Give Me A Sign

“Some of you are feeling pretty low right now but believe me you will feel a lot better in six weeks.”

I heard him loud and clear. I wanted this six-week Divorce Recovery Workshop at my church to be over now so I could feel better. The instructor was right about one thing. I was feeling lower than a reptile slithering in the mud. I hoped he was right about feeling better in six weeks. All I could do now was hold onto that hope.

My marriage of seven years wasn’t officially over yet but it had ended a long time ago. Drugs and alcohol had taken their toll. I had been the one to sober up first but all I got for my effort was more verbal abuse from a husband that blamed everything on me,. He continued to medicate himself while I felt a constant ache of loneliness and the pain from the yelling and nightly name calling. There seemed to be no end. Somebody had to end this madness. I moved out and filed for divorce.

I told all this to my Divorce Recovery small group. Each person in the group got to share their situation. We all listened to each other with compassion. I felt particularly sorry for the gals with young children. At least I didn’t have that problem. A childhood disease had left me barren. I didn’t think I could ever feel good about that but I was thankful now that I didn’t have to go through this with a child too.

The group and our facilitator became my support base for the next several weeks. We helped each other deal with the grieving over the loss of an intimate relationship and to focus on what we had to do to become a whole person again. That meant we had to let go of the anger and the blame in order to begin the healing process. The group was there for me the night my divorce became official by court order. I was glad to be with them and not alone in my apartment.

The instructor was right. I did feel better on “graduation night” from the workshop and there were plenty of tears and hugs and brownies. Our group exchanged phone numbers before leaving. The high I felt at the end of the workshop came crashing down a week later when I lost my high salaried marketing position. The corporation just eliminated the entire department.

I was devastated. During all the trials of the divorce I had poured myself into the job and had relied on the steady income to keep me independent. Now what would I do? How would I keep the apartment once the severance pay ran out? I went into depression. It got worse as the weeks went by and I couldn’t find another position within the corporation or a like paying job in the city.

I was at or nearing the bottom of my depression pit when a friend from the divorce group called. She asked me how I was doing and I told her. She invited me to he son’s sixth birthday party that afternoon and I at first declined. But she insisted and I thought maybe it would cheer me up, so I said yes.

The party was outside in the yard. It was a mistake to be there. The children playing and the mother’s talking about kids and families depressed me more. When they were occupied with a pin the tail on the donkey game I slipped into the house. I wandered into the living room and all of a sudden the tears gushed out and I was shaking uncontrollably. I cried out to the Lord. With my head bowed and my hand gripping the fireplace mantle I said, “Lord are you there? Let me know. Give me a sign or something that I can know you can hear me… that I matter.”

The tears subsided and the shakes stopped. I lifted my head slowly and there in front of me above the mantle I saw through moist eyes a framed copy of “Footprints.”

“Call on Me in your day of trouble and I will deliver you and you will give me the glory.”
(Psalm 50:15)

Mary Beth Darling
San Francisco, California