The Balancing Ask

Balance.

What was the first thought that came to mind when you read that word?

Did you think of a scale with equal weight on each side? Mental or emotional steadiness? Stability? A checkbook? A gymnast? Justice?

When my kids were little, we enjoyed going to the circus. My favorite part was the high wire acts. To see the performers walk along that wire as if it were four feet wide absolutely astounded me. In reality, the high-wire they walk on is only half an inch wide. Their incredible balance is nothing short of amazing. I know many hours of practice have been spent perfecting such a walk and I’m sure there were just as many hours spent falling as well. I can’t help but think how rewarding it must’ve been the first time a performer stepped out on the half inch high-wire and made it to the other side. I’m sure the adrenaline rush made them feel incredible, along with a great sense of accomplishment. However, just because they make it to the other side one time doesn’t mean they stop practicing the art of balance. They must walk the wire daily to ensure they don’t lose the skill.

Before my divorce, there were many times it felt as if my entire life was a balancing act. Imagine, waking up each morning, hoping and praying that “today will be different” yet knowing deep in your heart, it wouldn’t. Imagine, attempting to keep someone else happy, when the rules of the game kept changing, without being made privy to such changes. It is completely impossible and equally as exhausting. Imagine, looking forward to him coming home after work yet, dreading the mood he’d be in, all at the same time. Back in those days, daily life for me was one performance after another; one balancing act after another. It was a daily practice for me so I became quite efficient at it. Do I smile and pretend everything is okay? Do I dare ask him where he’s been and why he’s so late? Do I admit how miserable I am? I kept a lot of things to myself because, somehow I knew, once I broached the subject of what or how I was feeling, it would be the beginning of the end. My entire existence was one of denial. Sometimes, I don’t even know how I lived day to day in such an unstable environment. It was only by God’s grace. He sustained me.

Now, each and every morning I wake up, I am beyond thankful for all God has done for me, what He’s blessed me with, and what He’s doing in the lives of my children and grandchildren. But along with the thanksgiving filling my heart, there is great sadness.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling out of sorts. Everything external is still very much the same. It’s what’s happening on the inside that’s giving me pause. I know God is at work because I feel it. I just don’t know what He’s working on. And that is okay because I trust Him completely. Perhaps it’s just more purging and healing.

While I no longer feel my life is a balancing act of going through the motions or putting on a performance, there is another sort of balancing act I’ve been struggling with.

When I got married and started down the path of having my own family, all I knew was “til death do us part”. My grandparents had been married for over 50 years and I know my parents would’ve achieved that milestone as well had my daddy not been called home in 2002. My family has a long history of staying married until death do you part so I had no other thought than I’d achieve that as well. When I did not, my entire life was thrown off balance.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

This is what I’m trying to balance. This is what my heart is grieving for. Not for the narcissistic, controlling man who did not love me. Not for the marriage that was doomed before it even began. But rather, for what could’ve been had he not made the life choices he did. I didn’t know I would grieve for something that never took place. How does that even work? How do you grieve over nothing? How does my past, present, and future ever find balance?

In her book, Made Like Martha, Katie M. Reid shared the story of a man named Alex Tizon whose parents owned a modern-day slave, named Lola. She was never paid and was ill-treated and abused for decades. After his parents died, Lola went to live with Alex and his family. She was no longer a slave but because she had lived as one for many years, she had a difficult time making the transition to freedom in his home. Alex assured Lola over and over that she was no longer a slave but was considered one of his family. She was free to do as she wanted as a member of his household yet she continued to do all the things required of her as if she were still a slave. It’s what she knew. She reverted to those slave-like tendencies and thought as a slave because they were familiar. She was in unknown territory and struggled with adjusting to her new way of life.

This story resonated within me. I could relate to Lola’s feelings because I’ve felt them myself.

I was in my marriage relationship just shy of 35 years. I was controlled and manipulated from day one. Even though it was very subtle at first, after three-plus decades, it’s deeply ingrained. I struggled to balance all the things I was responsible for (ie: full-time job, the house, the laundry, the bills, etc) as well as a man who wanted me to drop everything and run to his side the moment he called, no matter what I was otherwise involved in. He was to be first before all else. It was never spoken aloud but was very much implied. I was a modern-day slave, just like Lola.

Once the divorce was final, I knew I was free to be and do whatever I chose but I was in unknown territory. The first few years, post divorce, were spent struggling just to get through the day. That, in and of itself, was grueling. Not only was I dealing with tangible grief, I didn’t know how to be single. I didn’t know how not to be married. Even after I moved into my own house, I kept waiting for him to walk through the door after work even though he’s never lived here.

Over the past two years, I’ve done a lot of counseling, reading God’s word, and praying. Basically, I’ve just been living each day, with the help, mercy, and grace of Jesus, trying to establish a new normal for myself. And I can honestly say, I’m getting better and I’m actually enjoying the new me. But even with all the counseling, being encouraged by God’s word, and praying, grief still nips at me now and again.

I had no idea there were so many levels to grief. I define grief as something that cannot be contained, or put into one category, nor given a timeline. It strikes without warning and doesn’t come with an owner’s manual. There’s really no way to troubleshoot it either. It is what it is and I do my best to deal with it as it comes.

However, this new facet of grief has a twist. This “it’s not supposed to be this way” oddity I’m trying to wrap my mind around and navigate through doesn’t have anything to heal from because it never was. I wasn’t supposed to be alone at this stage in my life. I was supposed to have someone here to grow into old age with. There are times when my heart cries out that I was ripped off and wants a refund on everything I endured while being married to a selfish, controlling, narcissistic man.

But that is my flesh. My human-ness. The part of me that cries out for justice. The part of me that feels guilty for not being there to protect my children from the monster they called dad. The part of me that wells up with righteous anger and demands my petitions be heard on behalf of me and my children then weighed in the balance of my previous life. The part of me that knows with absolute certainty, if that were to be done, the scales would be greatly tipped in my favor.

And yet, the Holy Spirit within me gently whispers to be still. The part of me that is my flesh has been crucified with Christ. My flesh no longer lives; now Christ lives within me. (Galatians 2:20) I could choose to let my flesh rise up and win, live in a perpetual state of misery, and break my Savior’s heart. However, I choose not to allow my flesh to win because I have been bought with a price. (1 Corinthians 6:20) I belong to Jesus and His Spirit lives within me. I am compelled to surrender this new facet of grief I call injustice to Him just as I have done all the rest. For it’s only in surrender, I find what true balance is then peace ensues.

When I place all the injustice done to me and my children on one side of the scale and Jesus on the other, the scales are greatly tipped in His favor. He’s done everything for me. He gave His very life to ransom mine. How great was the injustice done to my Savior when He was accused of things that were not true? Yet He spoke not a word. How great was the injustice done to my Savior when He willingly went to the cross, an innocent man, and freely laid down His life? He had the power to call legions of angels from His Father’s throne and yet, He remained silent. He had surrendered His will to the Father in the garden and knew one day, He would right all the wrongs done to Him.

Jesus knows every single thing done to me and my children. He knows every day, every hour, every thing, and every.word.spoken. He keeps meticulous records. Daily, I must choose to surrender my flesh to Jesus, ask for His peace and comfort to wash over me, then trust Him with the details and the outcome.

I can do nothing, in and of myself, to fix what the past has wrought. Experiencing layer upon layer upon layer of abuse was unjust and evil. My emotions go from one extreme to another. Healing is a constant process. One layer at a time. Only Jesus knows how deep it really goes. He will make all the wrongs right in due time. Until then, I will ask Him to balance the myriad of emotions rushing through me and continue to shield me from the attacks of my enemy.

You, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.”

Psalm 3:3 ESV

Balance.

What is balance and how is it achieved?

Is it something we must continually practice or does it just happen because we want it to?

For me, balance is something I ask Jesus for.

For me, surrender equals balance.

And how do I surrender?

I realize I am weak in and of myself.

But in Him I am strong.

So, in His strength, I surrender it all to Jesus to bring about the balance I so desperately need.

A prayer whispered on my knees through tears mingled with His own.

A simple prayer.

A simple ask.

An ask for balance.

The balancing ask.