Sent: Thursday, November 5, 2015 10:37 PM

Hi Tim,

I hope you’re doing OK. What an emotional time. And I’m sure it’s not ending soon. I pray there’s some way to save your marriage.

My sister, a wonderful but high-maintenance girl, is going through the same thing, preparing to divorce my dear brother-in-law, a wonderful man and saint. The battles are raging.

This evening is my weeknight with the kids. We had a wonderful time, and since they don’t have school tomorrow, I was lazy and enjoying them and got them to their mother’s 20 minutes late. I got a text message at 9:21 asking where they were. After 27 years of marriage and five years of divorce, I still feel like a puppy on a leash, with my dear wife controlling my time, my pocketbook, my thoughts, and everything I do. The nearest analogy I have for it is prison, where I am allowed visiting during certain hours and days. Even though my life is filled with much joy and spiritual experiences, the feelings I described undergird it all. I’m used to it, but it brings sadness at the loss of what was once a wonderful and loving family. I share this to give you the impetus to continue fighting. I sincerely hope there’s a ray of light for your marriage to stay intact.

Hang in there, dear brother. My prayers are with you.

[Bon Vivant]

And a followup a few days later when I got no response:

Hi, Tim.

You continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. Every day I’ve wondered how you’re doing.

I’ve been reading a book, one that I alluded to when we chatted at the church, called “Wild at heart : discovering the secret of a man’s soul.” It was recommended to me by a young father whose marriage was on the rocks a couple years ago. I’ve enjoyed it.

We can only change ourselves. I think you even mentioned this when we talked a year or so ago. Looking back into my marriage, I see things I gave up on trying, and she gave up on our marriage. I wish I could go back and try again. I thought I was humble. Certainly I was in the depths of despair, but that doesn’t means humble. Perhaps I could have saved our marriage. As we change ourselves in certain ways, our wives choose to change in relation to our changed actions … and hopefully not divorce us. It would have taken an immense amount of humbling on my part.

The book is not the best book I’ve read, but I’ve learned some important things from it, and as I read it over a several-week period, it was uncanny (meaning that the Spirit led me) how I read certain parts when I was experiencing something to relate it to in my personal life. Darren was impressed to share this with me at this time.

Women love to be fought for. That’s one of the concepts of the book. It sounds fairy tale-ish, but there is truth to it. I remember telling my wife during the throws and downward spiral toward separation that I didn’t think I could fight for her anymore. That was not good to say. After the previous grueling months of counseling and throwing our feelings at each other, I’m sure she heard that to mean that I didn’t love her anymore. That’s not what I meant. I was immature. Perhaps I was trying to be macho in my own way (since the Hollywood “macho” is not my style). As men we think it’s unmanly to fight for our woman. We think they should be begging us to take them, that they should be hanging on our arms as a trophy, instead of us having to pursue them. Perhaps if I had openly tried to win my wife’s heart in a real and loving sense, I could have done some real damage to the divorce process and stayed married.

Have you see the movie “Fireproof“? I want to watch it again. I watched it several times during our troubled time, and it touched me deeply. I wish I could have truly practiced what I felt it was teaching. I’m glad to lend it to you if you’d like.

I’m simply trying to say that there is no pancake so thin that it doesn’t have two sides. All you and I can do is work on our side, like I said at the start. But it’s attached to the other so what we do on our side can affect the other. Looking back, I was being affected as much by Satan and his luring minions as Michelle was. Anther book I read at the time, that affected me deeply, is “Crucial Conversations.” It’s premise is that we do wonderfully at 95% of our conversations. But those remaining 5%? Those that are crucial, high-stakes, highly emotional conversations? We easily fail at those. But as we learn to bring safety to those conversations, we can succeed. I recommend that book, too.

Would love to hear how you’re doing.

Carl