Sunday…

Sunday was one of the HARDEST days that I have experienced in a long, LONG time. You are supposed to leave church encouraged, and feeling better, right? I left church feeling so down, and so weary, and beaten to a pulp. It is a wonder I was even able to drag my poor body up the stairs, or even do anything for the kids. Well, I guess I didn’t really do much for them. I went into my bedroom to change my clothes, and wound up weeping, naked, unable to get dressed, stop crying, or even move. I wanted to. I wanted to stop the tears, I wanted to pull on my clothes, I wanted to pull myself together, make hot dogs on the George Foreman for lunch, and do my homework. I wanted to smile, and put on a happy face for my kids. Instead, I dragged myself to the door, locked it, and sobbed. I finally pulled on some clothes, went out to make sure they ate, saw that the Sea Hawks lost to the Bengals in OT, 27 to 24, still don’t know how that happened. When I left church, Sea Hawks were up, 24 to 7, but I digress. I went back in my room, told my kids I was going to do homework, and I intended to, but all I could do was cry. So, I scrubbed my bathroom, while I cried. I couldn’t stop crying. At some point, I stopped crying long enough to go to the grocery store and buy some necessities, as well as a quick meal to prepare for dinner. Then I went in my room, and you know what I did? I cried some more! Why, you ask, did I leave church so beaten down? How could I have possibly left church worse off than when I went in, because oh yes, I did! Well, I’ll tell you…

The pastor had us open our bibles to II Kings, the 7th Chapter. He started at verse 1, and went verse by verse, treaching (that’s the fancy christian word for when they preach and teach at the same time).The meat and potatoes of his sermon, or lesson was the three, or four (?) lepers that were outside the gates of the city. Wait a minute, let me back up. History lesson: the city was experiencing a 7 year famine. End lesson. So, these lepers were outside of the gate, and they were like “Man, if we stay here, we are going to die.” Then they were like, “Yeah, but if we go into the city, we are going to die.” Then they were like, “If we go to the Syrian army, they might let us live, worst that could happen is we’ll die.” <— Meat and potatoes… Pastor’s translation: If you stay where you are, crying and lamenting your current situation, you’re going to DIE. Who cares that your life didn’t turn out the way you planned, what are you going to do, cry about it until you die? The divorce papers are filed, he has moved on, God has moved on, you need to get up and move on! (No lie, when he said this, I swear my heart must have stopped for as long as it can without killing me before it started beating again. If I were white, I would have been as white as a sheet. Had I been standing, my knees would have given way.) Point number 2 (Going back to the city): Why do you want to go back to what’s familiar? Back to what put you in your current situation? You going to die there! There’s famine there! Everything is dead! There ain’t no life! Why do you want to go back? Point number 3: Only other option is to move forward. You might live, or you might die. Still it’s the only option with the hope of life!

I can’t get move on. I can’t move forward. I am stuck here. Wishing, waiting, hoping. For what? A man who doesn’t love me? God can work miracles, right? There has to be a reward for patience right? Or am I just an idiot? Wednesday, I will go and make a court date. Within two weeks, we will be divorced, and I will be “Jessica Booker” again. Sadly. Ugh, I hate this. Why can’t he love me?

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