I am a fledgling sabbath-keeper. Though I’ve written a book about it, embraced my 52 chances per year to practice it, and have even preached it, I am a less-than-perfect sabbatarian. And that’s OK. But Americans think we have to be the best at everything. As my friend Rev. Elizabeth Hagan writes, “I’m a better […]
I’m divorced. Well, not really. I’m now married. Happily, with five kids. But I have been divorced, or, more appropriately, have gone through a divorce. There’s a difference.
The past does not define us. Divorce, in particular, is not a label.
Many Christians disagree. Many Christians deem divorce the mark of death, the breaking of God’s covenant, the dreaded scarlet letter. It’s one of those ‘sins’ that is given greater weight than others – like, you know, killing people, being gay, having loads of premarital sex – and, likewise, damns those who go through it to raw ditch pits and hellfire.
My clients were concerned. When they couldn’t reach me, they called first my wife, and then the hotel. I was lying on my back, unconscious, covered in vomit, when the police and EMT’s found me. They thought it was a murder scene. Vomit covered the bed and the floor. It had projected up the wall behind me, and coated a massive picture that hung over the bed. Apparently the pink Benadryl pills, along with the tens of thousands of milligrams of other medication I took, created the effect of blood. I had been unconscious for a solid ten hours by then.
*Trigger Warning: This story contains graphic details of child molestation.* To be a christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God forgave the inexcusable in you. -C.S. Lewis I was twelve when my dad left my mom. To be honest, I really don’t remember what life was like before the divorce. I don’t remember the […]