This is a story of God’s restoration of a marriage.
“Come, let’s return to the Lord.
For he has torn us,
and he will heal us;
he has wounded us,
and he will bind up our wounds.” – Hosea 6:1-2
I wasn't super familiar with the book of Hosea until after I had gone through every married person's nightmare. To be honest, I hadn't been familiar with most scripture until a couple years before the big confession. The Lord had been working in my heart in preparation for what He was bringing about in my husband, Steven. Especially over those couple of years.
First, a bit about myself. I've been a follower of Christ since I was four years old. I had two imperfect but intentional parents who did their best to show me with their actions rather than just words Who He is. I always knew these three things, without a doubt; God is good, the Bible is perfect, and Jesus is King of kings.
I grew up in and out of church settings, moving around a lot as a kid (one of the many perks of homeschooling). Church was never a place I felt I had to be in order to have a relationship with Christ. I never had solid community, but it was always fun to go and learn in a, "formal setting" here and there as I was growing up. My teen years were rather typical, sinful and rebellious, though I did try to pop in and out of church serving in youth ministry a couple times a year.
Fast forward to my early twenties, going to a sister church of Bethel in Sacramento, California. I was very led by emotion and feelings, but not rooted in the word. I knew Jesus was my King, loved worship, hated religion, and that was about it.
I met Steven at this particular church, and on our second date, we made a different kind of awkward confession to each other; we knew we were going to get married, and about nine months later, in 2009, we did.
Let's skip forward a bit more because I tend to give too much (though, I think seriously amazing) detail.
I became pregnant with our first daughter, Penny, in 2012. At this time, we were attending a local community college and unfortunately became heavily influenced by the unbiblical ideologies. I managed to hang onto my faith, maybe even becoming more deeply rooted out of pure stubbornness and annoyance. Steven, however, was slowly losing his faith and becoming more skeptical and negative in general.
I felt him growing even more distant over the next several years. I had a constant, literal ache deep inside my stomach that was almost indescribable. I felt so isolated. I had no community, and certainly no church family to confide in. I felt like a single mother over these years, as Steven was completely checked out and fiercely against any sort of accountability in his life. Especially that of godly men. I fumbled around, doing my best to, "lead."
I could never quite put my finger on what was going on, but I knew something was wrong. Surely, it had to be his long broken relationship with his father, or his porn addiction, or alcohol, or... all of it. I just knew that though I had a spiritual gift of discernment, I was blind to something in my own home and in my closest earthly person, my husband. It felt like it was killing me. There was no connection. I was just there. I was treated as a vessel. A convenience that was used and then neglected, enjoyed as a body but not honored as his wife.
All those years, I prayed, I cried, I threw in the towel, then picked it back up. I felt so crushed and desperately alone. I asked God, "why is this my life? This is not the man I married. What do you want me to do? I thought Steven loved You!" I wanted to stop praying. I seriously hated praying for him. I had enough of asking for good things for someone who couldn't even see me, and certainly not as an image bearer of God.
By 2017, we had made so much progress since moving to Texas two years earlier. We were regularly attending The Village Church, serving in Recovery and Steps groups and various other ministries. Things were seemingly, "right" yet, they weren't.
I still felt that awful gnawing pit.
There was definitely something amiss. I was grieved but didn't know why. At this time, the Lord was opening my eyes to my own sin, my own struggles, and softening me to the sins committed against me over the years by different people. He revealed the beauty of the blood of Jesus shed so that I could be redeemed and united with Him, which is the same grace given by God to all sinners who believe. He was leading me to truth in scripture, and healing me through His holy word.
God was doing a major work in me as I let go of my misplaced hope in the relationship that I had idolized, and placed it on my Perfect Father, as He did His work in the man He providentially gave me to love through our short time here on earth.
He knows precisely how and exactly when to work in His imperfect children to bring them mercifully to Himself.
Sunday, March 10th, 2019. This is the day Randy Fuller brought fire from the pulpit in way of imploring the church, "This is not a game. Stop playing games. Stop playing around with sin. Stop putting yourself in situations where you know temptation will come and you'll give in. STOP! PULL THAT SIN INTO THE LIGHT AND PUT A BULLET IN IT! "
These were the exact words the Holy Spirit used, in that instant, to convict my broken husband to confession and repentance of sin committed nearly seven years before, over a roughly three year period. He had sat in that unconfessed sin for years. It was eating him alive from the inside out, and had wreaked havoc on his soul.
We quietly drove home from church that afternoon with the girls, and little did I know the news that was to come. We were getting changed in our room, and he asked solemnly for me to sit down. I smirked because he's never that serious. I thought he was joking. It felt so formal.
I had not one reason to believe it was an affair.
As he poured out in tears every situation, each name of those involved, and the degree of how far things had gone with every one, I didn't cry, but felt a strange sense of relief. I felt validated. The pit was gone. I knew now that the pit I had felt was the Holy Spirit within me grieved all these years. He knew even if I didn't.
As I continued to listen to Steven, I asked him to stop because it was hard to understand him through the sobs. I've never seen him cry like that. As he looked up at me, I saw in his eyes a new person. He was free.
I felt a burning conviction to tell him right then that I forgave him. I did forgive him. He said, "but I didn't tell you everything yet" I said, "I'm glad you're telling me. I want you to keep telling me, but I need you to know before you continue that I forgive you for it all, and I love you. Okay?"
This certainly isn't to give myself any sort of pat on the back like I'm some sort of saintly creature. On the contrary, had it been anything but the Holy Spirit working in me, I would have told him to leave in a very unholy way. It would have been loud. I could have said many hurtful things, and I might actually have been justified. It was only by the grace and mercy of the Lord that I could truly forgive, because it was so fresh in my own mind and heart how radically undeserving of God's forgiveness I myself was and continue to be. Steven didn't deserve forgiveness for this devastating sin against me, his wife, but I don't deserve forgiveness for my continued horrific sin against a Holy God, either.
It felt amazing to know Satan was shut down in that moment. He may have had the chains of torment of unconfessed sin on my beloved all those years, glee in my suffering, satisfaction in watching our children wandering broken, and a desire that in Steven's confession, our family would be destroyed. However, with forgiveness given and both parties willing and eager to walk through reconciliation, Christ brutally crushed the schemes of the enemy that day, and reconciled our family at once, in that moment. It was the best day of my life. One hundred percent.
The following weeks and months the grief and anger came in brutal waves, but were met by my new husband who had been set free and could help bear the weight of the burden of grief that had been transferred onto me, give me space, pray with and for me, listen and truthfully respond when I asked hard questions, and took it graciously when I told him how this sin deeply hurt us. It was and still is hard at times, but God is so rich in mercy.
One of the biggest blessings from that season of grief was seeing the change in Steven. He had literally become a new creation, free of oppressive darkness and torment, with eyes that now shined so brightly with the love of Jesus it was hard to look at him without crying tears of joy. He looked back at me and actually saw me for the first time as his wife and fellow image bearer of our Father.
We now walk toward Him united, living to please Him first, and through that, serve one another with honor in covenant... only because of His continued good work of redemption for all of His people, from beginning to end.
I can look back now, on the other side of waiting, and see His work so masterfully, strategically, and perfectly done. I can rest in knowing that it was for our good, and His glory. He truly is sovereign, all-knowing, merciful, kind, consistent, and perfectly faithful. He redeems His bride, from beginning to end, over and over and over again, as she is woefully undeserving. His example is one to strive for, even as we hobble along in this life with our broken human nature.
Sanctification through suffering can feel like an endless journey, but His work is eternally good. Hold on to Him, especially as you are being made to lay down and wait as He does His perfect work.