Yes, I did make a (late) New Year’s resolution that I would be more faithful in posting, by worrying less about the details that come with being a semi-perfectionist (a term I just made up, which is probably not even possible, since you cannot be perfect and be less than perfect or you aren’t perfect).
So, yes, I set a goal to post every Friday, or as close to it as possible. However, this week my son is visiting from another state, and I am leaving town on Thursday. So, I gave myself a gracious pass to skip a week of writing on the blog. I felt good about the decision.
And then this happened.
Last Friday evening I received a vile and disgusting comment on my blog. The writer, a male who resides in Ohio, gave himself a fictional name, and commented saying horrible things about me and my husband. The things he said were completely inaccurate. He made gross assumptions about our situation and my heart. He made completely inaccurate statements about God’s forgiveness. He assured me that I was not forgiven or redeemed.
I told my six closest people about it and asked them to pray for me and for the man. It was obvious that someone in his past had hurt him, and he was merely lashing out in an anonymous fashion rather than dealing with his own life issues. The six adult members of my family are my six closest people. All six of them were in agreement that the best thing to do was to ignore the hate mail, and pray for the man. I felt good about the decision.
And then this happened.
Yesterday, I received another comment on the blog. This comment was far worse than the first one. Fortunately, my son was in the room when I saw the notification. I told him what was happening and he quickly responded saying, “Don’t read it, Mom.”
My son then took over. He read the comment and moved it to the trash. I asked him what it had said. He told me the man had compared me to a Nazi. He told me the comment was extremely rude and vulgar. He also told me the man wants me to stop writing on my blog. After discussing the matter with my six closest people we decided, once again, it would be best to just continue to ignore the frustrated Ohio resident. I felt good about the decision.
And then this happened.
In the few hours I had between shifts at the restaurant, I was relaxing at home when I received an incoming text message from a young mom who attends the church I previously attended. Without going into detail, I will share that she was contacting me because she and her husband are in crisis. She needed some specific information from me, and I was very pleased I could supply it. Then she asked me to pray and shared more of the details. My heart beat hard in my chest and I wanted to crawl through the phone and hug her.
We had just wound down our text messaging thread when the phone alerted me to another incoming text. I was surprised when I saw it wasn’t her–but a different woman. This woman is new in my life and has only come into my life because of the blog. She and her husband have been going through a difficult time in their marriage. One Sunday morning this woman had gone forward for prayer at her church, the woman in the prayer room prayed with her, and then she told her she might want to read my blog. She read some of the posts and then she contacted me and we connected. Since that time we have been able to have a conversation on the phone and several text message conversations as well.
As I was reading today’s text messages asking for prayer, I felt such an enormous amount of love for this woman whom I have never met. She is trying desperately to hold her life together and make good decisions. I understand her need for advice in order to achieve such a feat.
Imagine you were in the habit of making really bad decisions for a long period of time. One day, you decide you are going to start start making good decisions. Do you believe a change of that nature comes naturally? One of the hardest things I had to relearn was how to make decisions that were not based on my emotions. One of the ugliest things I had to learn to recognize in myself was my selfishness.
I was blessed to have people available to me to help me with these things. I had people I could call on to pray for me and help me get through the beginning stages–stages which lasted for almost a year. Without people available to pray for me and with me, I am not sure what self-destructive decisions I would have made.
I cannot believe how fortunate I am to get to be on the other side of that scenario.
Tonight, as I think about the text messages along with the comments from the Ohio man, which were both flying around cyber-space, I cannot help but recognize the Spiritual warfare involved in the timing. It made me realize, I no longer felt good about decision I had made. I am not going to ignore the comments from the man in Ohio.
I will tell you quite plainly, Mr. Ohio, that I will not stop writing and offering hope to people who have fallen. In the first line of the first email, you told me that I saw myself as a victim and you are quite wrong. I am not a victim. I am the furthest thing from a victim. My sin didn’t happen to me. I willfully chose my sin. But, I don’t believe compassion is only for victims. I believe in compassion and grace for the sinners as well. I believe restoration and forgiveness are available for all of God’s people. I hope that you lose interest in my little blog and move along to something that brings joy into your life, but in the meantime, you can be guaranteed that I will continue to share what God is doing in our marriage and the good that is coming despite the horrible thing that I chose. You can be assured that I will tactfully relate the pain when necessary and the push through the shame of what I did to my family. I will not hide and wait for people like you to decide when I am allowed to be a part of society and how that is to look. You can also know with certainty that I won’t read any of your comments. I have six of my closest people to make sure I won’t have to.
Tomorrow is the day of our Twenty-Seventh Wedding Anniversary. For 10 months I’ve wondered what this day will feel like. There has been a list of reasons why this day was to be dreaded.
After any crisis, when we encounter holidays, birthdays and anniversaries, there is added weight to the calendar. We learned about this nearly two decades ago after our daughter died. When we were in the beginning stages of grieving, her birthday didn’t just arrive. It occurred in extremes. As we moved closer to the date, with no party to plan, our mood shifted downward. Then there was the mind-blowing low as we acknowledged the reality that our nineteen-month old would never age, accompanied by a calm peace as we (somehow) survived this knowledge. Throughout the actual date of her birthday, friends and family reached out and demonstrated their love to us, and we were catapulted to a high. Their acts of kindness lifting us heavenward, towards her. Towards Him.
This crisis of marital infidelity takes out stones and lodges them at my calendar. A heavy awareness of broken vows weighs me down when I think of my wedding anniversary. My own mind throws the stones, and each stone tears a hole in the calendar, as if it is trying to rip the 18th of December from time and erase it completely.
You see, when we celebrate we are essentially saying, “Good job!” After an affair, do we utter such an absurdity? It feels false. It feels as authentic as congratulating a drunk driver for surviving a collision. Sitting here, the day before our Anniversary, my mind reels at the thought of how we will navigate through the day.
Overhead clouds roll in and respond to my aching heart. As the dark rain clouds release themselves, everything slows down for a few hours. I look out the window and watch as the desert ground absorbs the moisture, and I wonder if this year, this horribly-hard-year, is to be the defining year for our marriage. Will the betrayal of last year absorb itself into our lives for good? There are twenty-seven years to consider, but it seems as if it all comes back to this horribly-hard-year.
I find myself trying to remember something significant from each year we’ve been married. There has to be more to our marriage than this horribly-hard-year. If this is the sum of it all then let the stones have their way and rip this date from the existence of time. Without a verbal prompt, I grab a dry-erase marker and board. I begin to make a list.
I list memorable moments in our marriage. I try to think of everything that may stand out in each of the twenty-seven years. I use a calculator to keep track of the years and the ages of our children. Over the course of the afternoon, I continue listing small, somewhat meaningless events and activities.
I am making what I call The Twenty-Seventh List, but I stop before I’ve reached the end. I am afraid to list anything from the horribly-hard-year. Our marriage is made up of so much more than what we’ve been living through lately.
The Twenty-Seventh List: (an overview)
I note the times we have relocated because of ministry. Three weeks after our wedding, rather than taking a job where we could stay near family, we began our marriage by relocating to another state and taking the responsibility of a full time ministry position. It was just the two of us and we were beyond frightened, but we believed that God would provide us a community and life in the unfamiliar land.
I note the homes we have bought together; there were four. My husband and I have survived escrow together on four occasions–surely that alone is worth some type of celebration.
I note the animals who have been a part of our family. Dogs & cats, turtles & fish–too many to disclose. The names of each animal bringing about a memory that causes a grin or a grimace. Which memory was the most heartbreaking? It’s a tie between, Sami-girl, everyone’s favorite poodle mix who disappeared one Fourth of July, and Maximas the black Godfather cat who was run down in front of our home on Christmas Eve.
I note the four greatest blessings to ever grace the home of an undeserving couple. In the seventh year of our marriage, for a short amount of time, we lived in a household with all four of our children. Everyone was born and no one had died. Every night there were four little bodies to feed and bathe. Jammies had feet, cups had lids, and everyone had a blankie. We were aware that time was fleeting, but we weren’t aware that everyone’s clock wasn’t set to the same timer.
I note the day our daughter died. Passion turned to depression. Pain turned to more pain. Hard turned to perseverance.
I note the bicycles, scooters and cars given as gifts. The dance attire and graduation gowns. The California Missions projects, photo shoots, and science fair failures. I note the piano lessons gone wrong and baseball games gone well. I note the yard sales, overseas missions trips, and sleepovers. I note the wedding engagements and the evolving nature of our still extending family.
I note the day our daughter told us we were to be grandparents. An unexpected fear had come over me when she shared her news. I knew what it felt like to love and lose a child. For her to love greatly would mean that one day she may hurt greatly.
I note the look on our granddaughter’s face two weeks ago. When this little one came to visit, she knew us. This little perfect girl knew her Papa and Mimi.
Here’s the thing. Not one good thing on the list makes the whole of our marriage anymore than any one failure makes the whole of our marriage. To survive this horribly-hard-year we are reliant on grace. To survive any marriage, the players are reliant on grace. A wedding anniversary is a day to celebrate a series of days where two people were successful at treating one another with more grace than either one deserved. This year we are celebrating twenty-seven years of failures and successes. Neither being more significant than the other. Our failures have worked their own good, in the same way that our successes have been stumbling blocks.
Tomorrow is the day of our Twenty-Seventh Wedding Anniversary. For 10 months I’ve wondered what this day will feel like. There is a list of reasons why this day is to be celebrated.
I am a Pastor’s wife who was caught in adultery. After my affair was announced publicly I made a deal with my Bible:
I would read diligently, study regularly, and memorize its passages consistently. I would ponder on the wanderings of the children of Israel and the mishaps of the multiple Kings. I would take special notice of the failure of King David and the purpose of Queen Esther. I would sit at the feet of Jesus, witness the resurrection, and follow Paul into the prisons. The only thing I asked in return from my bulky, leather bound friend was to guard and shield me from ever again having to read about the Proverbs 31 Woman.
Prior to my public moral failure, I found no offense in reading of her ways. I wasn’t crazy about the busyness of her days, but I understood the list of her attributes to be a call for women strive for a life of valor. In the summer of 2012 when I read the blog post, Women of Valor by Rachel Held Evens, I shouted–“eshet chayil”! I hoped that somewhere in the 21 verse poem there was room for me.
Then I allowed my sinful desires to take control of my life and lead me down the path of destruction.
Proverbs 31 speaks of a wife who is honorable. It speaks of a husband who is blessedby her. Her husband has full confidence in her, because she brings good into his life. She is not burdened with self-inflicted shame, has no fears for her future, and has the ability to provide wisdom to others:
“A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.
…She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.”
This is only a partial segment of a likeness that was now and forevermore out of my reach. Reading it was downright frightening. I found it easier to relate to the woman described in John 8:
At dawn he { Jesus } appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him,and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women.Now what do you say?”
I don’t know what clothing the woman in John 8 was wearing when she was brought before the church leaders. I’ve tried to imagine her. I believe she is clothed in shame. I see her messy hair and her bare feet. Even though her ragged clothing covers her body–she pulls at the neckline of her dress in an attempt to cover her self-perceived nakedness. She looks down at her guilty hands and wonders if these are to be her last moments on earth. She is not laughing at the days to come.
There is a vast difference between a woman who is worth far more than rubies and a woman people would like to stone.
I understood the difference, so I made the deal with my Bible. I would glean all that I could from any of the other Bible passages, and I would let the women who had earned the right to be clothed in strength and dignity wear those clothes.
And time passed…
It was a warm summer evening when I gathered with some ladies for a farewell party. The hostess had purposed a craft for us to work on together while we sipped pink cocktails and nibbled on caloric finger-foods. We were making truth-cards. These were small works of art we would be able to refer back to when future days were long and daunting.
It was on this evening my daughter honored me by presenting me with a truth-card constructed with the words, “elle est forte”. She translated the words, “she is strong” and went on to say how much strength she saw in me. On the back she wrote words of love and grace. I was honored deeply.
The moment moved me to tears. This was my adult, married daughter to whom I had lied. The young woman whose father I had betrayed. My example of how to be a godly woman and wife had been trashed before her very eyes in a public venue. My greatest failure was announced to my church coworkers–who happened to be her closest friends. My worst nightmares of how I might one day disappoint my daughter did not compare with what had actually happened. There was no other woman in the world that I would have wanted to honor me publicly.
And more time passed…
Months later, of all the truth-cards that were given to me that evening, the one from my daughter stood out.
The giver. The message. The poetic nature.
I decided to commission a jewelry designer to fashion the phrase into a necklace. I wanted to own this message and make a declaration. Ihad been weak when I was dragged away and enticed by my own evil desires, but I amstrong when I am humbled in a heap at the feet of the Lord. To be strong in Christ is our greatest strength, and to own it fiercely is a passageway to life abundant.
I ordered my custom necklace from Be Well Threads. The online shop’s owner isn’t merely a crafting entrepreneur, she is a woman of Ministry. She is living a life of valor. She knows my story, was among those to whom I lied, and still chose to respond with grace and mercy.
It was a short time later, I first saw my necklace online. My jewelry designer posted a picture of the new creation on Facebook and Instagram. She tagged me in each post, and my anticipation for it’s arrival increased. I couldn’t wait to wear and declare my strength!
The day the necklace arrived was the day a woman caught in adultery came face to face with the Proverbs 31 woman. You see, included in the packaging was a note of encouragement from the designer, and on the inside of the card she had inscribed the words found in Proverbs 31:25.
“She is clothed with strength and dignity; and laughs without fear of the future.”
I was dumbfounded. Why on earth would this woman, who clearly knew my failings, use this verse? My inquisitive nature kicked in and I referred to Google. What was the root of this, “Elle est Forte”?
Click this picture to connect to Etsy where you can order Elle est Forte clothing from “She is Clothing”
What I didn’t realize when I ordered the necklace was our culture’s current connection of the French term, “Elle est forte” to Proverbs 31:25. Several designers have been fashioning graphics using the term in direct correlation to the Bible verse. I was completely shocked. Had I known prior to ordering that the term “Elle est forte” was associated with the one book I was attempting to avoid, I would have never requested the necklace be made.
I called my daughter and asked her if she was aware of the connection of term “Elle est forte” to the Proverbs 31 Woman.
Now, if you have had the blessing of raising a daughter through the teen years and into adulthood, you will relate when I say I could hear my daughter’s “eye-rolling”. With a soft, “yes, Mom” she confirmed that she was fully aware of the connection between the two.
My daughter had known she was referring to Proverbs 31 when she had publicly called me “Elle est forte”. My jewelry designer had known she was declaring Proverbs 31 when she tagged me in a posted picture of the necklace on Facebook. However, if it hadn’t been for the inscription on the card that came with my necklace, I still may not have connected the dots.
The whole incident left me very confused.
How was it that my daughter was not seeing that I could no longer be called a Proverbs 31 Woman?
Didn’t she see the hypocrisy in my claiming label to anything associated with Proverbs 31?
If I lay claim to anything associated with a wife of noble character, will God consider it a mockery?
The deal I had made with my Bible was broken. It was time for the two of us to spend some time dealing with this new development. I was going to have to pour into Proverbs 31:10-31 and unpack its meaning.
I believed there were secrets hidden in this ancient poem. Secrets the Lord planted there so that His word would draw all of mankind toward him. Even those who hadn’t earned that right.
Silently, I prayed for God to show me how I could hear His word with the knowledge of my depraved behavior.
As I prayed, I felt God ask me, “Jackie, how would you have me share this verse with the Woman from John 8? How would you have me give these words to her? I am God, and I inspired these words long before that day in the Temple Courts. Do you not think I thought of her when these words were penned?”
I heard the Lord clearly. If I didn’t have a belief in these words for myself, perhaps I could discover truth in God’s words for her sake. If I were standing in the Temple Courts on the day she was nearly stoned for her sin, and I saw her brokenness, how would I relate these words to her in a way that she might feel closer to God–and not further away from Him?
When it came to the history of the Woman from John 8 there seemed to be very little recorded. It was almost as if the Lord intended her to be anonymous enough that she could be any of us. I spent the afternoon reading and researching, but nothing I came up with was giving me a clue as to how these verses could help her in an attempt to lead a life claiming, “eshet chayil”! It made me wonder if her history had little to do with her future. Perhaps the day she was caught in adultery was to be the biggest blessing in her life–her ticket to a life lived with valor.
I opened my journal and wrote a letter to this woman who had avoided the stones:
My sister,
On your own, you will never be a wife of noble character, have a worth exceeding rubies, garnish your husband’s full confidence, wear strength or dignity, laugh at what is coming, or speak wisdom and instruction. No, you alone, will never be those things. They cannot exist in you alone.
These verses aren’t for one woman to achieve in herself. God gave these words to draw out the most perfect attributes of His church. God gave these verses to encourage and instruct His people in their quest to be His noble wife. We are not called as individuals to become a Proverbs 31 Woman, we are called as a body to become the Bride of Christ. These are the words we achieve for one another as a body.
The day you sat in the dirt waiting for the first stone to come at you, you were far from being a noble wife. In your eyes. But in the eyes of Christ, there was a nobility coming that would be bought through His suffering. He knew this, so he made a call for grace.
His blood would soon make you noble.
In that moment the men dropped their stones against you, and as they did this they were not only clothing themselves with strength and dignity, they were on the path to clothing you with strength and dignity.
Stones dropped to the ground were clothing you with strength.
When you left the Temple Courts dirty and ashamed, your future looked bleak. The days ahead held uncertainty. It was in those days that other believers surrounded you, loved on you, and laughed at the days ahead for you.
When you couldn’t believe and find laughter, others believed for you.
A life of valor comes to us when we envision a life of valor for someone who cannot see it in themselves, and I believe in all these things for you, Woman of John 8.
Proverbs 31 is a call for the church to be honorable. It speaks of a God who is blessedby her. God has full confidence in her, because she brings good into the life of His children. He does not want her to be burdened with self-inflicted shame.
To be strong in Christ for another is our greatest strength, and to own it fiercely for someone who is struggling is a passageway to life abundant.
…She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.”
My husband is graduating today from Van Guard University with his Master’s Degree in Leadership/Spiritual Formation. As I dressed for the occasion, I felt insecure in my wardrobe choices. I have a smaller income than I did a few months ago, thus I have been much more diligent with how I use my expendable cash. I was going to have to put together an outfit with the items on hand. This isn’t a hard task, but it is an adjustment to the way I had been living just a few months ago.
Before we left for the commencement ceremony, we made a stop at the local IHOP for some bacon and eggs. After finishing our meal, I stood from the table and made my way across the room. With each step I was second guessing my outfit choice for the day. I was wondering if I should have chose something that was more fashionable, or foregone the boots and went with sandals. I lifted my head and saw a group of women across the room–five beautiful, stylish African American women sitting in a booth–laughing and talking. At that precise moment I saw one of the women was looking at me, and I could read her lips as she mouthed a comment to her friend, “That’s cute…” she said. Her friend turned her face towards me and looked at me. I caught her look and smiled at her. She returned a lovely smile.
I walked on, but stopped at the cash register alongside my husband. As I stood there, I heard it. A voice seemed to whisper, “Be her.”
Feelings came over me: courage, fear, truth, goodness, change. Love.
Could I be a woman that lives in the moment of desire? Not sinful desires, but desires that are pleasing and passionate for the kind of world in which I want to exist. Could I master strength inside of me that produces goodness in the world, not ugliness?
I walked back to the table and stood before the five beautiful women. They stopped talking and looked up at me. Clearly, this was a socially awkward moment. My voice seemed as if it may betray me, but I pushed through and spoke. I told them that I had been feeling very insecure about my outfit, and I relayed to them that I had seen the exchange between the two ladies. As I retold the moment from my perspective, I shared with them that I was feeling insecure about myself, and I told them how they, while being strangers had affirmed me and made me feel better. My voice cracked, and tears began to well up, as I went on to tell them, “I have just been through some of the darkest months of my life, and your small act just blessed me so much that I had to tell you thank you.” The group began to exude sweetness and enthusiasm. I don’t mean this in any way that is disrespectful, but certain cultures are less reserved in shouting praises to the Lord, and in this moment–in the corner booth at the local IHOP–these ladies sounded like a Southern Baptist church in the midst of celebration. “Praise the Lord!” “God bless you, sweetie!” “What a blessing you are!”
And, with that, I turned and walked away. I don’t know these ladies, and I will most likely never see them again, but today they touched me and encouraged me. I can only hope that because I was a little weird in my response, they remember this morning at IHOP and will continue to bless strangers. Perhaps with blessing upon blessing insecurities will fade.
He said he would be her friend.
I didn’t plan on posting on the blog this week.
Tomorrow is the day of our Twenty-Seventh Wedding Anniversary. For 10 months I’ve wondered what this day will feel like. There has been a list of reasons why this day was to be dreaded.
Here’s the thing. Not one good thing on the list makes the whole of our marriage anymore than any one failure makes the whole of our marriage. To survive this horribly-hard-year we are reliant on grace. To survive any marriage, the players are reliant on grace. A wedding anniversary is a day to celebrate a series of days where two people were successful at treating one another with more grace than either one deserved. This year we are celebrating twenty-seven years of failures and successes. Neither being more significant than the other. Our failures have worked their own good, in the same way that our successes have been stumbling blocks.
Jackie Sill 