Who are we following anyway?
I sit down at the dinner table at my brother’s house, my cornucopian paper plate of Thanksgiving abundance before me. Across the table, I look past my daughter at the painting behind her. For a brief moment, my stomach spikes, and then I tell myself “it’s just a picture” and I turn to my niece to begin a polite conversation.
But that picture remains in my peripheral vision, whispering to look back like Lot’s Wife.
* * *
Nine years earlier, it was to be my last anniversary with my husband. But at the time, I had decided to give us another chance and had torn up the divorce papers. I had a semi-regular tradition of presenting my husband with a large, framed print for our anniversary. Instead of my usual knight and princess painting, I presented him with “O Jerusalem,” a very lifelike 33x46 inch print by Greg Olsen in an ornate gold frame. Jesus is on a hilltop overlooking the city at dawn, the scripture reference Matthew 23:37 O Jerusalem, Jerusalem…how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings…
My husband had proudly hung it over the fireplace mantle as we privately renewed our vows a few days after Christmas that year. We were restored, with Christ watching over us like a hen watching over her chickens. But it did not stay like that, as the last part of the verse on the mantle forgot to add: and you would not.
Would not… not repent, not return, not obey…not join the other chickens. The other chickens didn’t play well. I tried to stay with the Hen as long as I could. But eventually, the chickens made it unbearable. And Hen wasn’t able to protect me from that pain.
After I re-filed for divorce that spring, I let my ex take the prints of the knight and the lady, but I chose to keep Christ on the mantle. I also kept on my walls the picture of Christ surrounded by little children. And the one of Him at the knobless door knocking. And the Footprints poem. And the one of Him with my favorite scripture from John 14:27 Peace I leave with you...
I continued to go to church. Sometimes my kids joined me. Sometimes they did not. When I first went alone, they were often visiting their dad and going with him and his parents to their congregation. But then he stopped going and chose atheism. And I kept going. But I quit bringing my kids because they fought me over it, and I felt that peace in my home was more important than forced obedience.
Then I was gossiped about. I was shunned in public. Women who were once friends pretended not to see me when I’d call out their name in the grocery store or sit next to them in the chiropractor’s office. I was judged because I had initiated the divorce. I was judged because I didn’t force my kids to go to church. I was judged for being a dance instructor that taught 2-step in bars. I was judged for things I did and things I didn’t do. I was denied support by the community that I had trusted would be there for me.
And I was even judged by my siblings for destroying my family and abandoning a poor righteous man. The Thanksgiving after our separation, I went to my brother’s house and discovered my ex-husband and his parents there too, even though they weren’t speaking to me. My kids were excited by the surprise and forgot that I was there. I sat at the table alone while my brother and ex-father-in-law exchanged spiritual experiences, the younger teaching seminary to teens and the elder officiating in the temple. My brother’s home was adorned with portraits of Christ and other hallmarks of discipleship. No one talked to me. I felt betrayed and forsaken.
I dated another man after the divorce. After 4 years, I decided he was never going to claim me, and I finally broke up with him. At the same time, I gave in to my oldest son whose allegiance was with his dad; I let him move in with his father at age 17. On that day, I gathered my kids together on the couch, that picture of Christ looking down at us from the mantle. I told my son that I wanted him to stay with us, but he was free to leave if that’s what he chose. He was welcome to return any time he wanted. But he would not.
The following verse Matthew 23:38 foretold of the result of Jerusalem’s rejection: Behold, your house is left unto you desolate. I had not left Christ, yet His people had forsaken me. I was not like Job; I would not sit by, continuing to be judged by Christians. I stood by the Hen long enough and this little chick had been left desolate.
I changed my name. I left the church. I removed evidence of Christianity from my home. I took down O Jerusalem from the mantle and offered it to my brother. He gladly added it to his collection. While I grieved my losses, the relief was far greater.
Thanksgiving 2018 was the day I let go of all those who wouldn’t accept me. But I knew from whence I came. The Footprints poem got it wrong; I never had to be carried because divinity always walked beside me. There was no Savior on a hilltop overlooking His People; His Spirit was always there even when his people rejected me.
* * *
Now it's Thanksgiving 2023. As I look up at that picture on my brother's wall, I wonder: Am I the only one that notices how desolate this full house feels? Or how “off” the atmosphere tastes without salt? O Jerusalem, Jerusalem…who needs Jerusalem? I will not be gathered with the rest of the chickens. I let the little bubble of rage pop silently within me, melting into rivulets of grief, joy, sorrow, and gratitude, reciting in my mind the verse that never left me:
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. John 14:27
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