A number of months ago I was reminiscing about the time since I’d been divorced. “Reminisce” is the wrong word. That makes it sound like I was dreaming about the good ol’ days. “Day dreaming?” Ha! I don’t think so. “Having a nightmare?” No. ☺ But I was wondering what I’d learned and where I was compared to where I began at the time of separation from my wife.

I wonder if this will be hard to hear or believe: I confessed to myself that I’d actually progressed. I’m not saying separation and divorce was good, nor right, nor that I thought it should have happened and that my wife was right in seeking divorce. But just like the stone in the riverbed, rolling and rubbing against other stones and sand over dozens of years, it becomes smooth and beautiful. I know that if I will let them, hard times make me a better man. (I don’t want women who might be reading this to think divorce is OK because it makes men better, especially considering the negative effects on innocent children caught in the middle!) But aside from the evils of divorce in most cases, or whatever the hardship, these times can make us better men … if we will let them.

Something during that time of “reminiscing” over a week-or-so period led me to consider and ponder Abraham. The comparison is not perfect, because Abraham’s test was given to him by the Lord, carefully crafted to see if he would remain faithful to the word of God that came to him, to sacrifice his son. But it’s terribly close. And regardless of the source of the test, from God or brought upon us by the choice of others, how we respond to the test proves our mettle.

Personally I was far from perfect during that time. And I still am. I am a failure. And I failed continually. I have at many times been angry, lost, inconsolable, and a dozen other unmentionable adjectives, each of which my Father in Heaven was not pleased with. But I tried. As Maria in The Sound of Music said, “Perhaps I had a wicked childhood, perhaps I had a miserable youth, but somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, …I must have done something good.” Something in my past, in my upbringing by “goodly parents,” told me that I would be happier in the long run if I remained faithful to the truths of the gospel that I’d been taught.

I cannot describe the difficulties and awkwardness of that time. I had made a commitment to my Father in Heaven to remain active in the church, regardless of the embarrassment or what I thought others might think. Ours is a family religion, and although it’s quite acceptable to be a single woman, that’s from from so for single men. This time was I dare say the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. Being a somewhat quiet person anyway, I decided to go to every function that I’d have gone to as a married man: Sunday church, all my meetings, church parties, wedding receptions (that’s one of the toughest!!), church cleaning, welfare assignments, home teaching, whatever came up. I got numerous awkward interactions and odd looks, blank stares, and conversations that were worse than a first blind date. But I kept in the back of my head that I was doing all of this solely for me and my relationship with my Father in Heaven. (All of those that had awkwardness being around me had their own issues to deal with, and as long as I was cordial and saintly, well, at least as best I could be, perhaps I’d be a catalyst to help them learn to overcome their issues with single men, to help them repent so to speak, although that’s only a thought I have now in hindsight, not something I could consider then.)

And beyond the awkwardness, the pain of being removed from my children, well, you all know what that’s like. Words can’t describe being separated from those you love and for whom God planted in your heart a natural instinct and desire to protect and provide for. My wife and I lost a child at birth, and the two years following until our next child was born were some of the darkest and hardest. But to be teased and taunted week after week with short visits and then long separations from my children, I’ve thought more than once that either I’d rather give up and not see my children anymore, or kidnap them. But I knew in my heart that neither would be good for the children, just a selfish desire on my part.

OK, so back to Abraham. I believe that for those of us in this life that profess to love God, we will have an Abrahamic experience. And the difficulty of that experience will be commensurate to our faith and trust in God. The more trust and faith in God we have, the more difficult the experience we will be presented. And, we will have repeated experiences, some small, some larger, to test our commitment along our mortal path. Sometimes I wish I were a swearin’ man. Must life be this difficult! Yes, it’s part of the “test” of this life, a probationary period. Ha! Now there’s a nice analogy. I’ve often compared divorce to prison in regards to our separation from our children and wife. Are we all on probation in this life? That might be fun to try writing about sometime.

I find the similarity with Abraham’s and our experiences surprisingly similar in many respects. Both have to do with what we care for most, our families. And similarly, Abraham and we have sons removed from us, although not permanently. Ours is a painful week-after-week manner as we see them once or twice a week (whereas we used to seem them every night and tuck them into bed). Hmmm. At least Abraham got his son back. When do I get my sons (and daughters) back?

My heart goes out to Abraham. My heart goes out to you, my brothers.

Carl