Making sense of the attitude of forgiveness

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If I’m a student of grief, I’m also a student of conflict, and whilst understanding of grief leads to acceptance, understanding of conflict leads to forgiveness. This is the premise:

When you forgive you let go
of what you cannot control.

Let me be frank. I’ve wandered two quite unique journeys of reconciling myself to peace, in making matters right in my own mind and heart, through forgiveness.

Incredibly I found complete peace when the most significant person in my world ended our relationship. Almost immediately I could see where I’d messed up in that relationship. I owned my contribution. Forgiveness was easy because I took the log out of my own eye.

But there is another path I’ve had to walk, where I felt abused, and there has been no effort from others involved to reconcile matters, despite our efforts. A completely different path for someone who has experienced the ease of letting go by letting God have His way. I can tell you that this ease of letting go was as real as could be, yet it was nothing about me being in my power — all God’s power, because that’s how God works — through our letting go.

So, with the experience of forgiving a betrayal about as deep as anyone could be betrayed, contrasted with experiences of not being free to let other situations go, I have prayed long and desperately to understand something more of the riches of God in the grace He gives and the grace He takes away.

Suddenly I’ve come to an understanding that in experiencing both kinds of hearts — soft and hard — God has shown me both the depths of His grace to enable us to let go and the extent of our sin to resist His movement of softening our hearts. I know both intimately. Both states of heart have been important experiences.  I thank Him for both.

God has allowed both and has invited me
to compare them in the light of His grace.

What He’s allowed me to see is compelling.

Until we’ve not been able to forgive, we’ve not come to the place where we’re desperate enough to give forgiveness another try. Until it’s been impossible to forgive someone who abused us or betrayed us, we don’t dig deeply enough into the mysteries of the heart’s rebellion in unforgiveness. We remain in self-protection mode. But we also remain locked out of the freedom Jesus seeks for us to have and knows we need. A freedom from the perpetrator, so they may no longer do us any harm.

In those difficult situations where letting go seems impossible, we’re given the opportunity to develop an attitude of forgiveness, acknowledging forgiveness is classically a two-way process requiring protagonists to give and receive forgiveness.

It helps in our developing this attitude of forgiveness when we acknowledge it makes logical sense to let go that which we cannot control. To let go of that over which we have no control. It makes no sense to continue to hold that which can only be bad and that which can never be good for us.

When you forgive you let go
of what you cannot control.

While we prepare for ourselves a heart ready to forgive we have another opportunity: to prepare our hearts for what God is doing in the mix of what was a troubled relationship.

God brings us all to account. Even if we’ve experienced the worst kind of abuse and our offender is the worst kind of sociopath, we have equivalence in our relationship with God. The Lord calls us all to account. We must be ready for ours with a clear conscience for what that might entail. And pity them if they refuse their own readiness!

You have control over how God will judge you.

Sometimes God wants us to be tough on a person for their own good; it’s the loving thing. We can be tough in kind ways. We can be firm in gentle ways. We can hold our ground in ways that is inoffensive. We can prepare to meet the offender in the grace they withheld from us. We can rise above the standard of their sinfulness. We do not need to trust them if they’re not trustworthy. We can make things right.

When you forgive you do what God wants,
by doing what is within your control.

When you act in grace, you forgive by action.

When you forgive you exhibit God’s power
to love a person, not according to what they deserve,
but according to the victorious holy standard of God.

For, in forgiving a person of their sin against Deity
you let yourself off the hook of God’s judgment,
while there they remain, standing in the Dock.

The only way they can make it right with God
is if they make it right with you.

When you forgive you do what God wants,
and you get out of His way and
let Him do what He will do.

These kinds of things demonstrate an attitude of forgiveness acknowledging in faith that God catches up with every sinner this side of eternity or the other.

Acknowledgement to PeaceWise teachings, a ministry I’m privileged to be involved with.

The one true quality of those who love God

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Nothing pleases God more I’m sure than honesty in a person.

Honesty is in abundance in all good and faithful servants, and all true believers in Jesus genuinely seek God’s approval to the end of being called a ‘good and faithful servant’ (see Matthew 25:14-30). It becomes a number-one operating mandate for an ethic that simply can’t lose.

Honest people are honest about themselves, toward others in love, and before God. They believe honesty is both the cherished means and the blessed end of life, and their whole life is oriented toward such obedience of faith.

About Themselves

Honest people are truthful about themselves, especially their foibles. They know they’re flawed, but they don’t berate themselves, because they’re honest enough with themselves to know that perfectionism is folly; that to believe they can attain perfection is a lie they will not subscribe to.

They hold themselves to be responsible human beings who understand there are limits to responsibility; that they cannot always be responsible for others’ actions, yet they will never shirk their own responsibility.

They understand they will one day be held to account for all they did. They’re intrinsically motivated, therefore, to make good on that account today and all days, for every known transgression.

Honest people are humble, and their authenticity causes them to reflect and gain insight toward self-awareness, and any sincere person who is aware of an issue must strive earnestly to resolve that issue.

People who love God take the prayer in Psalm 139:23-24 seriously as their basis of relationship with God. They are able to hear God with respect to their own sin, their insecurity, fears, pride, and propensity to manipulate situations for self-gain. They hear God and they respond instinctively and diligently. Their life is an instrument in God’s hands for learning and mastery to this end.

Toward Others in Love

When we love God, we are compelled to be trustworthy and reliable in relationship. Lovers of God communicate with a sensitive candour, and they’re prepared to be honestly dealt with. They come across as logical and rationale and quickly-as-possible apologise when they break from that form.

This is how we will know them/ourselves:
by the fruit of their/our deeds
we will know them/us.
(Matthew 7:15-20)

You could almost say that for the person who is honest, nothing is impossible. They overcome their own fears and present a persona entirely comfortable in exposure to vulnerability, or they’re honest when they haven’t overcome their fears, when they’re not comfortable in exposure to vulnerability.

They’re open to becoming aware of when insecurity ransoms their peace, when they’re tempted to misuse their power. They’re honest about these insecurities that run virulent in all of us.

Of course, the honest person is ideally suited to every kind of life-giving and life-receiving relationship, especially marriage, because relationships thrive in a seedbed of honesty, where trust builds, and intimacy blossoms. And the marriage relationship is the halcyon of all these.

Above all, those ruled by honesty realise the need to be committed to all kinds of God-given relationships. They endeavour to see the bigger perspective in people who are problematic. But they also don’t abide in dishonesty. They keenly discern the presence of unsafe people in their midst. They know that God empowers them to kick the dust from their feet, but without permission to offend, and they have continued openness to see change in such an individual and pray for them.

Honest people respect people, because
they know how much they value being respected.

Their Allegiance to and Service under God

God will do anything for the person who is honest, as they put the Lord’s Kingdom and His righteousness first (Matthew 6:33), and God will give them the desires of their heart (Psalm 37:4), which is the desire of His heart; His will.

In honesty, a person deals with guilt and shame there and then, and sin cannot harbour and manifest into a problematic pattern of behaviour with a person who is honest.

***

You’ll know that this article is aspirational in nature — calling the writer and reader to the realm of virtue in honesty.

It is to God’s glory
when we commit ourselves
to honesty.

The compound nature of suffering in grief

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The saddest, most profound truth about the suffering in grief is that it has a compound nature about it. What I mean is that there are layers to the suffering that prove overwhelming.

Within one single loss event there can be a myriad of separate grief issues, because rarely is loss linear. If we lose a spouse or a parent or a child or a marriage or a career, several relationships change, and there are numerous losses within the loss event itself.

For myself, when I lost my first marriage in 2003, I lost not only my wife (the major loss), but my home, constant access to my children, the ability to stay in my job, and financially too. And this doesn’t cover reputational losses, and the losses incurred to my mental health. The rest of my family, on both sides, also experienced their own sense of loss. And yet I understand why that marriage failed, and today I’m an advocate for women who are dealing with husbands like I was. Even then, as that marriage went up in smoke, I was aware of the consequences of my lack of action that led to its demise. Suffering regret and remorse was essentially a further layer of grief that took me some time to understand and accept.

And then there is the phenomenon where one loss is followed by another and then another, and even multiple loss events that occur simultaneously. If we can only imagine how so many people suffer from the loss of a family member, and a marriage, and a career change they didn’t choose or financial loss, or the loss of their mental health and their physical health, or the loss of two or three family members in a relatively short space of time. So many people must grieve the loss of a preferred life path which came because relationships were untenable — two losses at the same time.

When we were losing Nathanael, there was another very real and tangible loss we were experiencing, something that felt out of our control, something that was very hard for me personally, something very stressful for both of us, completely unconnected to the loss of our baby — two journeys of loss in parallel. Add to this another issue that was to consume many hours of our time, yet a process God had called us to. And yet remarkably we knew God was close right throughout the entire season, every single day. Even as we felt overwhelmed in many ways, we also knew we were being carried by prayer. Not that it wasn’t the toughest kind of season that regularly pushed us beyond our limits, because it was.

We are forgiven for feeling under attack, and for wondering whether God has in fact turned His face from us, or for feeling numb or beyond our means to cope. Many are also tempted to feel angry toward God, like, ‘How could God allow this or these things to happen?’ These are all normal feelings and responses.

It isn’t abnormal to find ourselves in a Job kind of experience, but of course within our realm of relationships it is unlikely that we will know another person afflicted like we are at the time. And it doesn’t always help if we do know someone who is equivalently afflicted. They can drag us down, or we can find that we drag them down. Empathy isn’t straightforward when we’re grieving, nor is support from another person who is grieving or suffering in any way, apart from the knowledge that we are not alone, although it is true that two separate persons don’t always feel weak at the same time. Sometimes facilitated counselling groups can be a Godsend.

As you traverse your grief, you may well notice the multidimensional nature of the loss event you are in. It may help to list down the losses in becoming aware of the magnitude of those sources of grief. This as a source for being gentle with yourself.

It is good to know that grief is a journey, and there does not need to always feel so sharp. But some are called to an extended season of grief that does seem to last and last. One thing can be certain, grief always last longer than we would prefer it to.

Just about every form of suffering has grief in it, and often mental illness is caused by grief.

I would like to conclude with some words on faith:

Faith is like deciding to cross a bridge. The journey is worth the work and pain. Hope gets us across. Jesus is with us every step of the way. Even as we rest when the journey is too much for us. His Presence ministers to us as we rest, and it empowers each movement forward. “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

And yet, there are times when the journey, having commenced it, feels not only impossible, but not worth it. We consider turning back. Indeed, there are times when we cannot go on, just as there are times when we find ourselves walking the other way, at war with ourselves for what we are doing.

We just feel incapable of righting our thinking. Jesus understands.

Even as we turn and walk the other way, Jesus is still with us, not berating us nor condemning us. He is simply there, with us as our ally, encouraging us to draw close to Him.

As we draw close to Jesus, He reminds us of His Word, of His truth, of His promises, and we may feel the reassurance of His Presence. He renews our heart and mind gradually as we press in.

Faith’s deeper secrets acquired through grief

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There is much more to be experienced in the life of faith than any of us are prepared to expose ourselves to. But, as we know with grief, life exposes us to some things beyond our capacity to bear.

It wasn’t losing Nathanael that revealed to me what I’m about to share, but losing him reinforced this holy principle that is forever set apart from those who have never suffered. I learned this principle I’m going to share through the grief of having earlier had God say ‘No!’ to my prayers for healing — for my first marriage.

When God also said ‘No!’ to healing Nathanael as he grew in my wife’s womb toward that fateful day he was stillborn, we were granted entry into the deeper secret faith life that is available only for those whose prayers aren’t answered. It is sacred territory.

Yes, you read that right. In not answering our prayers for healing and comfort to be given to us the way we wanted it,

God gave us a comfort and a healing that
blew apart our superficial notions
of healing and comfort.

God blew those superficial notions away
so we could enter something eternally deeper.

God is taking us deeper into the journey of life by the circumstances of our testing. This is not about God ordaining pain for us, for that would be a wretched theology, but it is about God ordaining a purpose for the experience we can find no escape from. Jesus is redeeming it. Some things cannot come without suffering. True compassion, for one instance, for compassion, in the etymology of the word, emanates from pain. Compassion is costly. It must be paid for. And yet it’s those who have never suffered deeply who cannot believe this. It’s something Jesus must show us as we enter the furnace of grief with Him.

We never enter that cauldron of pain willingly, yet as we step each step through sheer dependence on Him, because we’re so weak, Jesus is there. There we experience a healing that is so profound it transforms us in the very compassion of Jesus. We meet it and it becomes us. And that compassion sanctifies us. Compassion literally becomes us.

If we have a Saviour who suffered, and Jesus didn’t just suffer at the cross, we can only truly know Him through suffering. Sorry, but this is true. And you know it if you read this through the lens of your experience that broke you.

As the cross broke Jesus,
our crosses must break us.

In our case,
God cannot remake what is still intact.

Central to the understanding of what I’m sharing is a principle outlined in Psalm 84, verse 6. As we enter the valley of our desolation and weeping — where day upon day, over the months, we travail — and this is not easy to write! — we must realise that God’s Presence is never closer. He is there with us, within the torment. We call out to Him and as our anguish floors us, Jesus is there. He shows us that He identifies with the brutality of our agony. And He gives us something our hearts have looked all our lives for; a spring of life wells up from within…

Have you ever thought of this? In having our prayers answered ‘Yes!’ for healing, we can miss what deeper faith God has for us, or we don’t receive it; we’re not granted access to the most glorious prize. Yet, it is enough to be saved from grief. Any of us would take that gift, and so we should.

Miracles of growth are possible when we stare deeply into God in grief. In the very fact that our prayers have not been answered the way we would have hoped, there, in that, is a series of miracles nestled. Because God brought us here for a reason. To reveal to us what we otherwise could or would not see.

The deeper secret that God wishes to share with us is also a deeper secret that will exponentially expand our mind and heart for Him. The more we trust Jesus, the more He will take us deeper into this secret of our knowledge of who He is. This deeper secret cannot come without much anguish.

Do you realise that that prayer that God answers with a ‘No’ is the very material of a fathoms deeper miracle that God wants us to experience — if we will go there with Him.

He reveals in this that
we really do not know what we want.
Jesus knows what we need,
and we need to trust Him.

***

Let us return in finishing to the place we started.

There is much more to be experienced in the life of faith than any of us are prepared to experience. We’re blissfully unaware of the common life experiences that we go decades without experiencing; grief for one.

For the place of grief, the Lord has situated a compensation that is its own gift.

God doesn’t fail to speak

Apt are we to think ‘how on earth does God speak; does He ever?’ On the contrary, never is there a time when God doesn’t speak.

I’ll use some of my own contemporary life experience and see if you can’t see your own life in these words. See if you can’t also say, ‘I think that also happens to me.’

In struggling for income six months ago, still not recovering from loss of fulltime work two years ago now, we felt led by God to start a funeral celebrancy ministry. The thinking was that an occasional funeral would not only ply my pastoral care gift but could also earn us a little income. ‘Unless the Lord builds the house, the labourers work in vain,’ (Psalm 127:1a) has been my growing thought, until I received a message from a past-parishioner who had had a relative suicide; years ago, I had counselled the deceased; we had rapport, but the work had to finish when Nathanael was on his way; and, would I conduct the funeral service? God has spoken. The first opportunity in six months. And yet, this one. It isn’t lost on me how significant this one is. Not that other deaths or funerals aren’t, but this one is for a huge range of reasons, and not that my first in this new venture needs to be ‘significant’. God has spoken, that’s all. One in six months, by world standards, is not successful. But to do this one as the only one, I’m sure you understand, is significant from a Kingdom viewpoint, because God is the God of one. And I mean significant within the Kingdom that is God’s admonishment of myself. (In my relationship with God I’m constantly being loved through correction.) He has shown me so much about death and despair and destiny and direction in a two-week period. My first one in six months could not have taken me deeper into His Presence for such a time as this. In this, He has shown me new experience and evoked fresh emotions.

Earlier in the year I was invited to join a group of people to learn how to train people in peacemaking principles. It was national level, invite-only training. It was a privilege to be asked. And because it is ministry, we were all being asked to fund our own way there, though the training itself was free. I felt called to it, but we couldn’t afford for me to go. When I communicated honestly with the PeaceWise leadership that we could really only afford half the investment, a few days later they came back and said someone had ‘gifted’ us half the cost so I could come! The love of generosity. They didn’t need to do that. But they did it. Then someone in our church gave us the rest of the money, not knowing that we needed it! And then my employer gave me the time off I needed, and paid for the leave I had to take, calling the training professional development. God has spoken. He wants me to be a peacemaker who trains others to be peacemakers, to advance a movement of peacemaking in world that hates reconciliation. But not only that. I’ve been included and embraced within a family of loving, likeminded ministers. But not only that… On the return leg of the trip, this happened. It is no irony that even on a trip for peacemaking, God was making me endure, with a dozen others, a 75-minute journey through a little living hell to experience a taste of toxic masculinity — the scariest hour-and-a-quarter of my life — to reinforce the need for a peacemaking response in this world. To show me just how dangerous our world is. To show me an aspect of humanity I’m so rarely exposed to. To show me the presence of tyranny and the need of God.

Then, in a season of following the revival preachers of the Twentieth Century, I came across someone from the 1960s who I thought was a relative unknown; Paris Reidhead. His message Ten Shekels and a Shirt is not only ageless, but a personal word for me from God. No doubt God has used this message to gain many a person’s attention. This message has shattered a little deception that I was harbouring. And it is no coincidence that a little and not-so-insignificant ministry is growing silently behind the scenes, well away from what would’ve been the pomp of my preferred style. I’ve served the house of Micah and I’ve been tempted to run off to serve the tribe of Dan. Yet, that has not been possible. God has closed those doors, even those doors of the house of Micah. And yet God has moved in ways within my service to Him to compel my understanding that I’m a pastor-at-large now; His instrument through no less than a half dozen and more causes for Christ (not that the number is important); and it’s been that way for years, yet I hadn’t seen it. Not that my service is even important in and of itself. What is important is God has spoken; ‘I won’t have you serve Me to the ends of idolatry!’ ‘Do it for ME!’ ‘Yes, Lord… I will.’

God has spoken, that’s all.

See if He doesn’t already speak in your life.

See if in your own life God doesn’t orchestrate your life in such a way as to command a hearing, and this is done in some ways you’d prefer not to occur, or that were so unpredictable to have to be God-incidence and not coincidence, or so bizarre as to be explained best as the action of God, and to be done in ways that remind you of your mere humanity, and your utter reliance on Himself.

Conflict is never wrong when done for the right reasons

Like many his age, BMX is a pastime my son has taken to. When we recently visited the bike tracks in our area a strange thing occurred.

There were a group of seven young youth headed our way and they were clearly in conflict. It wasn’t anything aggressive, but there was a clear difference of opinion. I was interested for two reasons. First, these were locals, and as a kind of community chaplain, I’m looking for points of connection everywhere, especially with vulnerable people, and that’s youth. Second, I wondered if I might be called upon to help.

So, as they approached close I asked, ‘What’s up?’ ‘Ah’ said one of them, a female who I mistook as a male, ‘We’ve stolen this bike because they said so’ (pointing to two who had broken off by that point). The others simply didn’t know what to say, visibly perplexed, though after a brief pause, the female said to another male, ‘I told you it was a dumb idea.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ said the one who had folded to peer pressure.

At this point I was astonished at the level of conscience that was going on. They knew what they’d done was wrong. They lamented their decision. Then I said, ‘You’re doing a good thing by feeling bad about taking the bike. What can you do to make it right?’ ‘We could take it back I suppose,’ said one of them. I immediately thought that this is a particularly vulnerable position to be in, for what if they got caught, and were punished for doing the right thing! — even though they had actually stolen something. I considered giving them my phone number as a validation should another adult challenge them, but then I thought that would only rescue them from the situation, so I remained silent. I just said, ‘It sounds like the right thing to do, doesn’t it?’ They agreed and then left.

They had benefited from my intervention, but I could tell they were holding court without it. They didn’t need to be told, just helped in imagining the natural consequences of their actions.

Conflict is not always bad. Indeed, it’s a breath of fresh air when injustice has been done. It can facilitate thought to the juncture of reconciliation, as it puts pressure on the conscience to convert dissonance to peace.

What I saw in thirteen and fourteen-year-olds was weakness of the age and circumstance, but then leadership and the ability to reflect. They knew it was the wrong thing, and even though they’d done the wrong thing, they weren’t beyond doing the hard thing to put it right.

When conflict features protagonists who can stay with the issue at hand, who resist the temptation to criticise the person, logical correctives can be suggested, agreed and implemented.

It’s better to fight for the right reasons than to pretend nothing’s wrong.

It’s better for a relationship to enter the arena of conflict when both want it resolved than to avoid it.

And it’s wonderful to watch on and see the process of conflict resolution take place when protagonists need little help.

And here is this:
what point is there to insist on winning
when you can only ultimately lose?

Those who enter the arena of conflict for the right reasons risk personal defeat but, virtuously, they seek relational victory:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

— Theodore Roosevelt (from the speech
‘Citizen in a Republic’ delivered in France, 1910)

There is more to life than the issues. That more-to-life pivots around people and the peace they seek.

It is no coincidence that righteousness coalesces with peace. We cannot have peace unless we do right.

Peace is worth fighting for when conflict
endeavours to reconcile what is right.

Empowering and enabling functional forgiveness

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Imagine fellow human beings not being the real enemy, but the force of disconnection they avow; forgiveness is a power we employ when it functions for us to reconnect us to what is good.

Unforgiveness is a force of disconnection.

Unforgiveness is a vacuum
where goodness seems non-existent.

Unforgiveness stifles us because it’s a taking away without replacement. It’s a void. It causes us to stumble because our thoughts and heart are dominated by that which takes energy without giving back.

Evil always takes away,
whereas goodness always adds.

We know these things in the simple act of attempting to engage in a social gathering, especially when someone is there that we have a patchy history with. If our thoughts are dominated by the fear in unforgiveness, we’re disconnected with others in a way that we let those thoughts govern our behaviour. We shrink or are moody. Yet, if our thoughts see the fear, and ameliorate it courageously with the knowledge that connection adds power and purpose, even in those moments of engaging with the person we have history with, we have the words and the poise for it. We present the goodness of God on those occasions, because God gives us the power to be straight up when we’re honestly focused on goodness instead of evil. The force of evil cannot get close. The light voids the darkness.

Suddenly there is something beyond
the hopelessness of unforgiveness.

Most people desiring peace in their heart desire a way to functionally forgive the perpetrator for the hurt they bear. They just struggle to attain the way of it. Some want that peace, but they insist on retaining their anger toward the perpetrator.

We can’t have it both ways. We will either surrender the negative energy that saps our heart at the level of our thinking or we will retain it and get nowhere.

Forgiveness literally means to let go,
yet we quickly learn that in the letting go,
we must grasp something afresh —
that is the light that Christ alone
offers us via the Holy Spirit.

Forgiveness is about seeking connection
to that which brings goodness and life,
whilst binding and breaking those bonds
of disconnection that bring only death.

Forgiveness, for it to be what it is, and that is a process of letting go, needs to be functional — something we can do, and actually do.

Do not simply disconnect from the person who hurt you,
but find ways to reconnect to the goodness in life.

None of us ought to imagine that any of this process of letting go is easy. It can be the hardest thing we ever do, but there is a way that works, and that is what I term ‘functional forgiveness’, in that it is something you do and not simply think about.

Finding poise in the overthrowing moment

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The stories that run through our unconscious minds are captivating and powerful, and they always involve some graphic form of deliverance, like the moment and way God will redeem for us some promise He’s nestled in our heart.

We plan for those moments with incessant regularity.

And the hard truth about this is that those stories built upon the promises pregnant within us will probably never materialise — certainly not in the time and the way we imagine them coming to fruition.

Largely, they’re myths.

But some moments we don’t plan for do come.

I recall a few of these moments in one twenty-four-hour period when our son was stillborn.

The first of these moments lasted about two hours, and truly the emotional experience of wondering whether I had what it took was poignant in and of itself. The moment Nathanael was declared as passed away, by the nurse, then later the doctor. Their reactions. Attempting to console an inconsolable wife. Sitting there as minute-by-minute she went downhill spiking a fever. Being told there would need to be an emergency delivery. Feeling angry that our son hadn’t been monitored; that we hadn’t been granted a C-section in the first place. Wanting to protect one of the midwives who seemed to be really struggling with what had happened. Waiting there in the room before we were wheeled into theatre tracing the bodily outline of our son on my wife’s abdomen. Wondering at this point whether we had what it would take to encounter our deceased son. The music of Bethel’s ‘It Is Well’ playing as he was delivered. Experiencing with shock the elements of his delivery. Not being ready for his facial expression. Not fainting. Being present there with him and everyone else. Bathing him. Weighing him. Then later, having those bare and raw moments when all was quiet, when distractions could no longer rescue us from the full emotional response that needed to be let out. The commencement of that grief. Having to insist a social worker come back at a more appropriate time. Having to stand our ground when others should have known better.

A day full of moments like this; a week of them. And months beforehand and months afterward. And yet we survived.

Life is a tricky juxtaposition of moments we think will occur at some point, but that never do with the moments of paroxysm that leave us confounded, unable to find sense for what has happened.

Finding poise in the moments I’ve described above was a matter of acknowledging how bizarre the reality really was; with a faith that is willing to stay in the moment; with a trust that shows up.

We always wonder if we have what it takes in an overwhelming moment. And in such a moment we prove we can simply in the act of keeping on going. We don’t stop. We don’t reflect amid the pressure to perform. We do that later. We go through the motions the best we possibly can, and God gets us through them.

There is always plenty of opportunity for reflection.

The husband I was, the husband I am

Greeting my son at the airport on return from a trip

Oh, if I think of the kind of man I was compared with the kind of man I am now there are sharp yet subtle differences. Significant changes took place, yet I am ostensibly the same man. And still, today I have an ability to overcome abusive patterns of behaviour simply because God gave me the power to be honest. And the most important change I have received is the conviction of the Holy Spirit that compels me to confess my wrongdoing, and in telling the truth, that same truth sets me and others I love free.

I write this to honour my former wife.
I write also to honour the love of my life, my wife.

Fifteen years ago, I lived a life on the edge, though for all intents and purposes my life was grand. Materially, things were fine, and the financial struggles of early marital life were behind us. Yet, more sinister problems lurked beneath the facade; ambition leading to compromise for career leading to family neglect, occupational stress leading to escapism leading to addiction, and an anger borne of fear leading to a pattern of control leading to verbal abuse of my then wife.

It was my destiny that I lost that first marriage. I couldn’t see it coming, but I should’ve seen it coming. I was satisfied that as a husband I was ‘good enough’, but how flawed that perception was! No I wasn’t. And if only more of us would see that we’re not good enough it would convict us to be better, or certainly more, so far as love is concerned.

The first time I was able to publicly decry my performance as a marriage failure was in a sermon in July 2006. I recall seeing a man from the congregation leave in tears. I knew what was occurring in him. The elders followed him and prayed with him. The Holy Spirit had convicted him of his abuse because I spoke poignantly of mine. I was sad, yet happy. It needs to be called out. And it’s the power of the Holy Spirit to convict us of sin enough to lead us to repent so we might be delivered and saved.

Back then I was a perfectionist, and I expected that standard of my wife, and sometimes even my children. Today I live accepting my imperfection, and don’t expect myself or anyone else to get it right all the time. Back then anger was never too far away. Today the anger is still there, but it is a tenth as potent as what it was, and it’s oriented toward better reasons, not usually to control others. Back then shame was the hidden puppeteer. Today’s puppeteer is the Holy Spirit. Back then I was a husband who could be terse with his words and mood. Today I’m a husband with potential. Back then I couldn’t have admitted I abused my wife. Today I know how not to be, and there but for the grace of God, go I.

I’ve been two types of husband, both for over ten years now. I have something to say to the man who doesn’t want to abuse his wife but does. Break the cycle. Confess your sin. Seek your recovery. Find your help. Discover God’s Presence. Realise honesty’s power.

Not many weeks go past where I don’t wish that
I could’ve been a better husband in my first marriage.

At least I can release that legacy through the few dozen marriage counselling relationships I’ve had the privilege to provide. I share my failures in those sessions and it always adds power to people’s stories of redemption.

Get it right; I still make so many mistakes. Most days. But I’m not ashamed, because I know God knows who I am. I’m not ashamed because those mistakes bring out into the light the act of my wrongness. And then I can be responsible for myself and honestly hold myself to account.

The most obvious thing I can say about the contrast of the husband I was in comparison to the husband I am is this: it’s only by the power of Christ and through belief in His name to follow Him. There would be no difference otherwise.

The Meltdown

Me pictured on my last delivery day.

This is one of those vulnerable articles. It’s hoped that as I share about my/our weaknesses you too will be encouraged to own and accept your weaknesses, defeating any perfectionistic stride that tends to disrupt and even destroy relationships.

Meltdown: think nuclear plant meltdown where the nuclear core is severely overheated and catastrophic damage results.

We have a five-year-old, and very recently something happened that often happens at his age-and-stage. He had a meltdown. The process normally goes like this. Creative idea, build something, doesn’t work, frustration sets in, destroy the creation in anger. Not all the time, just occasionally. Dealing with pre-school children all the time, and having had another three children who are now adults, there’s nothing alarming in it. Besides, our five-year-old has witnessed us having meltdowns — and I can speak only for myself here.

There are all sorts of meltdowns, not just the angry ones, but also the teary ones, the anxious ones, the prideful ones, and the panicky ones.

I want to share with you the kind of meltdown I’m capable of; this would happen occasionally in 2016 when I was thrust into an occupational world that I did not want any part of, but had to engage in just to support my family.

I was very blessed to be offered work — two separate part-time positions — through friends, one of whom was my ex-wife, when pastoral ministry work went belly-up.

Meltdowns occurred because of both jobs, but the case in point here centred around my job working with my ex-wife. These meltdowns never had anything to do with her — we, her and her husband and I, had a very good working relationship, always trying to outdo one another in what we gave.

But it was the nature of the work that had me positioned like a fish out of water. I was packing chilled meals for home delivery, and so regularly my mind was doing backflips, that at times, my head was saying, ‘I cannot do this… it’s too hard… my brain is wired to work with people, one person at a time, not five or more tasks held in the mind at any one time, with noise, with pressure, with interruptions. (I need to say that since I burned out in 2005 my brain has some kind of permanent disability in managing many tasks simultaneously.) I was always fine when I got out on the road to do the deliveries, other than the times I had meltdowns. And this happened on a half dozen occasions.

Here is the nature of that kind of meltdown. I would call my wife and say, panicked and in tears, ‘Darling, I cannot do this anymore… it’s too hard… my mind can’t keep up… I’m useless.’ After 10-minutes of hearing me out she would usually help me accept that I could get through the delivery run. I was usually fine after this. The inner meltdown in the presence of others manifested in an outward meltdown when it was safe with my wife.

There was nothing wrong with the delivery driving job, and in fact it taught me important skills, helped me master a new degree of patience, gave me empathy for those in that kind of work, and it showed me what I’m not good at. And it showed me how, all through my life, I’ve had the capacity for this kind of depressed meltdown that comes straight out of my wounded child state.

We all have meltdowns, even those who seem to have perfect lives, and especially those who look like they’ve got their lives under control.

I don’t know a single person who hasn’t had a meltdown. So, what do we do with this?

We stop feeling ashamed of them whilst we do all we can to limit the kind of damage meltdown can bring.