Consumed By The Blow

In times past I would’ve been careful to try and keep Jessica from reading what is essentially my “diary,” (which is diarrhea and biography, together in writing at last). But the events of the past couple weeks--and my hope that our marriage is headed toward lasting change--makes me want to be more transparent.

It’s been 19 days since I last saw her or my children, and God has brought me to a place of extreme discomfort, a pinnacle of pain so to speak. But with a purpose.

It started when Jessica gave me an ultimatum: cut off all contact with a former coworker (with whom I’d engaged in an adulterous relationship) or face separation from my family.

* * * * *

I was talking to someone a few weeks ago about my life situation in general and he said, “Being a trucker is kind of like being in the military.” And I thought, “No, it’s more like doing time--especially when everything’s going to shit in your family and you can’t be home to deal with it.”

I’m now certain the trucking decision was and is God’s doing. It’s what had to be.

My parents were both ordained ministers. I grew up in church, but more important, I’ve had several very real encounters with God in my life. There have been times when the unseen has been just as real--more real--than people I talk to face-to-face and the tangible circumstances I observe around me.

Before the affair, I believed I was on my way to full-time ministry (though it wasn’t what I thought I wanted for my life). I’m a teacher of a Word of God. I spoke regularly in our church. I know the Bible, and I’ve walked through difficult times with true faith. I’ve seen God turn the most horrendous situations imaginable into things that work for good in the lives of those who love Him. I’ve seen Him provide answers to needs in unexpected and miraculous ways.

I’ve loved God since I was eight years old. I don’t just tolerate Him, or think He’s far off watching me fumble through existence: I know He’s active and that He cares for people. I’ve questioned Him, yes, and I’m still questioning Him. Sometimes I’ve been furious at Him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that He goes to such trouble to reach out to belligerent, obtuse idiots like me.

Several nights ago (while considering my wife’s seemingly unfair demands) I faced the fact that the sense of emotional pain and isolation I’ve been feeling with was getting beyond my ability to cope. When that happens in a person’s life--when the brute force of circumstances becomes heavier than the capacity or resources to allay the pain--they start thinking about escape in the form of death. Death is the out, the end of the pain. Severe, sustained anguish can grind a soul down until the will to live is gone and all you can think about is making it stop.

That’s where I was. I’d been giving serious thought to ending my life. Sometimes I’ve even felt a sense of urgency about it, like I needed to pull the truck over somewhere and do it fast--just get it over with. I know those thoughts don’t come from God, but the other night when I realized my wife and I were separating and all my worst fears coming true, the desire to paint it all black became very intense.

So I did what most people do as an absolute last resort when they’re standing on the edge of the precipice between this world and the next--in their misery uncertain whether they’ll fall or jump. I prayed. It was messy. I told God off at first, really let Him have it. I don’t think it made Him angry, though, because after I’d ranted and cussed a sense of calm came over me and I just said, “Jesus, help me. What am I supposed to do?”

Right away I had the sense that I needed to write one last letter to my very good friend and former lover--the one I used to work with, the one I loved--and tell her I never wanted to see her or hear from her again. This is what my wife has been asking me to do for a few weeks. This is the reason we’re separated right now. I haven’t worked with the girl for six months, but I had lunch with her once in December, I’ve talked to her on the phone a couple of times, and she was a regular reader of my other journal.

But when my wife asked me to cut off all communication with her, I resisted. For one thing, a dude doesn’t want his wife telling him what to do. It makes him feel like his balls are being hacked off.

Second, sometimes I feel that when Jessica is getting her needs met and thinks everything is wonderful she starts getting complacent about whether she’s listening to me or whether my needs are being met in our relationship. It’s sick, I know, but a part of me wanted her to be kept in limbo (which is where I’ve been for years) so she wouldn’t get comfortable and start ignoring me like happened in our first years of marriage.

And third, I went from seeing and talking to the other girl almost every day to talking to her maybe once a month. I’ve seen her once in six months. In my mind, it was ridiculous that I couldn’t be friendly with her and shoot the breeze every so often--it was no longer an affair but a leftover friendship, and a long, close one at that. So I dug in my heels at Jessica’s repeated demands, refusing to break contact with the other woman.

But at the thought of losing Jessica, I came to the end of myself. As I prayed, I knew God wanted me to do exactly what my wife was requiring of me. It didn’t come in words, really. Just a mental impression--not angry or demanding, but a very clear impression. And it was the polar opposite of what I really wanted to hear: “Do what your wife is asking.” (A similar situation to mine is described in Genesis 21. People never change.)

Resistance welled inside me. It was unfair, for one thing. In our first years of marriage Jessica treated me pretty shabbily, but I never twisted her arm to force her to change. The whole idea is abhorrent to my mind. It’s not love, it’s coercion.

And writing to the other girl would hurt me (because I’d have to admit I was wrong, both to her and to my wife) and hurt her (because she might not understand, and the idea of never talking to me again is hard on her, as it is me). Plus I was just plain scared of losing my relationship, however limited, with the last person I felt really knows and cares about me, someone my heart loves. I decided to sleep on it, and write the letter the next morning. That was around midnight.

I never have trouble sleeping. I’m one of those dudes hits the pillow and is zonked in five minutes. But I rolled in my sleeper berth for two hours, wide awake.

Shit, I thought. I guess He means right now.

I was pissed and railed at Him some more, but I made the decision. I grabbed my laptop and wrote the letter. In it I took full blame for the events of the past several years, confirmed my love and commitment to my wife (the opposite of what I really felt, but no less true), apologized for the pain I’d brought into her life, and stated without any ambiguity in the plainest terms that we would never call, write, email, or meet each other ever again. It was the end. Over and out. Finito.

For accountability purposes, I courtesy-copied it to my pastor, wife, and another lady from church who knows the situation. As my finger was about to click the Send tab, my objections to the whole idea surfaced again more forcefully. I hesitated. I felt afraid and torn. I was losing a piece of myself--a cherished thing. I was about to torch a beautiful bridge and watch it burn to charred cinders, and it would be forever impassable after that moment.

I wept as I clicked the Send key and slammed the laptop shut. It was three in the morning. I put my head on the pillow and went to sleep almost immediately.

* * * * *

The next morning, I reread the letter I’d sent and came to these words:

I’m at a point where God’s isolated me. I see it, and I know that it’s His doing and that He’s done it for a reason. I’ve lost every important relationship in my life. My Dad, you, Scott, a job where I could talk and relate to people, my internet acquaintances and journal, my church, and now my wife and children. I’m severed from all of it. No one is speaking to me. No one really seems to care that I'm alone and literally wishing I was dead. It’s just me and God, alone.

It’s the stroke of God I refer to sometimes, and it relates to a passage from Psalm 39. “Remove thy stroke away from me, for I am consumed by the blow of thy hand.” I’ve always looked at it as a reference to punishment and vengeance, but it’s not that at all. It’s grace.

People use the word “grace” so flippantly. And what they usually mean is that God will forgive all the stupid things you’ve done. And He will. But it’s so much more than that. Grace can take an almost violent form sometimes for those who’ve committed themselves to the Lord, because He takes our promises seriously. He can arrange the circumstances so you’re nearly forced between choosing the path that’s really best for your life, or keeling over from the misery of resisting His love.

I feel lighter, like a load I was never meant to shoulder on my own has been lifted. I’m joyful again. Not because everything is fixed and wonderful: my personal circumstances are as shitty as ever. There’s a long way to go and rebuilding to do and a lot of hard days ahead. And I’m still full of questions about why it all went down the way it did.

The difference is, I’m back where I belong. I can endure any hardship or sorrow if, at the end of the day, I know I can lie down secure in the promise that there’s meaning behind it all, that there’s a vision and purpose in this life. I finally gave in and stopped resisting. I’m home again, and He did what He had to do to make it happen.

God is speaking. He was speaking all along, really, but I was like a little boy pretending not to hear. I had to be reduced to absolute solitude and removed from anyone and anything I might run to for comfort or help. Think Jonah in the belly of a whale, except for me the whale is a white 18-wheeler that has the blue-and-gold lightning bolt “S” logo of the Swift Transportation Corporation on the side.

That’s what grace looks like as revealed in the life of one Gen-Xer: angry, questioning, cynical, alone. But not really alone.