God Hates Divorce. I get it. Read a new verse, already!

The kitchen table. That’s where it happened. Isn’t that where it always happens? Where the walls come down? Where the truth comes spilling out? Where the tears and the sweet tea and the barbeque all run together?


In the south, we gather around the table. We do kitchen-table talk. People make fun of my Mother because she tends to over-do. But that’s what Southern hostesses do….they over-do. If you are invited to my Mother’s house for dinner, there will be a seat for you. At the table. We don’t do couches. We sure as heck don’t pick up drinks and mingle. We sit. We eat. We talk. There may be 4; there may be 44, but you will have a place. Some see it as fussy. Some see it as controlling. I know it as welcoming. She wants you to have a place; your own special place around the kitchen table. And she’ll do whatever it takes….which usually includes sending my Daddy to raid the fellowship hall at the Methodist Church.

And she did just that (raid fellowship hall, I mean) for a family gathering in honor and memory of my Aunt Ann. I hadn’t planned to attend. I couldn’t. I was already in Arkansas and I had to bring Coulter and Emma Claire back to Fremont, per my agreement. There was the 12 hour drive; a birthday party; a a baseball game; and….well, you see, I couldn’t go.

And then, in a moment, I could. And I did.

I brought my kiddos back to Nebraska. I assembled a basketball hoop. I celebrated, bunkin’-party style, my 7 year old’s birthday. I un-packed. I re-packed. I gassed up. I bought chocolate. I drove back home. (And I may or may not have used the kid’s DVD player to watch Footloose, and I may or may not have shaved 2 hours off the trip.)

And we were all there. The 1st time in almost 40 years; 16 cousins spanning 20 years; all gathered around the kitchen table. We shared our stories; our memories; our hearts. Over food, of course, I mean this is the South.
It happened slowly at first. One cousin asked. Another joined in to listen. We moved from mourning the dead to caring for the living. I answered her quietly at first. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Humiliated. Slowly, I realized I was talking to several cousins, then all of the cousins. Then my aunt Betty, oxygen tubes carrying life to her lungs, sang out, “Yes! Please talk to us! Your mom won’t tell us a damn thing!”

Laughter. Tears.

Before long I was sharing my story. And they were listening. Do you know, can you believe, that in this family of mine, no-one told me that God hates divorce. (DUH!) No-one asked me if we wanted to try counseling (DUH!) No-one told me that divorce is hard on children. (DUH!) No-one told me about God’s laws and what happens when we break them. (Hel-lo! Anybody heard of Jesus!) No-one said anything. They just listened. To my story.

My story.

We’re always told that there are two sides to every story, but that’s not true. There’s only your side. There’s only my side. In this moment, surround by family, no-one gave a shit (ake mushroom) about his story. It’s only my story.

Someone posted a picture on facebook recently that read:

What’s the difference between a Midwestern fairytale and a Southern fairytale?

A Midwestern fairy tale starts with, “Once upon a time.”

A Southern fairytale starts with, “Y’all aint gonna believe this shit! “

And that’s what this felt like.

"Gather round friends; gather round family ‘cause, Y’all aint gonna believe this shit."

I am getting divorced. There. I said it.

I am a Christian. God hates divorce. I get it. Please don’t feel as though you need to remind me. You won’t be the first. Divorce is hard on kids. Divorce is devastating. Yep, I got it. I see it. I live it. I know it. Divorce sucks the joy and the energy and the trust and the memories and it stomps all over your life. God hates divorce? Yeah, well so do l. Look up a new verse, already.

I was recently reminded (and not the nicest of ways) that, given the divorce rate, I’m not exactly the only one going through this. The meta-message? No big deal. You’re nothing special. Get up. Get over it. Move on. Suck. It. Up.

Thank you. I will try.

The truth? This is no fairytale. (I mean if it is, the storyline sucks!) But that’s ok. In a post-Eve world, a lot of things suck, but as Christians, we know how the story ends. And regardless of what today looked like (and I’ll just tell you…it looked ugly), I know there is a happy ending. That’s a promise of God.

Jesus is enough. Jesus is bigger than divorce and while I am devastated, I know that my children need Jesus even more than they need married parents. (Thanks to my dear friend for the reminder!) Beauty from ashes. God can redeem even this.

And finally, a little note to the Pharisees; a little advice to the judgers and the blamers and the gossips. Pick up your Bible. Re-read it. Jesus came. Jesus died. Jesus rose. And then he sat.

It is finished.