Feels like freedom

Oh September. I try to ignore you. I really, really do.

And I was doing a pretty good job of it.

I mean, it’s usually around mid August, when the heaviness starts setting in. When I remember the date looming ahead, September 10th. The day life as I knew it irrevocably changed forever.

But this year, August was nearly over and I realized that I really hadn’t thought about it. That’s when it suddenly struck me how well we are doing. How far we’ve come. How far I’VE come.

How quiet the hum just underneath the surface has gotten. That hum used to be such a roar, I could barely focus on anything else. The thoughts and the pain, they not only ran through a never ending loop in my mind, but they seemed to course through my veins, seeping into every part of my existence. I learned to push it back, to try and drown it out so that I could function in a halfway normal manner for all outward appearances. But it was still SO loud for what seemed like so long.

I’m not sure exactly when it got so much quieter. I can’t really pin point it. I think it was so slow, so gradual, I just didn’t notice it. I mean, I did notice. I knew there had been healing. I knew it got easier. But I hadn’t really noticed the stark distance between where we were and where we are. I hadn’t really noticed the gradual lessening of the hum.

Most of the time, it’s nothing more than a faint whisper now. Echoes of the past. I don’t suppose it ever completely leaves you.

But to know it won’t always be so loud, so painfully loud, well, it feels…kind of like freedom.

Maybe not freedom in the sense that it has no bearing on you anymore. It certainly still affects the present sometimes. But sometimes maybe freedom isn’t necessarily a release from something, as much as it is learning to live your best life in spite of something. Learning to make the most of the changes it brought. Learning to live through it, and launch from it.

Maybe freedom is actually acceptance. Maybe, freedom is merely growth.

Maybe, freedom is simply gained not by trying to forget, or pretend as though that bad thing never happened, but maybe it’s in the ability….no, the insistence of moving forward in search of the good.

It definitely shaped the person I am today. In good ways and bad. It tore me down. Stripped me of almost everything I believed to be real. Shattered my heart.

It broke me.

EVERY SINGLE part of me.

But I survived it.

WE survived it.

I put myself back together. Although the pieces didn’t fit quite the same anymore. There were cracks. So many cracks. But if you allow it, God can fill those cracks with goodness. The cracks are still there, and you can still see the seams of every single one.

I’ll never be the same.

But eventually you won’t see the emptiness through the cracks anymore. Just the goodness shining through.

And sometimes, there’s goodness that was already hidden underneath the cracks. Gifts and talents and wisdom that’s always been there, but has been locked away, waiting for the outer layers to be torn away so it can rise to the surface.

I had to choose that. I had to choose to either dwell in those empty broken places, or let Him both draw out what was hidden away beneath them or fill them in with something I was missing. And if today, you are the one that is broken, at some point you will have to choose too.

Not all at once. But little by little, after you’ve spent some time exploring those broken pieces of yourself, and taking the time to grieve the parts you lost, you will have to decide if you want to dwell there, in that dark broken place, or if you want to look for the goodness to come. You have to choose to allow God to fill that space in, even when you’re not sure how it could possibly be filled. No, it won’t happen quickly, or all of a sudden. But your time will come. Your deafening hum will get quieter. You’ll suddenly realize that it isn’t so hard anymore.

That life can be good again.

Broken is hard. Shattered is painful. Being torn down is nothing less than completely devastating.

But being torn down is sometimes the only way to be built into your full potential. Being shattered is sometimes the only way to release the things hidden away inside of you.

And sometimes, broken is beautiful.

Because sometimes, broken is the only true way to wholeness.

Sometimes the broken you is the only way to the best you.

I woke up a few days ago, finally feeling the heavy pull of September. Feeling the pull of darker days; echoes of that awful September day three years ago, and the excruciating days that followed it, calling out to me. Drawing me back like some giant magnet into a dark hole. That hum that I had just recently realized was so quiet, threatening to get loud again. The images, the memories, trying to force their way in.

There’s no peace for you, they say.

You don’t get to be a normal couple, they say.

You’ll always be broken, they say.

And the worst one….

I can ruin you again, they say.

But I fight not to listen. Not to let the lies settle in to my spirit. I fight back with the truths that I’ve hidden away there.

It’s not easy. Because those whispers feel like loud, unavoidable truth sometimes.

Sometimes it feels like those dreams you have where you try to scream but you can’t get the sound out, or you try to fight but you’re frozen and can’t move.

So you have to dig deep, and let God’s truths you’ve hidden away in your heart speak for you until you find your strength and your voice again.

Because God says that He heals the broken-hearted, and He binds up our wounds.

Because God says no weapon formed against us shall prosper.

Because God says He gives us a new heart.

Because God says He makes a way for us in the wilderness.

Because God says He will make all our paths straight.

Because God says He is for us.

Because God says He knows the plans He has for us, and they are always, always good.

Because God says what He has joined together, let no one tear apart.

Because God says we are more than conquerors.

Because He says He makes all things new.

Because He says He will give us a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

Because God says let the redeemed of the Lord say so.

And I SAY so.

I am redeemed.

WE ARE REDEEMED.

So take that, September. Take your darkness. Take your sadness. Take your bad memories. Take your anxiety. Take your deafening hum.

You had your day. And that day has passed.

You tore us down, but He built us up.

You took away everything we had and everything we were, but He replaced it with something far better.

You won the battle on that dark September day, but Jesus, grace, and love,

Love won the war.

Matthew 7:25

The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.

❤️

Amy Thurston Gordy

Advertisements

Leave some room

I’m a planner. I am NOT big on surprises. Well, I guess sometimes I am. Depends on the situation. 
Surprise gifts…flowers…chocolate covered strawberries..gift cards…a clean house…unexpected cash… an all expenses paid trip to somewhere amazing… those are all surprises I’m on board with. 

But other things… surprise parties for instance. Not so much. Well….again it depends on the situation. If it’s been well planned out and held somewhere other than my own home and I’m wearing something really cute that day, and there’s lots of good food, then I could get on board with that. But if you happen to realize 2 days before my birthday that maybe you should do something special and invite a ton of people to our home which hasn’t been cleaned really well in a bit because we haven’t been home much and you don’t have food planned except for cake and are just completely winging it and I find out at the last minute (thank God because my house really was a disaster zone), and panic because I have one day to get my house and outdoors in order and presentable for guests when all I really want to do is sleep in and enjoy my day off, and you can’t help with ANY of it because you have to work… yeah, not a big fan of that.😂 (true story of my 40th birthday.) 

He meant well y’all. But Jeff is NOT a planner, and he doesn’t always think of all the other stuff that goes along with things. He just gets an idea, decides that everything will be fine and doesn’t worry about all the little stuff. I, on the other hand, analyze EVERYTHING. Every. Little. Detail. We are literally polar opposites. 

Take planning a trip for instance. When I plan a trip, I spend hours finding THE perfect place to stay. I save a list of possibilities, then go through them with a fine toothed comb. Location. Price. Gotta get the best deal. That’s super important. But also, I like luxury. If I’m gonna sleep in a bed other than my own, you better believe it has to have pretty covers. Old worn out tropical bedspreads just will not do. 

Just. No. 

I want nice furniture, updated decor, and only the prettiest, fluffiest, bedding will do. And a nice view doesn’t hurt either. The planning is fun for me, even though it can be a lot of work. I truly enjoy it, right up until it’s time to make a final decision. Because…duh,  it’s FINAL. And I have to get it right, so I need to be sure. And suddenly, I start questioning my choices. And then it’s “ALL ABOARD THE STRUGGLE BUS!” 

Don’t worry about buckling your safety belt, people. This bus isn’t going anywhere for a while. It’s stuck right there in the land of second guessing and indecision. 🙄 

It drives Jeff a little nuts. “Just pick one. They’re all fine.” Umm, No. I’m not looking for fine. I’m looking for as close to perfect within our price range as I can get. And I’m GOING to find it. Part of it is that this is just who I am. And I’m good at it. Finding deals and such. I’m pretty sure I’d make an awesome travel agent. And part of it is just my innate need to make everything as close to perfect as possible for the people I love, and for myself. There’s a great deal of satisfaction that comes from planning the perfect getaway and then seeing it come to fruition. This is pretty much true in almost everything I do. Analyze, research, plan,second guess, start all over, narrow down, then hesitantly and anxiously force myself to make a decision. Whether it be picking out a paint color (or even just lunch😂) or planning a trip or basically any situation that requires making a decision, it’s all the same process. What are the possibilities? What are the risks? How will this affect this person or this situation? I like to be informed, and have as much information as possible to ensure that I make the best decisions I can. This can be a really good thing. It’s smart, and responsible, and all that work can create some really amazing outcomes. But it can also be a bad thing. Because sometimes our need to plan everything out and make everything perfect keeps us from the plans God has for us. Sometimes our inability or unwillingness to be spontaneous or take a risk keeps us from the unexpected blessings we might find if we would just simply say yes, instead of saying, “well maybe…..let me chart this all out first and plan out every aspect so that I can make sure everything works out for the best.” 

 Because in minds like mine, “no surprises” really means “no disappointments”. 

And “no risks” really means “no chance of failure”. 

Control equals safety. 

And safety ensures happiness. 

This is how the analytical, perfectionist mind works. Add to that mindset the  “been blindsided and broken once and never want to go there again” aspect and the whole thing goes into OVERDRIVE.  
Jeff on the other hand; he just sees something, says that would be fun, and has no problem whatsoever saying yes to it with no planning, no research… just pack up and go. This method is something my type A brain has trouble comprehending and to be completely honest, gives me a bit of a panic attack. Ok. Not a bit of a panic attack. Full on heart palpitations. My brain can’t handle it. What if in the rush I forget to pack something? What if this deal was a scam? What if it looks nothing like the pictures? What if the location is unsafe? What if this paint color is all wrong? What if the shrimp isn’t good and I wish I’d gotten the steak instead? What if ,what if , what if.  But not Jeff… he just goes with it and doesn’t worry about it at all.

Recently, he did this very thing. 
I’m sitting at work, and get a text from him. It’s a picture of a pretty hotel room at the beach. I, not really sure why he sent it, respond, “looks nice!” I look up the place, just for future reference, (we had talked about going to the beach at some point this year, so I assume that’s why he sent it, but we had made no definitive plans, as our main vacation goal this year is Disney). I see that it’s fairly new, and has good reviews. So I text again and say, “it has good reviews, we will have to keep this one in mind.” 

He responds, “We could leave Friday and come home Saturday.” 

Me: “umm, this Friday? For ONE day? We wouldn’t be able to leave until after you get off work so we wouldn’t get there until late that evening and have to check out at 11 the next morning… I don’t really want to drive 5 hours to go to bed and get up and drive back home. It looks really nice but I’d rather have a little more time than that if I’m going that far and also have more time to plan for it.”

A little time goes by.

I get another text. 

“Ok, done.”

🤷🏻‍♀️ 

Wondering if he meant to text someone else or if I’ve somehow missed a text, I say, “ok, done what???”

“I booked it. Since I have to work Friday, we will just go early Saturday and come home Sunday.”

“Ummm. Huh?”

I gotta say, I was a little teensy bit mad. Mostly anxious, but a little mad that he just booked it. He knows I like to have time to plan things out. Y’all remember my issues with control. 🙄 I have a hard time committing to anything short notice. For instance, don’t tell me at 4 that I have to go to a social event at 5 and be all social and stuff. My introvert side needs more time to transition and prepare my extrovert qualities. My brain needs a little more time to process these things and mentally prepare. That’s what it feels like anyway. It’s not really true, time to prepare or not, when I get there I’m fine, but not having time to mentally prepare or plan things out brings on anxiety. It’s more the thought of it that is the problem than the actual getting through the event itself. And I had basically less than 2 days to process that this trip was happening and get everything done. For a ONE night trip. I wasn’t really feeling like this trip was worth the stress and anxiety I was feeling. 

But Jeff. He was OVER THE MOON. Not a worry in the world, y’all . He didn’t care about the ten hours we’d be spending in the car in a less than 36 hour period. He didn’t care that we knew nothing about the hotel other than the pic looked nice. He didn’t care that we didn’t have a restaurant planned out for dinner or that Kate had basically one day to find a friend that could go with her or that we had not even checked to see what the weather would be like to know if we’d even get to sit on the beach. 

He was happy as a lark at the prospect of getting up at 4 am, spending a few hours on the beach, eating some seafood and then waking up the next day and driving ALLLL the way back home. Happy as a lark, I tell ya. 

Sometimes I really wish I was more like him in this sense. The lightness of being able to just get up and go, sights unseen, things unplanned, and see where it takes you. Not worrying about disappointing anyone or being disappointed or things not going as planned. Just saying “hey this could be good”, and hoping for the best and having the ability to do that and not have the least bit of anxiety about it at all. I’m envious of it, truth be told. 

But in reality, this type of personality can have its drawbacks too. The ability or even just the tendency to make decisions in the moment, without thinking about all the possible outcomes or consequences…in certain situations can be a really bad thing. I think it’s part of the reason the affair happened so easily for him. He wasn’t thinking about the details of how this could affect his life or anyone else’s. He wasn’t analyzing the consequences. He just made a decision in the moment. A really, really bad one. 

There are good points and bad points to both the spontaneous personality and the planner personality. So it’s extremely important to recognize how our tendencies can be used for our benefit and the benefit of others yet also be aware of where and when we need to reign them in to avoid the negative sides of our personality types and not allow them to keep us from living our best life. 

So. Back to this impromptu one night trip to the beach. I wasn’t super excited about it. I love the beach. LOVE it. But the thought of all those hours in the car, the very little time I had to get things ready and packed, all for just a few hours on the beach… I just wasn’t thrilled about it. After a full day of a good bit of anxiety, maybe a little snarkiness… sorry Jeff, and the fact that the reservation was non refundable, I decided I may as well get on board with this overnight trip because it was happening. I decided to just focus on enjoying what little time we would have to sit on the beach. 
We left the house at 4 AM. Arrived around 10:30, but the time zone there is an hour ahead so we gained an hour. Yay for extra beach time! We took our beach chairs out by the water, plopped ourselves down in them and sat right there watching the birds fly over and listening to the sound of the waves and soaking up every ounce of sunshine until the wind got a little too chilly to stay out any longer. And in that moment, I have to say, it was glorious. Worth every minute we spent in that car. And I was glad he had made that spontaneous decision that I’d been so anxious about the day before. I looked over at him and said, “ok bud, I gotta hand it to ya, you did good.”  Our room was beautiful, with perfect white fluffy covers on the bed and an amazing view. While sitting on the beach, I figure out that our friends’ new beach house is literally a couple of blocks down from our hotel. We text and decide to go over and have a visit after dinner. We find a restaurant nearby to get that seafood dinner Jeff had been craving. Then Jeff and I walk over to meet our sweet and fabulous friends. As we sit on their porch, we notice one of the cars sitting in their driveway is the exact car Kate has been saying she wants. She’s turning 16 soon, and we had been looking for a used car to get for her. We had only found a couple so far that met our specifications and those, although being within our maximum price limit, were more than we really hoped to spend and were being sold by car dealerships we weren’t real confident in the trustworthiness of. 

We start chatting and ask how they like the car. They say “oh it’s been a great car. We really have liked it. But we are kind of wanting something newer so I’m taking it to my brothers dealership to get him to sell it for me tomorrow.”

Jeff and I look at each other. 

“You’re selling it? Tomorrow?”

Yep. After asking what they wanted for it, we go on to tell them that that is the specific car that we’d been looking for and maybe you don’t have to take it to the dealership and could just sell it to us! 

 I mean seriously, y’all. What are the odds?

The next morning before heading out, we go by to let Kate check out the car. 

I wish y’all could have seen the way her face lit up the minute she saw it. 

We had told her to just have a look and that if she wasn’t sure it was what she wanted we would keep looking.

The minute she saw it she said “That IS my car.” She took it for a test drive, and when she got back, she said, “This is my car. I just feel it. It just feels right, like this is supposed to be mine.”

So we went home, took care of all the paperwork, and a week later we met to pick up the car. Just look at this face. Pure joy.


You guys. Do you even fully understand what happened here? Jeff randomly spots a hotel deal online. Books it spontaneously and gives me a panic attack because , hello, obsessive planner over here. 🙋🏻‍♀️ We drive 5 hours, and find that our friends live literally across the street from where we are. We end up walking over later, and they have the exact car Kate is interested in. AND lo and behold, they are planning on taking it to sell the VERY next day. Now let’s add to that the fact that it’s a great price, been well taken care of, and these are people that we know and can trust implicitly on the quality of the car we are getting. Then add to that the instant connection Kate felt from the moment she laid eyes on it. 

I don’t care who you are, there’s not a person on this planet that could convince me that every aspect and detail of this impromptu trip to the beach was not planned out to the letter by God Himself. There we were, on a trip that I never would have agreed to, in that specific hotel at that specific beach across from these amazing friends that just happened to have the EXACT car Kate wanted and just happened to be planning to sell it it the very next day. And at a perfect price point within our budget. 

We were meant to be at that specific place, at that specific time, so that we could receive the blessing God had set out for us. 

Y’all. That’s how much he loves us. THIS is how loved we are. He wants every good thing for us. He wants us to have the desires of our hearts. In this case, it was the very car Kate dreamed of. 

You’ll never convince me that these things are coincidental. 

Thinking back over this chain of events, I came to a huge realization. How many times does He have a perfect plan set out for me, and I get in His way? How many blessings do I miss out on by trying to make sure everything makes sense and is perfectly planned out the way I think it should be?

Maybe you are spontaneous and worry free like Jeff. Maybe sometimes that gets you into trouble if you’re not careful, and maybe other times it serves you and the people you love very well. Or maybe you’re more like me. A careful planner, intentional and rational and a bit of a perfectionist. Some might even use the words control freak, but I prefer the words cautious or analytical thinker… they just sound nicer and less crazy. Ha. 🤣  And maybe being such an over thinker serves you and the people you love very well also, but it probably also brings a lot of limits to your life, and keeps you from experiencing a lot of the unexpected good things that you might find if you weren’t so busy trying to plan and control everything all of the time. 
Jeff and I in a lot of ways are complete opposites. It can be a problem in a relationship if you focus on those negative sides of our polar opposite personality types. But if you focus on the positive aspects, our different personalities can create a good balance. 

Jeff has a tendency to be a spur of the moment, not think everything through decision maker. And he still leans towards that with the fun stuff like trips and such. But since his affair, he has learned to think beyond the moment in situations that really matter. In situations that affect not just his life but the effects of his decisions on the happiness and wellbeing of others. 

Balance. There’s a balance there now that was missing before. 

I overthink everything. I rarely make a spur of the moment decision. I NEED to know everything first. Uncertainty is the scariest thing in the world to me. But it shouldn’t be. 

Because even if everything is uncertain, one thing is certain. God is good. He is So good. 

And He has all kinds of good surprises for us. I can plan out every moment and try to control every situation in my life and I’ll find a lot of goodness there. Because that’s how good He is. He knows my heart and loves me so much that He is going to bring goodness to me even when I’m standing in His way. But it’s the times that I let go, and go with the flow of things, stepping outside of my control, and out of His way, that He really shows out. 

So balance is key to that. Being true to the planner and analyzer that I am because that’s how he made me, and I believe He uses that to lead me where I need to be sometimes, but also allowing the unplanned to have a place in my life too. 

Because His plans are always better than mine. Always. 

I think although I drive Jeff crazy with my decision making processes, he’s somewhat thankful for it sometimes because it can help to keep us out of trouble and sometimes leads to the very best things for us. And although it always initially gives me some anxiety, I’m thankful to have a husband that makes spontaneous decisions sometimes that force me to do things I would have said no to. Because sometimes those places outside of our comfort zones are the places we find our biggest blessings or purposes. 

The key to happiness is finding the balance. 

Sometimes it’s taking a minute to consider the consequences and effects of your decisions on yourself and others. 

Sometimes it’s knowing when to let go of control. 

Sometimes it’s stepping out of your comfort zone. 

Sometimes it’s saying no to the things that can bring pain to others. 

Sometimes it’s saying yes without having to have everything planned out. 

Mostly for me, it’s learning to simply get out of God’s way and let him do what He does best. It’s knowing that it’s ok to make super informed decisions , and it’s ok to make detailed plans, but that I should always LEAVE SOME ROOM. 

I should always make sure to leave some space for God to show me His plans. Because it’s in that space that we find the best gifts, the greatest joys, and our very best life. 
❤️

Amy Thurston Gordy

Hope lives here

I’m stalling. I’ve been stalling for weeks, and I know it. I sit down and think about picking it up. I know I should. But nothing comes. Then I tell myself all the other things that need to get done. The clutter picked up. The piles of laundry. The dishes in the sink. 

No. I can do that later. I need to write something. Stop stalling. Stop making excuses.2 hours. I can spare 2 hours. 

Ok. Here I go. 

But still. Nothing. Not so much as the first word is popping into my head. 

I’ve got nothing. 

Then I hear it. The thought in the back of my head. ….“That’s not true. You’ve got stuff. You just don’t want to write about it.” 

Gah. Couldn’t I have just folded the laundry and let myself off the hook instead of smacking myself in the face with the truth? Nooo. That would be too easy. Easier than dealing with my truth.

So here it is. 
I’ve got stuff. Some things I deal with. But it’s really just the same stuff. You’ve heard it all before. Fears. Insecurities. Issues with trust. Control. You know, the regulars. 

And so in trying to write this post, my thought process went a little like this, (basically, ALL over the place) : 
-“Does this part of it, the inability to fully trust, ever truly lessen significantly or do you always think you’re doing better just to have it sneak up and slap you in the face again forever?”
-“Do I even have anything else to say? Or more importantly, do I have anything NEW to say?”
-“Hellooo God, are you gonna tell me what to write about or just leave me hanging here?”
-“Maybe I thought this was my calling, but maybe it just isn’t.”
-“Is anybody even reading these posts anymore?”
-“Is the laundry EVER completely done?”
-“Do you really want to keep telling everyone in the entire universe what goes on in your life and in your mind?”
-“Do you even want to tell this story anymore or just tuck it away and hope it becomes such a distant buried memory that you can nearly completely forget it?” 
Yep. I’ll admit it. I got issues. 
(Am I the only one hearing that Julia Michael’s song “I got issues” in my head now? 😂)

Fear. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Mostly it’s fear. Of so many things. 

Of being betrayed again. Of betraying myself by not seeing it before it’s too late. Of being so afraid of that happening that I sabotage the happiness of now. Of not having security. Of not knowing what comes next. Of not being enough. Of not losing the extra weight I’ve picked up. Of my blood pressure getting any higher. Of failing as a mom. Of writing a book. 

Of NOT writing a book. 

I sit for a minute. I hear Him say “Hope is the anchor.” Hmm. Maybe that wasn’t Him, I tell myself, maybe I just pulled that out of my mind because it’s the subject of the most recent series of sermons at my church. 
But one word stands out. THE. He didn’t say “Hope is an anchor”, or “Hope is my anchor.” I heard “Hope is THE anchor.” 

Ok. Alright then God. I’ll see where that leads me. 

Yes. Hope is my anchor. Hope has always been my anchor. Hasn’t it? I’m all about some hope right? The belief that no matter what, everything’s going to be ok. 

Yes. Sure. Hope is my anchor… I think?

And that’s when the little light comes on and shines itself directly all up into the dark little corners of my heart and says, “hey. See this stuff? Yeah. It’s still there. Maybe you want to think about dealing with that?”

Uh oh. 
IS hope my anchor? Is it what I cling to? Is it what I believe in? Is it what I’m living my life by? 

Or has something else taken it’s place?

Several times over the past few weeks, I’ve felt uneasy for reasons I literally don’t even know. 
You’d think by now I’d know the difference. The difference between an uneasiness that’s prompted by God to alert you of something you need to deal with or avoid or a danger ahead, and an uneasiness that’s not from God, and just a distraction to keep you stuck or drag you down. 

And I kind of do. I know the difference. But that’s where my fear kicks in and tries to make me second guess by throwing all the what if’s at me. “What if this is real? What if you ignore this feeling and you miss something?”

The fear of missing something, of not catching that something has gone wrong in time to fix it before it’s completely broken, it’s like a magnet that pulls me in. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m just stuck there. 

Trying to move forward, trying to let go of it, to break free of its hold on me. But the gravity, the crushing weight of that magnetic pull always pulling me back. 

Or is it? Is the fear holding me? Or maybe, just maybe, am I holding fear? 

I didn’t ask for the thing that brought this fear into my mind, my heart, my life. I didn’t invite it in. It’s a natural byproduct of what I’ve been through. And it didn’t just creep in. It crashed into and enveloped me in a fierce crushing wave, and instead of leaving when the storm subsided, it settled itself right in my heart and made itself at home.

But my life is good now.
I don’t wake up every morning anymore with visions of what Jeff did and questions of what life looks like for all of us when I divorce him. I don’t spend my days sick to my stomach at the thought of what they did. I don’t cry myself to sleep or wake up gasping for air because I feel as if I’m literally drowning. I don’t go lie in a sobbing heap on my bathroom floor because a crushing wave of sadness hits me out of nowhere as I’m chopping vegetables in my kitchen. 

That is not my life today. 
My life is full and good and all kinds of lovely. 

I wake up every morning with a man that treasures me. A man who gives me no real reason to ever doubt or question his devotion to me. Yet, I do. 

I continually question it, because I have a fear of being blindsided. Because I have fear of being deceived. Because I once lived a life believing it was one thing, when the reality of that life was not at all what I perceived and believed it to be. But I don’t live in that life now. I live with a man who hasn’t forgotten what it was like to lose me. A good and decent man. A man who doesn’t want to live that life, the life in which he betrayed me, and God, and himself, ever again.

Why is it so hard for me to just trust in that? 

One word. Fear.
Fear of rejection. Fear of pain. Fear of not having control. Fear of regret. Fear of being made a fool of. Fear of loss. 

Well, maybe there is something else too. Self protection. Defense mechanisms. 

Those two things aren’t always bad. They can be helpful, and sometimes even necessary. But there’s a fine line. A line that is crossed when you begin to LIVE from it. 

Too often, I cross that line.

Too often I live from that self protection. 

Too often I live from those defense mechanisms.

And much, much too often, I live from fear. 

It’s taken me some time to really see that. It’s taken me even longer to face it.

Does the fear hold me, or is it me holding too tight to the fear? 

I think, it’s a little bit of both. It’s a codependency.

I’ve become codependent with the fear.

I battle it, yet I also tend to feed it. I fight it, but I also use it as a source of self preservation. 

That’s not the self I really want to preserve. So it’s time me and fear have a little chat.

Dear fear,

This relationship between you and I really isn’t working out for me. I would say that’s it’s not you, it’s me. But truthfully, we both have contributed to this toxic relationship. It’s time for us to part ways. You’re just taking up too much space here. You cause issues with my real relationships. You keep me from the things I’m supposed to do, and the person I’m meant to be. So, I’m gonna have to break up with you now. 

Sincerely,                                                                  Amy

What are you living your life from? Not on the surface, but really, really deep beneath it? What, truthfully, is your anchor? 

Is it fear? Is it insecurity? Is it doubt or pain or anger? 

Maybe you need to write a hypothetical Dear John letter today to whatever it is that’s holding you back. 

And that’s just the start. Overcoming whatever it is that holds you, or whatever you are holding on to isn’t solved by making this one declaration. It’s something we have to continually work at. It’s a process of waking up every morning with gratitude for where we are, and countering all the negative thoughts that bombard us with God’s truth. Learning how to lean into discernment instead of paranoia. Learning to live in the goodness of today, and not let the circumstances of the past overshadow it. 

Learning how to enjoy the “It is”, instead of constantly worrying over the “what if’s”
This is where I have to admit to you that all of that is easier said than done. This is also the part where Jeff looks at me and says “You need to read your own blog. There’s some really good and helpful stuff in there, maybe you should listen to yourself.” Ha! 
It’s not easy. It’s a spiritual battle. It’s something that I can write about pretty easily because I can clearly see it and identify it and come to terms with it in my head. The truth is in there, but the actual application of it in our lives is where most of us tend to get stuck, myself included. 
You can’t get unstuck by just acknowledging that you’re stuck. You can’t get unstuck by just thinking through why you’re stuck or even what you need to do to get unstuck. The only way to get unstuck is to actually move. You have to apply the right thoughts and then take that course of action. And then, we just have to be a little more aware and careful of the places we drop our anchors. 

I don’t think my anchor has been completely entrenched in fear. I know it hasn’t, because there is SO much hope in our story. And because we have so much goodness and I can see the progress we’ve made in our marriage and in our lives. The bottom wasn’t an easy place to start from, but despite the difficulties , there’s been a LOT of beauty and joy and happy days. 
I think we’ve been moving forward, sailing ahead, but my anchor just keeps getting caught on the rocks and debris. It doesn’t bring us to a screeching halt but it does a pretty good job of keeping us from getting to where we are going. 

So that brings me back to the whole writers block situation. I told myself it’s because maybe I just didn’t have anything to say. But the truth is that I just didn’t want to say it. And the reason behind that was fear. Fear of being misunderstood or of being judged or of my words just not being anything meaningful to anyone. And there’s the fear of sharing my deepest hidden thoughts with basically the entire WORLD. I am here to tell you, being vulnerable like that is not for the faint of heart. But mostly the fear of facing the things that hold me back. 
I haven’t been writing my book. I did for a while, and then, I just stopped. Mostly because I’ve reached the part that gets into the hardest and most painful days of my life.  I’ve worked so hard to not let it take center stage in my thoughts, so to have to go through the process of writing it out, basically reliving those moments, I just haven’t been able to find the strength to face that challenge yet. I know I could do it. I could recite the story and be capable of separating myself from the pain of it, but I also feel that it’s important that I be able to tell it from that place of heartache, as authentically as I can, because that’s what people will connect with. It’s important that anyone reading it that is going through something similar, or through any kind of heartache, is able to read it and know that they aren’t alone in that place. 

I just have to find a way to be able to write from the recollection of that pain, without being drawn back into it, if that makes sense. Really, when it comes down to it, the procrastination of writing that chapter comes from that same root of fear. I’ve been afraid to face it, and I’ve allowed the fear to convince me that going there and writing out that part of the story will drag me back to a place in my mind I don’t want to be. If I keep telling myself that, then the book never gets written, the story never leaves the pages of this blog, and maybe someone who needs it, who needs the hope of our story, and the hope of God’s goodness, never sees it. And then fear wins. 

The truth is, I can do it. I just have to choose to make it happen. To push through the hard to reach the good, and finish the work set before me. I have to anchor myself in hope. Hope that everything will be ok. Hope that even if at anytime it suddenly isn’t, God will find a way to work things for my good. 

Hope is the thing that holds you steadily in place, yet also the thing that when lifted up, puts the wind in your sails and drives you forward. 

Hope is THE anchor. 

The ONLY anchor.

Anything else is just an anvil pulling you down. 
Fear knocks on the door of all of our hearts everyday. Sometimes it’s just an annoying tap, and other times it beats so hard that it seems the door could cave in. May we all learn to answer that knock with this reply:
“This is not your home. Hope lives here, and there’s no room for anything else.”

💗

Amy Thurston Gordy

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

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

Oh, sciatica. 

How is it April already? This year is flying by! I’ve been missing in action on the blog here for a little bit. It wasn’t really an intentional break from writing, but between house stuff and a health issue, March was a bit challenging for me. 

The next step in our home renovations was to tear out the carpet in the bedrooms and replace it with hardwood floors. So over the weekends in March, we did one room at a time, and painted the walls and trim in each room as we went. There was so much stuff piled into my living room , it looked like a hoarder lived there. SO stressful! It also involved A WHOLE LOT of moving furniture in and out of rooms, and at some point during room # 2, I woke up with intense pain and muscle cramps from my lower back all the way down my right leg to my foot. 

I think the issue really started when I helped move the old oven out and the new oven up the stairs and into the house a couple months ago. I had been having some lower back stiffness since then, but nothing I paid much attention to. I think moving all the furniture around and the painting may have pushed it over the edge. 

The pain was nearly incapacitating for the first few days. Sitting was uncomfortable. Laying down was pretty much excruciating, so sleep was not something I was getting much of, and driving would literally bring me to tears. 

Sciatica is the devil. The devil, I tell ya. 

I made a couple of trips to the chiropractor, even though the thought of all that scary sounding bone popping absolutely terrified me. Especially that neck thing they do…that gives me the heebie jeebies! But at that point I was willing to try anything that might make me feel comfortable enough to just be able to get a few minutes of sleep. Unfortunately it didn’t seem to be helping. So I made a visit to the doctor, and they gave me steroids and anti inflammatories. I had to get a shot, so Jeff insisted that I have this ice cream on the way home. 😊


The meds thankfully got me well enough that the pain was more tolerable. I had X-rays and an MRI, and the diagnosis was a bulging disc at L5-S1. 

I walked with a limp due to a mixture of the muscle soreness and the loss of sensation in a portion of my foot, and spent the majority of each day on my feet, unable to relax, because the pain sitting or laying was almost too much to bear. It was exhausting.

But despite the pain and a very serious lack of sleep, I have found so much to be thankful for over these last few weeks. 
-I didn’t have to stay out of work. 
-My sisters. They checked on me all the time, and one of them brought me her tens unit. That thing felt like a million little bees stinging me but in an oddly good way. Those things really do help with back pain. 

-I had sweet friends and family members that gave me meds and creams to help with with the muscle spasms.

-One precious friend that was a former teacher at my kids elementary school insisted on bringing us a dinner of chicken salad, fresh bread, broccoli cheese soup, and also the most delicious muffins you’ve ever had in your life.💗 This was just so, so thoughtful and sweet.

-I got so many messages from friends telling me about their own experiences with sciatica, giving me tips on stretches and exercises and also giving me hope that it does go away! 

-My Mom sent over a heating pad, a back brace, and food. Really good food like fried chicken and barbecue pork. Oh and M&M’s. Let us not forget the goodness of the M&M’s! 

– My Daddy delivered the food, and said the sweetest prayer for healing over me before he left. There’s not much sweeter in this world than the heartfelt prayers of a parent for one of their children. Especially my parents. If you’ve ever met them, then you know they are precious. Just the best of the best. 

-My MRI cost me a lot less than I was expecting. 

– I’m getting better. The limp is pretty much gone. The numbness in my foot is going away. The muscle spasms are few and far between. I can sit pain free most of the time. Driving doesn’t make me want to cry anymore, and most importantly, I am able to sleep. 

– I put myself on a no bread, no sugar, no fun anti-inflammatory diet last week (ok, so maybe I still have a little caramel creamer in my coffee in the morning. Don’t judge. Ha. I gave up bread and chips y’all. That’s huge for me. So I’m cutting myself a little slack for this tiny daily cheat!) and as an added bonus, I’ve lost 6 pounds this week. 

-My floors look amazing.

Seriously, just look at them. Jeff did good!


-And last, but certainly not least, I have an amazing husband that takes care of me so, so well. 
He single-handedly finished out the floors and took over my painting of the walls and trim. He moved all the furniture back in the rooms, and cleaned up all the mess. He also has done the majority of the house cleaning. He sat with me through my Doctor’s appointments. He rubbed my leg and foot every night to help with the muscle cramps. He brought me my meds and propped pillows under my legs and drove Anna Kate wherever she needed to go whenever he could so I could rest and so I wouldn’t have to drive. He made my coffee and fixed my lunches. All of this on top of working every day and being on call. And he did every bit of it with a happy heart and a sweet smile. 
I looked at him the other day and said, “you are a good, good husband.”
I don’t take saying that lightly, given where we were two years ago. 

And neither does he. 

It’s kind of a big deal. Huge, actually. That I can look at the man that shattered my heart and our lives into a million little jagged pieces, and say that to him, and mean it. Like really mean it. 

I took him back believing for something better. Hoping for something better. In our relationship, and in him as a person, and in every aspect of our lives. And I wasn’t sure about it. I wasn’t sure it was possible. Any of it. But I chose to believe that it could be. 
And every day, I’m continually amazed at how good our life is. 
He’s a good, good God.                 And Jeff is a good, good husband. 

Psalm 107:1
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! His faithful love endures forever.


Amy Thurston Gordy