My oldest finished her first year of college with a 4.0 grade point average and a spot on the Dean’s list 🙌🏼, and she spent the day today touring the college she will be attending in the fall and getting registered for classes. Over the past few weeks we’ve done a little shopping for things for her new apartment. This mama isn’t quite ready for my girl to move away, but are we ever really ready for that? Probably not. Thankfully she’ll only be a couple of hours away. 

So that’s how things are in our world. 
On a personal note, as I told you in my last post, I’m digging into the subject of forgiveness. Which has somehow led me directly to a study of grace. I’m finding that the two are undeniably connected, and that maybe the better understanding you have of what grace really is, the better your understanding of true forgiveness will be. I’ll be sharing more about that in the coming weeks, so stay tuned. 

In the meantime, y’all go get you some fresh summer tomatoes and a little bit of sunshine, and enjoy this beautiful weekend! 

❤️                                                                             Amy Thurston Gordy

A whole other blog for a whole other day.

So this is a subject that I’ve touched on in the past here and there, and made mention of from time to time. But I’d always include a quick reference or a few sentences, only to follow with: “but that’s a whole other blog for a whole other day.” I just haven’t really been able to bring myself to write about it, or to share in detail this part of my story. So I’ve put it off. Mainly I’ve just told myself, “you can’t write about this yet, because you haven’t figured it out yet. Not all of it anyway.” And I really, really like things to be neat and tidy. A nice little package that I can present. Something that even though it may start out ugly and messy and chaotic, I can eventually make some sense out of and give some order and hopefully help not just myself but others in the process.
Which is why sometimes I find it very ironic that this situation, these circumstances were the path life gave me. Because there is absolutely nothing neat or sensical or orderly about infidelity, betrayal, or the process you go through to heal from it. 

Yet somehow, we’ve found our way. And I wish I could tell you there was a trick. A specific way to survive it. While there is a long list of things I can and have shared with you that you could and should do that will help you tremendously in your recovery and rebuilding of your life, no matter the circumstance, there’s one basic thing that it comes down to. 

Keep moving. One foot in front of the other.    One NEW day at a time. 

It’s worked to get us through everything else, and so I have to believe that it will help me find my way to a better place with this too. 

So, for as long as I’ve put this off, I’ve decided putting it off just serves to keep me stuck. The only way to work through it is to work through it. I can choose to be complacent and say that I’ll never be able to figure this out and stay stuck, or I can keep moving, keep pushing forward and find a fullness in the redemption of our story that I know we haven’t begun to touch yet. As good as we are, I can’t shake this feeling that there’s so much more, something so much bigger that we haven’t even imagined. 

So that whole other day is today I guess. Might as well go ahead and dive on in. One foot in front of the other right? 

The subject I’m talking about is forgiveness. It’s something I never had to give much thought to before. No one had ever truly hurt me. Not in a big way anyway. But this. This was betrayal on another level. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Not the little stuff, but the life changing, selfish, cruel, and deceitful kind of transgressions.

And when you’re faced with that kind of pain, those kinds of scars, and especially when you’re faced with someone that is seemingly unapologetic for the damage they have done; you suddenly realize that forgiveness doesn’t make sense. You wonder what forgiveness truly means. What it actually looks like. And mostly you wonder what it’s supposed to feel like. And how to know when it’s real, and not just empty words said because you know it’s the right thing to do. Especially when you can’t even think the words without still feeling the contempt rise up within you. How do you find a way to truly mean it and not have those feelings of resentment and anger?                                                                     How do you move past wanting to be able to say you forgive someone, but also still having an overwhelming desire to punch them in the face? 

Forgiveness is something that in one case, such as someone like my husband that is so incredibly sorry, though it didn’t happen overnight is almost easy now, and allows me to have a relationship and a future that would have otherwise been impossible. 
Yet in another; the case of forgiveness of someone that offers no apology, someone that gives no indication that they regret causing you pain, like the woman he had the affair with, brings me anxiety, frustration, anger ,and resentment. 

People tend to oversimplify it. They say “The bible says you have to forgive, so you just have to do it.” Or they say, “just keep saying it until you mean it.” Which is not actually terrible advice, there’s some real truth and power in speaking things not as they are but as you want them to be. But also… man, that can take a really long time. I mean, I’ve tried this method off and on for nearly 2 years now, and I’m still not feeling it. But I do agree that it’s a good place to start. It’s the getting to the place where you actually mean it, the place where you can actually wish them well, the place where you are able to see them with some semblance of compassion instead of hatred, that I’ve struggled with. 
So what DO I know about forgiveness? 
Nothing about forgiveness is easy. 

Forgiveness is costly. While it is freely given, it is most certainly not free, not for the one doing the forgiving anyway. 

However, not forgiving is also costly.

Forgiveness always includes sacrifice. 

Forgiveness is precious. 

Forgiveness brings freedom. 

Forgiveness is a process.

Forgiveness is a continual choice.

Forgiveness is not just a gift to the offender, but a gift to yourself.  

Forgiveness is not always deserved, but always necessary. …. I think.                                               Ok, ok. I know it is. But this is one of the thought processes that I struggle with. I think to myself, “do I really HAVE to forgive her?” 

And the answer is honestly a resounding “NO”. I absolutely don’t have to. There is always a choice. I can choose not to. And a really big part of me doesn’t want to. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t want my forgiveness. And I mostly imagine that she certainly doesn’t deserve it. Mostly because she hasn’t asked for it. So why should I forgive her? 

It’s pretty easy to just choose not to forgive. Sooo much easier than doing the work to try to figure out a way to forgive and mean it. So yes, I could definitely choose not to forgive her. 
But does that choice bring anything good to my life? The answer to that is also a resounding “NO”. 

I want the good stuff in my life, and to get that, I have to choose the stuff that brings the goodness. 

So true forgiveness is a mystery that I will continue to intentionally pursue, an understanding that I do not have in full yet, but I choose to believe that through this process, I will find it. 
I say that, having no idea even what the process is really going to look like, but just stepping forward with God’s promise that says “seek and you shall find.” And one of my favorites, Jeremiah 33:3, “Call to Me and I will answer you, and I will tell you great and mighty things, which you do not know.”

How to truly forgive someone that doesn’t seem to be sorry definitely falls into the category of a great and mighty thing that I do not know. 
Also I believe there’s a great and mighty thing that he is working in our lives, the fullness of which we do not know yet, so that verse speaks to my soul in many different ways. 
And seeing as how I’ve taken you all with me through everything else, I’m going to bring you along for this too. The good the bad and the ugly, that’s what I have said I would share from the beginning, and I’m pretty sure this subject is going to cover all three of those adjectives. With everything else, writing about it has seemed to help me work through it and find what I’m looking for, or to see things in a different light, or at the very least help me come to terms with it, and I’m hopeful that will be the case with this too. 
To be continued…

❤️                                                                             Amy Thurston Gordy 

This is my cup

He’s been asking me for weeks if I’m ok. “Yes”, I’d say. “I’m fine.” And I’d think to myself, everything is great. I am fine. I. Am. Fine. 

And for the most part I was. 

As I’ve been telling y’all, things are good for us. Really, really good. We are in such a good place in our relationship and in our lives.

Yet it was there. That little knawing feeling. That undercurrent of sadness. That heaviness in my chest. Creeping back yet again. It had been gone for so long this time. But they were back. Those tiny little thought bubbles, trying so hard to make their way to the surface, releasing their rancid contents of painful memories when they make it to the top. They were stupid random things. 

Like making dinner. Just standing there making dinner, and my mind wandered back to the first time they were together. 

I had made a nice dinner that night. I don’t cook big meals a lot, so I thought “he’s going to be excited to come home to this.” 

I was excited to see him. I remember missing him that day. When you’ve been together as long as we have, you don’t necessarily miss them as often during the work day the way you do in the beginning. You take each other for granted a little I guess. But that day, I remember missing him, and wanting him to be home. 

I had timed dinner to be done at just the right time so it would still be fresh and hot, knowing how long it would take him to get home from Forsyth. That time came and went. And I waited. The girls were hungry, so I told them to go ahead and eat. I texted him. No response. I remember a feeling of anxiety coming over me. I fixed him a plate, thinking he was probably going to pull up any minute. 

He’s really late now. 

I’m sitting alone. The nice dinner on the plates in front of me is getting cold. I text again. 

This time I get a reply. He’s so sorry, but his replacement showed up late and he had to wait on her, so he could give report. But he should be leaving soon. 

His replacement wasn’t late. He wasn’t completely lying. He WAS still at the hospital. But not in the building. Not working. Not waiting on anyone. 

And I was sitting. Waiting on him. With a beautiful plate of food on the table. 

And it was cold. 
It’s amazing how a vision of something as simple as a cold plate of food can tear your heart apart. 
Then there was the car. Her car. 
A black SUV. 

It’s where it happened, so black SUV’s have always been a bit of a trigger for me. The only details I knew were that it had dark tinted windows, which provided privacy for them, oh and her initials on the back. When I would notice one, I couldn’t help but do a double take. Is that her? Is that one her? Wait, was it a Ford? A Chevrolet? A Toyota? 

I didn’t know. And so since I didn’t know, I saw them in EVERY one. 

And over the past few weeks, for whatever reason I don’t know, it was as if they were always in my line of vision. They. Were. EVERYWHERE. And every one I saw brought me visions of him getting into the car with her. Being in the car with her. Every. Single. One. 

Do y’all know how many black suv’s you see on a daily basis? 

A lot. 

I haven’t asked him for any details in a long time. But this weekend I asked him for just this one. The actual make and model of her black SUV. So I could maybe at least stop picturing them in every single one I see. It sounds nuts, I realize that. The pain of betrayal does crazy things to a person. This was one of my triggers and believe it or not, knowing the specific make of her car helped to weaken that trigger so I can move beyond it. One specific model of car is easier to avoid than a million black SUV’s. 

I don’t like to think about her. And most of the time , I really don’t anymore. But sometimes it feels as if she’s a ghost, popping in to haunt me. To torment me. And sometimes it’s harder than others to make her disappear. 
Honestly, I think my brain has just been on a bit of affair overload. It seemed like every other day for almost a month, someone else was having an affair, or finding out that their spouse was. Some people I knew as acquaintances, some I knew as friends, and some I didn’t even know on a personal basis. But regardless, each time, my heart just sank. Knowing the pain each one was feeling. And I wanted to help. To give support. To give advice. But mostly to try and give them a little comfort. A little hope. 

Maybe all of that played into this undercurrent of sadness I mentioned earlier. I just felt, for lack of a better word, heavy.  And heavier. And heavier, until Jeff finally looks at me and says, “you’re not fine. You’re pretending you’re fine. But I know when you’re struggling.” 

I’ve learned to hide it. To control it and push it back enough that if you were to see me on one of these days, you couldn’t see it. It’s just an undercurrent. Not enough of a nuisance to keep me from being able to function fully on the surface. I can mostly ignore it until the still and quiet of night sets in, and the busy-ness of the day wears off. But Jeff sees it. He always sees it. 

“What can I do? I don’t like it when you get sad. It means I’m missing something. I’m afraid it means I’m not giving you what you need to feel happy or secure. It means I’m not doing my job.”
That sweet man. 
I look at that sweet, sweet man of mine, and I say, “it’s not you. At least not really. Not this you. You are doing everything right. It’s what that other guy, the old you. It’s what he did. And it’s stupid. It’s stupid because he doesn’t even exist anymore. And I don’t know why I let someone that doesn’t exist anymore still hurt me so much.” 
 And I don’t know why the smallest details that bubble up from that undercurrent , like the thought of that cold plate of food, or a black SUV, hold the most stinging venoms. And to some degree, I had been fighting that slow spreading venom for weeks. 

But it was time to deal with it. 

So I told him. I told him about the cold food. About the black SUV’s. About how it felt sometimes like she was a ghost that wouldn’t leave. 

“Have you tried forgiving her?”, he asked. 
[Insert large, heavy sigh here.]
I’ve tried.  Oh goodness, I’ve tried. 

A million different times in a million different ways. I’ve tried thinking it. I’ve tried telling myself that I forgive her. I’ve tried praying. I’ve tried analyzing. I’ve tried to see her in a different light. I’ve tried to make myself say it out loud. I literally couldn’t get the words out. I’ve tried. I haven’t figured it out yet. And I know that I need to. I know that I won’t see God’s full potential in our story until I figure this out. 
People look to me. They look to me as a pillar of hope. And maybe I am that. I hope that I am that. But they also believe that I’m this pillar of strength and forgiveness. 

But in that moment when I’m baring my soul to Jeff that night, I tell him that I don’t feel like I am actually those things. That it’s just not true. 

I forgive Jeff. I really, really do. It’s not even hard. He’s amazing. As a matter of fact, he’s so amazing and wonderful that people actually forget that he ever did it. My own sister, when talking about someone else that had a history of cheating, made the comment about that person in a conversation last week. She said, “once a cheater, always a cheater.” 
It’s a phrase that for those of us that have chosen to stay in a relationship after infidelity , makes us cringe a little. Because honestly, for some people, that statement can prove to be true. And it’s probably our innermost fear. 

And I feel certain she saw the look in my eyes when she said it. 

“Oh! I mean, not everyone! Not Jeff. It’s not true of Jeff. He’s different. Oh gosh, I’m sorry. Honestly, he’s redeemed himself so much , I forget he ever actually did that.”

And it’s true. He’s gone above and beyond. 

But the other woman, I don’t know. I don’t know the effort she’s made to redeem herself. With God. With her family. Her husband. Or her friends. But I do know she never made the effort to redeem herself with me. 

Forgiving someone that isn’t sorry. It’s hard to figure out. 

And that, I think is a whole other blog for a whole other day. 
“It sounds to me like you are listening to a lot of negative things about yourself that just aren’t true”, Jeff said. “You ARE a pillar of forgiveness. You forgave me for the unforgivable. For things that most people could never forgive, much less choose to love again. And you ARE a pillar of strength.”

(He says as my face is streaming rivers of tears and I’m sniffling away.) 

I responded, “Am I? Does this look like the face of a person that is a pillar of strength?”

He says, “That face is the face of the strongest person I’ve ever known.” 
Pastor Buren said something recently in a sermon a few weeks ago, in the Easter service. He was speaking about Jesus when He prayed before his crucifixion. “Lord, if there be any way, please take this cup from me.”
And for these past few weeks… maybe this past year and a half, I think I’ve been praying the same thing. In that moment of despair, He wished there was another way. That human side of him wanted a different cup. 

But it was his cup. It was the cup he was given. 

I too wanted a different cup. 

I told Jeff, “I just want so desperately to change something that can’t be changed. I want it to never have happened. I want more than anything something that I can never have. I want to go back to that night and I want you to say no. I want you to have seen in that moment the pain and destruction it would cause and I want you to have seen in your minds eye the way that it would torture me and I want you to have walked away and gotten in your own car and drove home to me and sat with me and that the food that I put on your plate that night had never gotten cold. I’m not ungrateful for what we have now. But right now. In this moment, I’d rather have you there, eating that warm food. I don’t care if that means that I wouldn’t be this person now, I don’t care if I’d never started writing. I don’t care if I never wrote a single word. I don’t care if it means that we couldn’t have helped any of the people that have come to us. I don’t want to be the example. ”

Wow. 

Yep. I said all of that. 
But basically, what I was really saying , was 

“I. Don’t. Want. This. Cup. ”

And I’d say that wasn’t just me not wanting the cup. I’m pretty sure that was me not just refusing to accept it, but hurling it as hard as I could at the wall in an attempt to shatter it. 
[insert large heavy sigh, here…again]
Back to what Pastor Buren said. He said “sometimes, you just have to drink the cup you’re given.” 
It didn’t really click with me when he said it. Matter of fact, I thought, “well, that’s not real encouraging or positive.” I mean, aren’t we supposed to think positively and expect better for our lives, and doesn’t God want the very best for us?” And I wasn’t sure how this statement he had made fit in with that theology. 
And it took me a few weeks. 

But now I get it.

I had a weak moment. Ok, maybe I’ve had a LOT of moments. 

I didn’t want the cup I was given. That’s ok. 

Neither did Jesus.

And maybe I took that a step further when I figured out I couldn’t do anything to change the past. It’s unchangeable. Nothing and no one can ever make it cease to exist, or change the fact that it happened. 

My blog may be named “Not My Story”, but this IS my story. 

This IS my cup. 

And I’ve held it. Although for the most part reluctantly. I’ve looked for the good. I’ve been thankful for the blessings. I’ve allowed it to be used for the good of others. 

But such a big part of me, has really just been like Jesus in that garden. Knowing what was required of Him. Knowing what needed to be done. Wanting the goodness that He knew would come from it, but also so overwhelmed with the sorrow of it that he desperately wanted that cup to be taken from Him. 

He didn’t choose his cup any more than I did. His cup was the result of the sins of man. Not his own, but all of ours. It was our bad choices that filled his cup. My cup was also the result of sin. And also not my own. The bad choices of the man I loved and the woman I’ve despised filled my cup. 

But in the end there was no other way. 

He had to drink the cup that was given him. 
If he had chosen not to, there would be no redemption. 

There would be no goodness.

There would be no hope.
My cup has been poured. I can’t give the cup back. There’s a strict no returns policy. 

I can throw it against the wall as much as I want. But it will still be mine. 

I can’t just keep glaring at it, willing it to disappear. Not only does that not work, it’s exhausting.

Sure, I’ve taken a few sips here and there. I’ve allowed God to turn some of the sour wine into something sweeter. 

But it’s time I drink the cup. 

Jesus had a moment, but he worked through the pain and then he drank the cup. And because of that, the world was forever changed. Men’s hearts were changed. The course of eternity was changed. 
Not thy will but thine. 
It was only when Jesus accepted the cup he was given and gave up his own will that God was able to use Him to redeem everything that needed to be redeemed. And so it also is with us. It is only when we accept our cup that He can use it to redeem everything that He wants to redeem with it. 

It’s there, in the acceptance, that the power of change is found. 

It’s there, when we finally drink the cup that’s given us, that we can find true redemption. It’s there that He works all things for our good. It’s there that we find God’s best for us. The beauty for the ashes. The joy instead of mourning.

And it’s not just for us. The redemption that pours from that cup spreads to others. 

If you want to see how big God really is, if you want to see how good He really is, if you want to see the fullness of His plan for your life….

you have to drink the cup.

I didn’t mean what I said that night about giving it all back. Do I wish it didn’t happen? Of course I do. 

But it happened. And I love the life I have now. I love my husband and the amazing person he has become. I love the friendships that have been born out of the aftermath. I love the blessings that God has so abundantly poured out on us. I love that Jeff found deliverance from his addiction. I love that we are both becoming our true selves. I love writing. I love the freedom that our transparency and authenticity has brought us. I love sharing the goodness of God and I love that we can give people hope. 

I don’t love the steep price it all came at. I don’t love the scars it left behind. A part of me may always wish that I could have had all of this without the price we had to pay for it. But it is what it is. 

Life is not perfect. 
But God’s plan for us is. 

So we can choose to keep trying to give the cup back. Or maybe even keep smashing it against the wall. 
Or we can choose to just accept it, and watch how God uses it to redeem us. Watch how He turns it from sour to sweet. Maybe, just maybe, even watch how He uses it to change the world, to change the hearts of men, to change eternity.

 

Thank you Pastor Buren, for speaking to my heart, even if I didn’t know at first that it was for me. I have a feeling it was actually for a lot of people. Thank you Jeff, for not growing weary of waiting on my heart to heal and for being a man that wants nothing more than to piece it back together. 

And thanks to all of you, who keep coming back here and reading my words. Thank you for not judging us in our failures, for being our cheerleaders, for praying for us. For being faithful, faithful friends. 

And as I finally try to fully accept this cup that’s been given me, I pray that the goodness and the sweetness and the redemption that pours from it touches every single one of you. 

💗

Amy Thurston Gordy