Painful Revelations
Soon after I found the e-mail, my pastor and I met with
George to try to reconcile our marriage. Though our motives were good
and our approach gentle, my pastor and I were both naive about how
dramatically sexual sin—even cyber-sex—can twist a person’s thinking.
George repeatedly denied that there was another woman involved.
When I finally handed him a copy of the e-mail, he read it silently, his face flushing dark red.
“Oh, God, what have I done?” he cried, his face in his
hands. “I betrayed you; I wrecked our marriage….” His voice trailed
off into sobs, and I felt sure God was working. This was exactly what
I’d prayed for: brokenness, repentance, restoration.
George suddenly lifted his head and glared at us. “But I’m never coming back! I love her.”
This yo-yo pattern of brokenness-followed-by-belligerence
continued for the next six months. It was an unspeakably painful time
but, as my husband pulled away, God drew me closer to Himself.
After each new, cruel revelation of George’s
unfaithfulness, I would settle my son to play in the family room and
run upstairs, falling on my knees beside the bed. As I pleaded for God
to intervene, the pain would disappear—sometimes instantly—long enough
to allow me to catch my breath and absorb more strength from Him. He
never failed me.
After long periods of prayer and waiting on God, I was
convinced I had to remain open to forgiveness and reconciliation,
something I could do only by His power. So I didn’t object when George
came after work to eat dinner with Trevor and me. Many times we fell
back into our former pattern of long, intimate conversations in front
of the fireplace after Trevor was asleep.
During these conversations, I began to understand that an
e-mail sexual relationship can destroy far more than a marriage and a
home; it can destroy the very people involved. Until this time, I’d
felt sure that George’s leaving was caused by some lack in me. Many
women face this painful feeling of self-doubt, and since none of us is
a perfect mate, there are always some grounds for self-accusation. My
pastor, trying to help, had even counseled me to find out what the
other woman was giving George that I wasn’t providing.
However, what I saw during those after-dinner
conversations made me suspect that the real problem was not between
George and me, but between George and God. I saw a deviant side of my
husband now that unnerved me.
He swore openly and frequently used sexually crude
expressions. His demeanor toward, and conversation about, other women
now had sexual overtones. He admitted to frequenting bars regularly
and, for the first time ever, I saw him drunk. I couldn’t help
remembering how, at his urging, we’d prayed fervently together in Bible
college for one of his relatives who drank. Now he was the one who
needed prayer.
As bad as his behavior was, even worse was what he said
about God. Once an ardent student of theology, George had characterized
himself when we first met as “a man in love with Jesus Christ,” and
that love showed in everything he did. Now, he spoke bitterly of how
the church had “damaged” him. He insisted that he still believed in God
but that most of what we’d been taught about Him was wrong.
I continued to learn new details about George’s
long-distance affair. From the other woman’s jilted husband, I got a
more complete picture of my husband’s obsessive e-mail and phone sexual
relationship.
When my pastor and I had confronted him, George had
insisted that he’d met the woman only recently and that she was
divorced; but according to my new information, the affair had been
going on for over a year, and she was still very much married. When
faced with the facts, George admitted, shamefacedly, that this new
information was correct—he’d been lying yet again.
In a quarter-century of marriage, I’d come to believe
George was beyond unfaithfulness, and that had always affected the way
I prayed for him in the past. Now I understand that even the strongest
and best people can fall, and my prayers for each member of my family
reflect that possibility.
It has been 3-1/2 years since George left. He lives
openly with the woman he met on the Internet, since the divorce he’s
pursuing has been held up in the court system.
All our assets were in his name, so I was left with
virtually no resources. Though sometimes the financial situation can
look terrifying, God continues to provide the money we need, usually in
ways I could never anticipate.
For a long time after my marriage was torn apart, I felt
as if life was not worth living. But eventually, after I began the
long, hard work of healing, joy crept back into my days. I discovered
that God is the source of all joy and meaning and my real reason for
living. Going on is possible because according to Romans 8:38-39,
nothing—no betrayal, no hurt, however immense—can ever separate us from
the faithful love of God.
Cynthia Hoffman* is an award-winning author of a popular series of novels. She and her children live on the East Coast.
*Not his or her real name
