Category Archives: Religion

Staying active in church post-divorce. Misconceptions in the church of those not familiar with divorce.

“The pupil dilates in darkness and in the end finds light, just as the soul dilates in misfortune and in the end finds God.”
–Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

How do we forgive?

See Elder Kevin R. Duncan’s, “The Healing Ointment of forgiveness.”

This morning I felt to open up the conference Ensign and flip through the pages until I felt to stop. My finger fell upon this article. What struck me most to me was the thought that I could be healed from the pain. What does it mean to be healed of the pain, and yet to remember? We hear often that we need to remember the past so we don’t repeat the mistakes. But how do we remember without feeling pain? Is that possible?!? How do you forgive someone when you are in the middle of the experience? Could Corrie ten Boom forgive her captors while she was in the concentration camp? Perhaps years later when feelings weren’t raw and she wasn’t in the midst of the cruel treatment?

Over recent months I’ve felt the need to forgive. But I don’t think my ex would even consider that she’d done anything that required someone to forgive her. Were I to tell her I forgive her, she would be confused. Is it still required to forgive in order to clear my plate, and create for me the freedom of her control over my feelings and thoughts.

Then my children come to visit and I’m reminded of the pain of having to say goodbye to my children when visiting hours are over. A continual reminder of her decision that broke up our family. How do I forgive with the offense is repeated weekly, or seems to be? Every child visit, every paycheck that has her fingers in it, every sorrow seems to be tied to her past decision.

Carl

Abraham

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

Beds

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Having been out of work for nine months when my wife asked me to leave our home, and having no income to hire a lawyer, and with my wife’s assurance our divorce was a “standard” divorce, I still felt uneasy signing the divorce papers, to say nothing of my wanting nothing to do with the divorce in the first place. I was ramrodded. I had learned over previous months that the more I pushed back concerning the divorce, the worse our relationship and everything became. So I pulled back in every way. I was submissive and hoping and praying that with the divorce being out of my control, my wife would calm down and reconsider. I was oblivious and in denial that it would actually go through. It was beyond my comprehension. But I signed, believe it or not still believing it was not really going to happen.

By the time the divorce was final two months later on October 18 I had a job. I was living rent-free in a condo (bless you, David!) and didn’t have a sense for what my expenses and financial life would be like in the long run. I was totally overwhelmed, and devastated emotionally and spiritually. I cannot describe my grief. (I attempt in other posts.) It would yet be several months until my dire financial situation would hit me … when I had to start paying rent. Other posts will perhaps describe this is more detail, but suffice it to say that the most I could pay for a place was $250 a month. How could I afford a place I could host my children on that? Would I stop paying my donations to the church? They had been such a blessing to me before. I knew I couldn’t. Staying with my parents didn’t cross my mind because they live a fair distance from my work and children. A few miracles happened to allow me to stay in a nicer place than $250 could afford, again another story. I subsisted for several years on next to nothing.

I felt the desire to seek mediation to relieve the burden. I talked with a lawyer-neighbor-friend and he felt I had a case to push my ex to come to mediation, even though our divorce decree stated we couldn’t seek adjustment to the decree unless one of our incomes became 10% higher or lower than at time of signing. I hired him, and several months later met my ex in mediation.

As part of the proceedings I asked for more time with our children. Seeing them only 114 hours a month out of 720 was heartbreaking and difficult. Understatement. (Unless you’ve been divorced, you likely can’t comprehend.) Yes, I even calculated the hours. It was unfair. Was I not as much a parent as my ex? In mediation I asked for joint custody. That was turned down. The mediator suggested to keep them one more evening when they came on the weekends, Sunday evening, and take them to school on Monday. My ex agreed.

At this time I was renting a bedroom in my friends’ home, where they were so gracious to let me sleep with my children on the family room floor in their basement when they came to visit.

Through the mediation the counter-requirement for me to be able to have them until Monday morning was that each of my four children must have their own beds. Thinking back on it, it was a silly request to prevent me from seeing them two nights more a month. Not surprisingly if you think seriously about it, the weekends they came and we camped out in sleeping bags on the basement floor every other weekend was such fun. It was a sleepover with five sleeping bags covering the living room floor, a camp-out of sorts. Breakfast and lunch were created and served on a card table in that same family room, or more commonly on a blanket on the floor picnic-style, with the sleeping bags rolled up and used as backrests. I shared the kitchen upstairs with the family when I didn’t have the children with me, but had a microwave and a small (very small) fridge in the basement. (The family I was renting a “room” from were and are angels. Literally. Renting a room, they let me take over their entire basement when the kids came.) My children and I would sit and chat until late. It was a bonding time that I needed desperately with the void of divorce. (Even if you are married with children, I recommend camping out on the living room floor as a family now and then!)

To think that having beds for my children would somehow make for a better or safer experience for my children, or make me a better father, in order to allow them to stay two extra nights a month now is nonsensical. It was nothing than a trick to keep me from having them those two extra nights a month.

By a “fluke” (no such thing in my mind–it was clearly the hand of God) a few weeks after mediation a couple in the neighborhood were moving and had two sets of bunk beds they were getting rid of. Did I want them?

And equally as miraculous, the wonderful family I was living with said I could put those up in their basement family room, and basically take over the family room as my own, even though I was paying $250 to rent only a room in their basement.

I had four bunk beds and a place for the kids to sleep (as if they didn’t have a place to sleep before). Now my children could stay with me into Monday morning.

A sad part of the story is that by now my ex had been encouraging the older two, now of age to be in the youth program of our church, to not attend church with me on Sundays. To have them “split their experience between two youth programs would be too difficult and confusing for them.” I had the distinct and clear impression to the contrary, that father is more important than friends and where they attended church, and more importantly, there is nothing more important a thing I could do than to worship with my children. Suffice it to say the older two of my four youngest no longer came to church with me at this time except on rare occasions like Fathers Day (another source of grief and sorrow). But I am happy to say that as my third later turned 12, my gentle encouragement and a few comments to my ex, have allowed her to continue to come to church with me.

And … my two youngest at least stay during the school year through Monday morning when I take them to school!

I wish I could put words to this story to convey the blessings of the Lord I feel in the events I describe. In spite of hardship, Words cannot describe the praise I have for my Savior in intervening in some indescribable way beyond the veil, to allow my children to stay those two extra nights a month. And to have four beds fall in my lap at the exact time I needed than and couldn’t afford them. And to live with a family that allowed me to rent their entire basement at the cost of a room.

Let me explain as best I can: If you think of the times in your family experience, what have some of the most truly important healing or bonding or touching times come with your children? Besides the big whoop-de-do vacations and the fun extravagant planned times, what do you count as the most cherished times when hearts were touched, tears were shed, feelings and testimonies were born, and peace reigned? Were not many of those times in the quiet evenings around the kitchen table sharing and talking, or tucking the children into bed, reading bedtime stories and sharing personal experiences and thoughts, laughing together? Not to say the one-evening-a-week with dad aren’t appreciated, but most of that time is fixing dinner, doing homework, then driving them back to Mom’s. Three to four hours passing too quickly. The long evenings into bed time are key. As a divorced father with four Friday and Saturday nights a month with his children, adding two more of those per month, now six out of 30 nights instead of just four, becomes more valuable than rubies or gold.

My prayers are with you,

Carl