tale (tāl) – a series of events or facts told or presented
This story is my own. Here goes.
The first month of being divorced was very much like being thrust into the blackest night. Except, for me, it wasn’t being thrust so much as it was willingly walking out into the darkness. I was the one who left.
Then, my relationship with God was very much akin to the chorus of that Regina Spektor song:
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re about to choke
Well I was not laughing anymore. My heart was broken and it was I who did the breaking.
More than anything I just wanted someone to understand. Yes, I left my marriage but I didn’t get married with the intention of ever getting divorced. And while I wanted to leave and I didn’t regret my decision, I also didn’t mean to hurt anyone or cause such inward brokenness. I didn’t mean for any of it to ever happen. I was like a child carelessly, violently, blundering around in the dark breaking things simply because she could not see. Would someone, anyone, please, just turn on the light?
And, wonder of wonders, He did.
Even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.
Dear World, I wish you the brightest kind of night.