When God wants to unpack your failed marriages

Today, God has led me to walk through the steps of my healing journey.

Identify the specific areas where healing has not been fully achieved.

Identify the feelings.

Identify the thoughts behind the feelings.

Sit here

Process

What is it saying to you?

Got it,

Father. Where should I start? Because as You and I both know, there are so many little nooks and crannies in there.

So, I sit. I wait. I listen.

“What about your divorces? Your failed marriages?”

Oh—so we’re going straight there? Not just one, but the fact that there was multiple. And You’re pointing out the word “failed”?

“Well God, this is a blog. I’m not writing the next manuscript of War and Peace.”And honestly, that’s exactly what those relationships would turn into.

God said, “Let’s start with how it makes you feel to hear the words failed marriage.”

Wow. That part.

Okay… it makes me feel like I did something wrong.

It makes me feel abandoned.

It makes me feel angry, bitter, taken advantage of

It makes me feel inadequate, unworthy, unlovable, unappreciated

It leaves me with regret.

I have replayed the scenarios from my last marriage over and over again. Let's start with that one.

I have pulled apart my actions, his actions, the people involved—my reactions, my missteps, his missteps, my wrongs, his wrongs.

I even look around at the couples we started out with. I think about all the trauma, infidelity, abuse, miscommunication they endured—and yet they’re still together. Celebrating silver and gold anniversaries.

Twenty, thirty, forty years. They withstood everything. Forsook everything. Their children did not become products of the dreaded stains of divorce.

Why couldn’t we?

Maybe if I had tried harder. Gone to one more counseling session. Forgiven sooner. Changed earlier. Listened more intently. Maybe things weren’t as out-of-control as they felt.

Maybe if I hadn’t argued back so much. Maybe if he had gotten treatment. Maybe if money wasn't an issue, maybe if he had a male role model.

Maybe if I wasn’t so strong: Maybe if he wasn’t so weak

Maybe if I cooked more.

Maybe if I lost the weight sooner so I felt more attractive—maybe he wouldn’t have cheated.

Maybe if I spoke my truth softly instead of screaming in defense.

But then… I remember.

How could we have known what to do? Where was our model? What was our definition of a healthy relationship?

We were two broken vessels.

We didn’t come with a little bit of baggage—we came with suitcases, overnight bags, duffle bags, purses, and pockets full of wounds we’d acquired since the womb, dragging all of it straight into “I do.”

Nobody told us to work some of that mess out before we said yes to forever. All we knew was how good it felt in the beginning. We loved hard at first, and come hell or high water, we were determined to tread through the sewage together.

Truth is, we didn’t even recognize it as sewage. It was just, “I love you, you love me, let’s get married.”

Next step: Tell all the friends and family. Get excited. Plan the most beautiful celebration—even if it means going broke—just to show the world how great our love was.

Yes, we had a month or so of premarital counseling, but it was surface-level. And we were still caught up in the abyss of joy—thinking about gowns, bachelor parties, honeymoons—completely unaware of the signs of the impending storm.

Everything was magnificent.

We celebrated, danced, partied, drank.

Our family and friends were so happy.

We were so happy. It was everything we imagined.

And then, after all the fanfare, the goosebumps, the ahhing over gifts, and basking in memories

—two very broken people lay face-to-face wondering what the hell to do next.

One of us sought advice—trying to be something we had never seen modeled. The other didn’t feel the need to be anything other than what they had always been. Eventually, the tides collided.

At first, it’s petty things—the toilet seat, the closet space, what’s appropriate to wear, what time married people should come home.

Then things get bigger—how to parent, where to live, how to live, what not to do.

Then communication breaks down. Disagreements become arguments, arguments become screaming matches, screaming matches lead to sleeping on the couch—or not sleeping at home at all.

Suddenly everything they do annoys you. You even despise the way they chew. Intimacy becomes a weapon. You don’t want to be close anymore.

And then, God…a molehill becomes a mountain until you don’t recognize the person you once felt you couldn’t breathe without.

Even when you decide to walk away, there is a void—a grieving you do silently and alone. You blame yourself.

And when you’re apart, your memory becomes selective. You remember their best parts. A song makes you ache for their touch. You see two lovers holding hands, and tears fall. You think, “It wasn’t that bad. It was my fault. If I do better, we can fix this.”

So you forgive and forget—but you never repair or heal individually or collectively. And even when you try again, you are quickly reminded of why you fell apart in the first place.

Because renewal can never happen without a shared agreement to authentically transform—by seeking direction from the One who created you both.

Whew. That’s a lot for today, Daddy. I need to process all of that.

“Let’s pick up again next time.”

Well done, daughter.

What was well done, God?, this sounds like some mess

"You understood the assignment; we can work from here"

Thank you, Father, only you see beauty in ashes.