Chapter 2: Elaine
It’s difficult to pick a starting place so I guess I’ll just start at the beginning. Elaine and I met in college. The Greek Orthodox priest from the nearby military base would drive up to hold Sunday evening mass for the Greek Orthodox students on campus; all six of us. Although the group was small we still didn’t know one another well. There were a few stereotypically homely female attendees. The only other guy in the group resembled Zach Galifianakis but had the personality of the Unabomber. He kept to himself and seemed to constantly be mumbling profanities into his unkempt beard. Since I was semi-normal and expressed some interest, I became the de-facto president of the club that year. My primary obligations were coordinating services, guilting our members into attending and organizing car rides to the local parish for Easter service, our High Holy Day of the year.
Elaine was one of the freshmen. We’d get a chance to speak a little every now and then and slowly got to know one another over the subsequent weeks. I distinctly remember get distracted during the Liturgy by her in a short tartan skirt, cream colored sweater and low heels thinking what a great body she had and how nerdy she dressed.
At this time I had been meeting with the pastor from Exodus Ministries regularly and growing in my confidence and identity. Exodus was an Evangelical ministry that at the time espoused a “way for recovery” for homosexuals. Exodus subsequently was mired in controversy and dissolved as an organization but my experience with Pastor John was a very positive one. He was a sincere, gentle and kind man who would drive an hour from Richmond to meet with me every few weeks. Pastor John made me feel safe and hopeful that I wouldn’t always feel so internally conflicted. He earnestly believed that God had a plan of “restoration” for me and genuinely believed I would eventually be happy and fulfilled in a heterosexual relationship. I knew that I had same sex attractions that I didn’t want. More importantly I conceded that whether gay or straight I was dissatisfied with the caliber of person I was. Whereas I previously felt uncomfortable in my skin, awkward around other guys and painfully aware of rarely having healthy, platonic male friendships he encouraged me to change all of that. Pastor John guided me that the goal wasn’t to have one sort of a relationship over another but rather to seek healing and wholeness as a person. He encouraged me to take risks and seek out male friendships and try things that intimidated me. His approach seemed reasonable. It wasn’t about pretending to be macho. I knew I had a confidence problem and I figured that in any context it would be helpful to do some soul searching and work through my fears.
Now there is nothing inherently good or bad about college fraternities. For some it can be destructive but for me it was a wonderful growing experience. I was at a small liberal arts school in a rural town. It was hard to be a “normal” social guy without being Greek. They estimated over 80% of males on campus participated in Greek life. The fraternities came in all sorts and types; some housing the majority of various different sports teams like the baseball or football fraternities. There were the music fraternities, the skater and alternative/emo ones, the preppy rich-kid ones, the African-American ones, and the good-guy-next-door ones.
My particular house had a strong reputation for being the all-American, well-to-do guys. Indeed my pledge class consisted of eighteen guys who all exhibited some positive form of leadership. They were scholar athletes, student government members and all around good kids who performed well academically, athletically and socially. Each and every one has gone on to be successful in his own right.
But none of that really mattered. It all came down to shared experiences and the deep friendships that grew from them. Pledging was really difficult but it was the first time I felt I fit in and realized I wasn’t lacking or inadequate. I was one of the guys. It was the first time male counterparts freely expressed their non-sexual love and respect for me. Those guys are to this day among my closest friends. Even though I was a college athlete on an elite team, my own body was my perpetual nemesis; soft and dark where I wished it was muscled and whiter. Pastor John encouraged me to take on new physical challenges. Through small physical and social successes I grew to accept that I may actually be okay. My self-loathing abated. I never before felt so confident, normal, and well-grounded. I never before felt so emotionally whole and confident.
As an unexpected, concomitant occurrence I genuinely grew in my desire to be with a woman; to have a girlfriend. The complexity of this change is too overwhelming and controversial to discuss but I do know it’s true. As evidenced by my life, it seems like something independent of my homosexuality. My sexual attraction to men never went away but it definitely diminished and alongside it grew the desire to explore physical intimacy with a female and be in a heterosexual romantic relationship. I guess most of us grow up expecting to have a “traditional” life and now as my confidence grew I was empowered to explore it. I suspect this opens a Pandora’s box of opinions from the reader but all I know is that in me was growing the desire to pursue a woman, win her favor and be her hero. In me sprouted the confidence to compete for my princess. In me also swelled the sexual desire for women. I can’t explain it but I know it’s true. Perhaps as my confidence grew so did my sexual prowess. I became like every other college co-ed; desperately looking for a piece of action, open to the possibility of love and meeting failure more often than not. The week of my first date with Elaine will forever be in my memory.
I had in college a best friend, Danielle. She was a beautiful girl from Italy that quickly became one of my closest friends freshman year. We understood one another, laughed at the same things and spent a huge part of our time together. She was also in the best sorority on campus and often our houses would co-host events. We were usually one another’s default date to functions because it was guaranteed fun and safe and we were both single. Needless to say, everyone would always ask why we weren’t dating.
I began to ask the same question and rather rapidly came to see her in a different light. I wanted to be with her, to be a boyfriend, to be with her sexually. It took a lot of courage for me to approach the subject with her.
I finally decided to take a risk and tell her one evening. We hung out watching TV, sitting on my second-hand, worn, velour couch, talking and laughing as so often we did. However this time I was paying zero attention to the topic at hand. Somehow I managed to laugh at the right moments and throw a comment in every now and then. But instead I was having an internal pep rally. Actually, “pep rally” makes it seem too gentle and pleasant. It was more akin to an Opus Dei intervention; partly psyching myself up to tell her how I felt and part berating myself into action. “You freaking wimp! Just kiss her. Do this! You can do this!” Finally I decided to just go for it and so in mid-sentence, breath held, head tilted and eyes closed I leaned in with abandon to make my move.
My hope of meeting two soft lips was met instead with a two-handed thrust against my chest; pushing me violently back onto the couch and into ice cold embarrassment. “Were you trying to kiss me?!” was the bristling accusation that tore through my delusion. I remember wishing that she’d actually pushed me over a real cliff. It felt like I was falling anyway and that would have allowed a timely escape from that cruel couch. But instead I was there, my immediate outpouring of nervous sweat seemed to chemically react with the cheap synthetic velour to make glue. There I was, hermitically sealed to that moment; held in place by an epoxy of mortification.
Risking our friendship for the possibility of romance threatened to destroy the possibility of either. After some stuttering and half-mumbled sentences about having something in my eye and would-someone-please-fucking-kill-me-now, she explained that I was like a brother to her; one of the only family members she had in this strange country. My sharp retort was that we likely wouldn’t remain friends after college because that rarely happens between men and women. I was actually surprised that I responded that way. I think she called me a jerk as she stormed out crying and telling me she had planned on us always being friends. Well, after much apologizing we’re still friends to this day and I know she takes great pleasure that every email, phone call, text and shared life experience proves me wrong.
What I most remember is my exhausted and defeated prayer that night. Kneeling against the same velour couch which had just witnessed my shame, a plea groaned from deep within me; a plea wrought from longing and frustration. I prayed that God bring my wife and until then that He protect me from feeling rejected. Plump tears rolled down my face, each one absorbing and washing away my “Please Lord’s” as they tumbled, disappearing into that dry velour desert. Exhausted of love longing, I felt the weight as those feelings of inadequacy began to reshackle themselves to me. Forever always the “nice guy”, a “gentleman” and the girls’ “friend” I was undesirable as a romantic partner. Those edifications became accusations declaring something in me was broken and unlovable. I genuinely desired heterosexual romance. I wanted to be good enough, to be her champion, to be her hero. I sat sobbing on the dung heap that was my confidence. That was on a Tuesday.
By Friday I recovered and set to the task of fall semester mid-term exams. The business school would hold exams in the evening to accommodate only one administration of the exam. The students however were convinced that evening exams were the latest tool of torture and so we used them to justify our post-exam binge drinking. Anyway, on my way I ran into Elaine in the Student Exchange general shop and she asked me what I was doing later. I told her about the stupid evening exams. As an English major she had few exams but always a number of papers in the works. I made a silly joke asking her if she liked to stand outside the Liberal Arts building with all the other English majors, wearing black, smoking cigarettes and complaining how all the Finance majors sold their souls to the devil. She paused, subtly rolled her eyes, ignored my abrasive attempt at a joke and said we should grab coffee sometime as she brushed her deep chestnut locks behind her ear and pretended to browse the candy and chewing gum on display. I was a little taken aback and stuttered a “yeah…. sure… of course”. I awkwardly wrapped up the conversation with some lame excuse about being late and headed to my exam.
Although pleasantly surprised I quickly decided I’d taken enough romantic risks lately and I wasn’t going to call her. This was before the age of cell phones and so when I got back from the exam ready to drown myself in cheap beer, there was a voicemail from her simply saying she hoped I did well. It was all the encouragement I needed. I called her room, she happened to answer. I skipped the binge drinking and we went to coffee that evening.
It is until even now one of the best first dates I’ve ever had. We connected on so many levels and laughed so much. We shared a piece of german chocolate cake at this charming little coffee shop where the regulars get their names on their porcelain mugs which they keep there, hanging on little hooks adorning the place. We talked about family, growing up and how we saw ourselves in the future. Somehow in all of that we both admitted to wanting many children; a mix of biologic and adopted children from different countries. We were still teenagers and yet it wasn’t awkward. Our conversation rolled like gentle waves: natural and organic and unstrained. We kept chatting as we went on a long walk through campus.
That walk never ended; it weaved into more walks and talks. We spent a lot of time outside that autumn enjoying slow strolls and soft afternoons filled with long moments holding hands on park benches offering up our hearts and hopes. It was a season of excitement and discovery and of sharing college candlelight traditions during the holiday season. It seemed every time she spoke her breath freed leaves to float down like feathers all around her. That autumn is filled with impressions of her thick silken locks of mahogany hair tripping in the wind; falling around her face in perfect and intricate patterns. Her long and luxurious hair was as free and naturally beautiful as her spirit. It was that glowing and crystalline time when each sparkles in the eyes of the other. She turned into the most elegant and gracious thing I’d ever seen. Her long limbs undulated like dancers to the melody of my heartbeat. Her laughter was a song; her whisper an anthem. Within a few months I was deeply in love with my new best friend.
Months later I came to learn that on that very same Tuesday that saw me broken and crying out to God, she had cried herself to sleep with the prayer on her lips of “I just want to fall in love.” Later, she showed me her journal from that night in which she expressed her unhappiness, her desire to transfer schools and her deep longing to find love. We were each other’s answered prayer. We just didn’t know it at the time.
There are few people I’ve met who are so authentic, unpretentious, open-booked and natural that it’s disarming. It’s a true gift; an unintended way of relating and connecting. Being around her just makes you breath a little easier. Here is a girl who is so mesmerizingly beautiful that you pause and watch. And then she is so naturally goofy, it’s immediately endearing. She is humble. It’s said that humble isn’t thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking less about yourself and in that way she was always gentle and kind and innocent of heart.
By all measures she is brilliant. Here is a girl who was valedictorian of her high school, graduated summa cum laude from college, goes on be top of her law school class, editor of the law review and who smoked me and my brothers at every IQ test and puzzle game we did. But you would never know until you get to know her. She has no need to advertise her credentials. She is that sort of organic smart that unveils in a casual observation about something you’ve looked at a million times, causing you to stop and say “wow. I never thought of that.” My point is that she has every reason to be arrogant; to separate herself with physical and intellectual superiority and yet she is the most tangible person I’ve ever known. She doesn’t see herself as defined by her achievements but rather by the relationships and love in her life.
We spent months building our friendship. We shared a love of the written word and those shared words became the building blocks we used. Every day brought a note, a shared journal entry, a thoughtful email. After so many years I’ve still kept all those letters and emails. They are personal evidence that at one time in my life my heart was simple, true and unbroken.
Over time I noticed us both changing in subtle and complimentary ways that happen as couples learn to fit together. I’d compliment her whenever she dressed up a bit or did her hair. She’d compliment me whenever I didn’t. I’d done a lot of growing and self-development on my own over the preceding year but now God was using her to refine that work. That was what I’d call her to others: my Gift from God. She became the best friend I’ve ever had, knowing how to encourage and to how to challenge and having the wisdom to know which approach to choose. We were both better because of each other.
Over time my fraternity brothers recognized how cool she was as well. The younger guys would ask me how to find a girl like that. I would unabashedly tell them “at the makeshift Greek Orthodox mass we have on campus. There’s a total of three other girls who are nothing like her. But come anyway. I’m the president.”
It filled me with great pride whenever I’d see her walk into a room and know, “That girl is with me”. And so we became one of those solid couples in college that everyone knew. In retrospect I feel like we grew up together and loved one another during that time in youth when you’re trying to decide who and how you will be as an adult. We honed one another. We supported each other in articulating dreams and in choosing careers. We cheered through victories and supported through setbacks. We shared friends and built memories together. We missed each other through summer vacations and studies abroad and molded our lives around one another in a way which can only be done in that formative season of life. We grew in our faith and it became an integral part of the glue keeping us together. To this day I know that praying with and for your partner is a beautiful act of love and intimacy. Exposing the content of the heart through shared prayers builds acceptance and trust. It came to be that we couldn’t imagine ourselves without one another. By the time I graduated college I was the best version of myself I’d ever been. I was confident and happy and proud of myself. An inseparable part of that was Elaine’s formative love; the things I liked about myself came through her.
About three years into our relationship, I told her about my same sex attractions. It came to be known as my “struggle”. After the initial shock, multiple long discussions, therapy and time, it eventually became just a part of the backdrop of our relationship; something I had experienced and grown out of. I believed there were emotional causes to my same sex attractions and that those wounds were healing. I believed what remained was a sexual problem and like all sexual acts was simply a behavior and a matter of choice; a compulsion to be controlled. There was nothing in my experience or exposure to the gay world with which I could comfortably identify. I saw myself fundamentally as a heterosexual male with some same sex attractions. Sexuality is a spectrum but as far as the posture of my heart and who I loved and wanted, it was sincerely Elaine and she felt that to be true. I may have same sex attractions but my genuine bond of love was with her. I promised to always be open about my feelings so that we could discuss it anytime and share in the “struggle” together through prayer and practice.
Of course you want to know if we were having sex. We were sexually active other than full sexual intercourse. It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t unusual for our circle of Christian friends at our conservative southern school. We all wore our purity rings and enjoyed the camaraderie of abstinence. We believed that 100% physical bonding required 100% commitment and so we’d wait until marriage. We believed that compromising that rule left the heart overexposed which explained the heartache and regret of our friends who slept together too soon and then broke up. We believed that learning to resist one another during the dating period would only strengthen marriage when we would finally be fully committed and able to “have it all”. In principle, if you are able to resist temptation from the person you most desire in order to sacrifice toward a bigger goal, it would make the marriage commitment that much sweeter and stronger. I still believe all of that. And plus, it provided plenty of practice for all the other things you can do beside intercourse.
Our first major hurdle came during her senior year. I graduated college and started medical school about five hours away. We continued to date through that year although it was difficult. I was a busy first year medical student and she was a graduating senior in undergrad applying to law school. I began to fear that a long distance relationship in graduate school would be more than impractical. The law school at my institution was well ranked but she was capable of so much more. I expected her to be accepted to Harvard or Yale. She knew she’d have to pay for graduate school herself and she expected to have a career in public interest or non-profit work earning a modest salary. Financial aid would be key. My oldest brother asked me about our relationship plans once she graduated. I hadn’t fully decided. I guess part of me just figured I’d see how things worked out and take it from there. His response resonates with me to this day.
My brother challenged me by saying that waiting for circumstances to decide the future of our relationship was undignified of myself, unloving toward Elaine and dishonoring toward our relationship. He explained that leadership and love require vision and that I should be able to tell her whether or not I wanted to stay committed if she ended up next door or in Alaska. He challenged me to search my heart about my hopes for our relationship and he argued that she deserved to know where she stood in my heart and that it shouldn’t depend on geography. Character is not contingent on circumstance. He told me that commitment was just that: it is commitment and it doesn’t depend on circumstance and I just needed to decide if I was willing to make one. He explained that commitment is based on belief and built by integrity and not based on situation. The only thing we really have is our word and that we are defined by the commitments we make. I still wholeheartedly believe this. That’s the kind of man he is. I was moved by his conviction and something in my gut knew he was right. I wanted to be a man like that; honorable and noble and full of vision and stalwart commitment.
I set to fasting and praying about God’s vision for my life. For weeks I’d pray and write in my journal, asking God to help me realize the truth about my heart- how I felt about Elaine, how I’d handled the previous year apart and if I could continue dating long distance for years. I did a lot of soul searching, exploring how I really felt about my homosexual desires and the authenticity of our relationship. I searched my heart deeply and honestly and wrote it all down. Those journal entries would be a witness to myself later in life. In the mire of guilt and shame that was to come, those journal entries would later save the life they were documenting.
It was in truth that after awhile of this soul searching I was able to tell her that she was my best friend, that I loved her deeply and that I believed in us as a couple. I was willing to do whatever was needed to make it work. I committed to continue dating, if she wanted to, regardless of where she ended up. I told her I’d do all I could to help her get into the best law school possible and that everything would work out for the best. I gave her a “promise ring” to signify my intentions of building a relationship with marriage as its goal.
This was an important and paradoxical lesson: commitment frees. What I realized is that choosing a path frees you from the paralysis of overwhelming choice. There are two types of personal freedoms; freedoms “to” and the freedoms “from”. Committing to something allows you the freedom to pursue. Choosing to commit to her freed me from fear of losing her. I didn’t have to be afraid of what would happen when circumstances changed because I’d already decided what I was going to do. It doesn’t mean that any outcomes are guaranteed or that we were certain to work out but it did free me up to dedicate myself and pursue a path. Just like committing to a career path frees you to pour your energy toward achieving a specific goal, committing to Elaine freed me to pursue a specific vision. I was free to love her and cheer her on toward her dreams of getting in the best law school possible. It is perhaps counterintuitive. People may say that freedom is non-commitment; keeping one’s options “open”. But I think the heart is like a leaf and gets lost if it’s free to blow around without stem, root and tether. I think the heart flourishes best when it’s rooted in commitment and nourished by hope.
She got into many law schools including the law program at my school, which wasn’t really a surprise. She also got into Georgetown University which had a stellar program in her desired field. The tuition however was considerably more expensive and they didn’t offer enough financial aid. I actually called them to see if there was anything that could be done to improve her options for financial assistance. We continued to pray for God to make it clear where she should go.
Shortly thereafter my institution called, offering her not only a full tuition scholarship to law school but a living stipend as well. They would pay her to attend; she’d graduate with zero debt. Her advisor instructed it was a rare opportunity and encouraged her to accept and just make sure she was top of her class. She would attend on her own merit, not following me or sacrificing her career but yet we could be together. It was another amazing way we believed God brought us, and kept us, together. I learned about the power of committing to a vision and He’d been kind enough to not give us more than we could handle.
And so that is how it was with us. We were best friends and lovers and grew together hand in hand, side by side. We molded one another and supported each other as we matured into adults and professionals. Everything we strove for was in pursuit of a common vision. I could not know myself without knowing her. I could not love myself without loving her.
What I’ve come to realize is that even when we weren’t friends or lovers, when we weren’t hand in hand or side by side, she still continued to love me and help me grow. When life unfolded and when I failed as a husband and friend, when I took a sledgehammer to our lives and forced her to clean up the mess; it is Elaine that taught me the power of forgiveness and the strength of kindness.
There is a strength that is quiet and consistent and deep. There is a strength that doesn’t require notice or accolade or dominion. It’s the strength of a sturdy foundation; the peace one feels when planted on solid ground. It’s the strength of the persecuted but persistent, the strength of the martyred faithful, the strength of heroes who win through sacrifice. It’s the strength to do and be one’s best self even when you’re bruised and battered and short on faith that you can. It’s the strength that comes from seeking God’s still voice in the torrent of anguish. That’s the strength Elaine showed me in my most broken moments because it’s the strength she gained in hers.
Our road together progressed and I’ll tell you more about it later. We married, finished graduate school, survived through hurricane Katrina while living in New Orleans, had a baby and were about one year from finishing my medical residency and finally achieving some financial stability when our marriage ended. I can’t imagine a worse time to have that happen. And it was all my fault.
Elliot was a foreign, post-doctoral student here completing a research fellowship. In a whirlwind, a part of me was awakened, and I abandoned all else to be with him. My love was sincere, but entangled in gluttonous passion which ravaged the delicate structure of my carefully constructed life. I lied to Elaine and cheated on her. I lied to Elliot and told him I was separated from my wife knowing he would never be a willingly accomplice to infidelity. My betrayal marred by best friend Elaine in the worst way, tearing my marriage apart. My deceptions alienated my lover Elliot. In the chaos, my family severed all ties to me. I’d devastated everyone I loved. And then in a twist of fate, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. Elliot had to suddenly move far away for work. In a short time, every relationship I valued ruptured. By the time I turned thirty, I was divorced with an infant son, completely cut-off from my family, starting a stressful medical career, trying to navigate a new gay life alone and unbearably ashamed of the pain I caused everyone. I hated myself for hurting my innocent wife, felt rejected by my family, abandoned and utterly heartbroken by Elliot and a failure as a father. I hit my first rock bottom.
I was shackled to that rock bottom by Shame. She is a cruel master, binding us with hopelessness and relentless agony. Shame is a seductress disguised as Good-Conscience, enticing her victim’s willing yoke. Her fingers creep through every room of the heart, one by one, extinguishing the light of Hope. In her shadow Depression and Addiction lurk. She is different than Guilt. Guilt speaks about behavior and responsibility. Shame, however, incessantly whispers about unworthiness, disgrace, and about being unloveable. For a long time, in the wake of so many broken relationships, she became my jealous mistress, taking control over every part of my life. In the guilt of what I’d done, I willingly bound myself to her. Her whisper was the only voice I could hear telling me I was more than guilty, I was the sum total of my sins: wicked and worthless.
There was no magical epiphany or discreet turning point from that rock bottom. This is not a caterpillar to butterfly story. I am no Phoenix risen from ash. Indeed, for a long time, there was just ash. There was just heartbreak, shame and depression and the abyss of not knowing if things would ever change. We are tempted to neatly tie a bow around these stories. But there are no bows in life’s messy situations. In particular, just as crippling as shame was heartbreak. Elliot was gone and I could do nothing but miss him and the deepest part of my heart he kept with him.
My heart tried to stay afloat. At first it used anger for buoyancy. It was easier to be angry. Anger provided short term fuel but it was a paltry tactic. It quickly peeled away and left exposed an enormous void that began to fill with sorrow. I was drowning in sadness.
As the months dragged on I came to understand the impossible weight of hopelessness. The Proverbs say “hope deferred is illness in the bones.” Heartache physically hurts. It takes it’s toll on your mind and body. It was a season of sleepless nights caused by a racing mind that always found itself in a puddle of tears. Food was anathema and I soon became ill-appearing and emaciated. My body was as withered as my soul and everyone noticed. My boss pulled me aside to ask if I needed a medical leave of absence.
I was trying my best to go through the motions but the world was pencil drawn; devoid of color and dimension. The emotional smog blinded my path and I stumbled through my days. In all this, I tried to protect my infant son from sensing my sadness but the gravitational pull of my misery was warping his orbit. He had already been through so much with the divorce of his parents.
One day, still in my worn jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, I collapsed on the bed, pinned on my back by the weight of another unyielding day. I’d grown accustomed to doing this; just laying there like a remnant of some defeated and broken Vitruvian man, willfully hypnotized by the ceiling fan in its perpetual spin. It became a trick at the end of each tortured day: to let my mind blur past the fan’s irregular wobble and annoying clicking sound, through its jaundice light, in search of relief through momentary oblivion. In my peripheral vision, the bedroom door creeped opened, bringing me back into focus, as my three year-old son’s head timidly peeked through. I’d already put him down for the night and lacked the willpower to fuss at him for getting out of bed. I couldn’t even turn my head. He tiptoed over, grabbed ahold of my thigh to hoist himself onto the bed, wrapped his arms around me as he nuzzled into the nape of my neck and whispered “I’m sorry you’re sad Daddy”, and then kissed my forehead. Between my stifling sadness and shame and the impossible mercy of this toddler, the levies of my eyes breeched. Tears erupted making trails on the sides of my face that looked like warped and arthritic fingers. He lay his head on my chest and somehow fell asleep, his little but strong arms in a makeshift embrace around me. Despite my best efforts to protect him, my anguish was poison overwhelming me and overflowing onto him. I knew I needed help.
In a strange way this anguish brought me closer to Elaine. My world was torn away, destroyed and gone. I had no say in the matter; it’s not what I wanted. I ached from missing my friend and lover Elliot. It was all out of my control. I had to pick up the pieces but I didn’t know how. I was helpless, lost and stuck. And in one of many moments of despair and heaving weeps I exhaled that truth and inhaled another: this is what I’d done to her. In a shattering revelation I realized on a deeper level what I’d caused her. In the blink of an eye I undid her world, our marriage bond, our friendship. I’d stolen the dreams of the future, the dignity of marriage, the hope of future children together. In a swift and definitive way I pulverized the house of her heart. Yet in all that, her foundation remained steadfast. Elaine had somehow been trudging through the desert of her grief and picking up the pieces. I began to understand that on a deeper level and I needed to know how.
During this time I would go to her house during the work week to visit my son. He was so young and we thought it best to not shuttle him back and forth mid-week. It was still painfully awkward to see one another. Here I was showing up at her new home as she was piecing together a new life; a painful reminder of everything that was lost. Nevertheless, she subjected herself to that pain for the sake of our son. I’d show up, she would quickly give me what instructions were needed, tell me when she’d be back, and leave. We rarely made eye contact.
But this time she paused as we stood awkwardly in the kitchen while he played in the living room. I guess I looked so forlorn, malnourished and weary that out of pure kindness she leaned in and whispered “Jimmy, are you okay?”
My knees buckled under the impact of her question as I caught myself against the kitchen counter. I dropped my head, seeking balance by fixing my gaze on the systematic grout lines between the floor tiles.
I knew I needed help but how could I burden her or take anything more from her? I’d already taken so much. I had no right to inquire of her. I had no right to reopen the scars I created. And yet, her tiny question gave me the only hope I had to break through my depression.
I whimpered my query.
“Elaine, how did you ever learn to forgive me?”
She stood upright, took a moment and reached into the cupboard for a glass. As she filled it with water from the faucet and offered it to me along with this gift: “Jimmy I spent a lot of time praying to see the Truth; the truth about me, about you and about our relationship. It’s questions about those three things that keep us up at night. I know the truth is that you loved me, you’re sorry and that you felt ashamed. Instead of dealing with shame together, which was our vow, you hid it. Hiding shame lets the lies keep growing in the dark. I know that I loved you and gave you everything. You were my world and you shouldn’t have been. No human can take the role of God. They always fail. And our marriage wasn’t a farce. That haunted me for a long time. Yes, you broke your word and cheated on me but our marriage wasn’t a lie. I know you love me but it wasn’t enough. I’ve learned to seek God about seeing the Truth in every situation.”
I was in a dark and lonely cave with no sound other than my confused and clamoring thoughts. I was cold and alone and somehow someone found me. She found me because she’d been in that cave.
There was a pause as her words began to wash over me. I managed to look up from staring at my feet, my eyes pleading for more. She went on with an example I could clearly understand.
“When you have a stomach ache it can hurt really badly. You may think you’re dying and so you need the truth: the Diagnosis. Is it really stomach cancer with a death sentence? Or is just indigestion that will pass? The same idea holds true in relationships, I suppose. Things can hurt really badly. But you need to know if the pain is from something terminal or from a normal part of life that helps us grow. Sometimes indigestion means we need to change our eating habits. Sometimes pain means we need to change some things in life to become more healthy. Pray to see the truth, and then forgive what needs to be forgiven. That’s the most important part and the hardest part. I hope that helps.”
She finished and there was a moment of peaceful silence. For a moment we were back in college and in the comfort of our friendship. For a moment it felt like it had always felt with her: loving, intimate and safe. Then as quickly as the curtain of awkwardness had swept aside, it reappeared. He called for her from the living room. She excused herself and left.
I stood there in that kitchen, leaning against the counter just breathing and drinking in her words. I was still in that emotional cave but she’d given me a light to find my way out.
Therein she taught me another lesson: to hate someone you loved is to hate a part of yourself. To not reconcile with the past is to be at war with oneself. Love is an issue of the soul and even though our romance was over, Elaine lived in the strength of loving and caring for my soul. She made me a better father, son, man and human. She continues to do so. She had every right to sit in her pain, allowing that pain to decay into hate but she she knew the poison of that choice. It would be poison to her and to our son. It doesn’t mean she excused me or that everything was okay. All it meant was that she gave to God her right to be angry; her right to hate. She embraced her pain and didn’t reject her love for me but instead subjected herself to the soul wrenching process of experiencing intense loss and confronting the love underneath. She did not run from her pain but embraced it as a part of a process. On a daily basis, she gave up her right to rage and resentment. She could have destroyed me in her anger but instead she broke me with her kindness. It is by her sacrifice and strength that the blessing of parents who love and respect one another, and who are at peace despite divorce, belongs to our son. Because of her example, I learned what I needed to do with Elliot, with my family and with everyone else that would enter my life.
This wisdom was a life line for me and has rescued me many times since. I am a doctor. How could I not appreciate the need to diagnose my heart? Instead I was awash with every tumultuous emotional wave that battered me. Emotions are a powerful fuel but an unruly compass. The more I processed her words, it became clear that in every relationship there are indeed three separate entities: me, the other person and the relationship itself and I need to know the truth about all three. How many conflicts have since resolved or troublesome situations diffused because I took a moment to seek the truth about my motives, the other person’s and about the nature of our relationship. Elaine had forgiven me and I had to learn to somehow forgive myself while still taking responsibility for my mistakes. The truth is I wasn’t rejected by my family or abandoned by Elliot. They all were dealing with pain in their own ways. It was the first step to learning to accept what actually was and to forgive what shouldn’t have been. It was the first step in a long journey toward healing.
I learned something else through all of this: the work of God has a certain signature and style. Remember my friend Danielle? Well, she’s gone on to become a brilliant professor of art history. I’ve walked into a huge museum hall with her and from afar she’s able to point to all the works on the walls and identify the artist based on style and details. If she doesn’t know the specific piece, she can tell you who painted it or if it was a student of a specific artist just based on style, details and content. It’s amazing. She explained that while earning her PhD she spent countless hours studying the works and patterns of countless artists. She knows them like intimate friends.
Such is the work of God in our lives. When He moves in all of our various circumstances there are always certain patterns that demonstrate His handiwork. One of them is that He loves to use the things we hurt, damaged and broke to bring us healing. What is more humbling than that? He used Elaine to bring me hope. Can you see on so many levels the power of that design? The goodness of it washed away any arrogance or self-entitlement. I did not deserve her kindness and her kindness led me to learn forgiveness. Like a refugee that accepts their need for help, it was only in my brokenness that I found Truth and God used her to bring it. It is at the heart of what we call Grace: undeserved goodness freely given. It humbled my stance and widened my heart and I’m forever grateful.
The reciprocal of that is being used to bring healing to those who’ve hurt you. Elaine chose to extend a hand and she chose to be used by God in my life. She could have towered over me, rotting in unforgiveness and delighting in my misery. But she withheld her right to fury. That is the heart of what we call Mercy: a deserved penalty withheld. Instead she forgave and God gave her the chance to breathe life into someone who brought death to a friendship and to a marriage. Her choice of mercy was real power in her own life and I know she grew because of it. Is she not, because of mercy, the true victor? It is because of a humbled spirit that became willing to change, grace given and mercy demonstrated that I grew closer to God and so years later when it was my turn to demonstrate grace and show mercy, I tried to follow her example.