Sometimes You Should Ignore the Statistics

Sixty-seven percent of second marriages end in divorce.

It was tough.  Some days were so difficult I wondered if we would end up being part of the sixty-seven percent.  

When I consider the things we endured, the odds against us, the gut-wrenching defeats and the years of scraping by, the children with life-threatening illnesses, the heartbreaking losses mixed with blessings only we saw; I can only give God the credit.

So many times, I didn’t want to continue.  Sharing even bits of our testimony is difficult, for we walked paths that were very dark at times.  And yet, in that darkness, we sought the Light.  Sometimes we only had enough illumination to see where we were, not the next step.  Those were taken in faith. 

I only have to remember who I was to know how blessed I am.  Angry, bitter, so desperate for love, a soul that knew rejection and abandonment intimately. I was a single mom, working for minimum wage, fighting to keep a roof over the heads of my girls, fighting to keep my girls.  A friend introduced me to this rock and roll bass player with a tiny, two-year old cherub. 

I had not known what a father could be.  Mine hadn’t been around much.  I hadn’t seen it in the men around me.  But this man was different.  He was raising his daughter.  He was patient with her.  He was tender and loving.  He put her needs before his own, and that gave me hope that not all men were like the ones I had seen.

Dating turned into a relationship.  A relationship turned into a marriage proposal and a baby on the way.  We did it all wrong, all backwards.  We were both single parents.  We married just months after we met.  We had a baby a few months after that.  Suddenly we were this family of six.  We had to buy a mini-van to fit the kids.  

The struggles and battles began in earnest.  Finances, exes, custody, all mixed with the baggage from the past that just refused to stay there.  We stumbled and struggled.  I ranted way too often.  He closed down on me several times.  We kept going.

Then came the bigger things, the things that took any foundation we had and obliterated it.  One child was sick.  Another wasn’t safe.  We approached it very different, had different personalities disagreeing.  We didn’t know what to believe, who to trust.  Most don’t truly know how hard it was at that time. 

And then came a couple phone calls that began a very slow change in the physical, but enormous changes in the spiritual.  A dad that listened, a Pastor that gave some advice, and my husband went to the church that had held very little draw to him up to that point, and he gave his life to Jesus.

I could battle the exes.  I could fight for my kids.  I could even fight for justice, but I didn’t know how to battle against a husband with peace in the midst of chaos.  Even I could feel the supernatural battle...  and that was an uncomfortable feeling to have.  

I was enraged by the circumstances we found ourselves in that August 2005.  I still remember the exact date... August 5, 2005.  I still remember the scared words from a little girl.  I still remember the angry but protective feeling taking over my heart. How does a parent deal with what we dealt with without being consumed?  

I also remember that moment, just weeks later, broken in a church that I didn’t want to step a foot inside, fighting a battle in my heart between that overwhelming anger and the deepest desire for that elusive peace I saw in my husband.

That moment didn’t change the circumstances.  It would be years, and long, desperate, expensive battles, before those circumstances would change in our favor.  The anger didn’t leave me immediately either.  In fact, that battle sometimes still gets the best of me. But there was hope.

In the twelve years since, we have stuck by each other.  We had another daughter, making us seven. We watched many of our children grow into amazing adults.  We grew in our faith.  We lost everything we had built materialistically.  We cried and laughed and cherished.  We served.  

We kept pressing on.  We didn’t become a statistic of failure.  

Are there still struggles?  Yes. We may be older and, hopefully, wiser, but there are still times that overwhelm.  There are still children with health issues.  There are still financial stresses.  There are still these two personalities that don’t always see life the same way. The rocker and the bookworm, the mellow and the type A, the slow-paced and the in a hurry...  still somehow complementing each other instead of conflicting all the time.  And there is still a love that we hold for each other.  This is still a battle where we fight for each other, even when it is hard.

There is still Jesus.  No matter what changes in our world, He is a stable foundation, a true north, to guide us.   I know that I know that there wouldn’t have been eighteen years together if Jesus hadn’t stepped into our chaotic, messed-up midst with His presence. 

I want to continue to beat the statistics.  I want to continue our journey with our Lord.  I want to continue to cherish the memories we make.  I want to continue to plan hiking trips and family gatherings.  And new adventures await as well.  

God has blessed us, and I am so very thankful that He didn’t leave me who I was.  I have to only remember who I was to know how blessed I am.