Bulletproof

    It's amazing how a song I heard years ago has a whole new meaning now. I've thought about the lyrics a lot... "Next time, I'll be bulletproof..." It got me thinking about estrangement, boundaries, forgiveness and protection... from people. A grueling thought... protection from others. Almost a flippant word sometimes... boundaries... no contact... But what does that look like to someone who still prays daily for those she's "protecting herself from" for them. Praying for them to have peace and healed? Is there an unhealthy attachment in continuing to hold onto people emotionally even when there is no contact? Am I being ridiculous for assuming they may still be unwell? And worse, what do you do when they do reach out and you have to ask yourself "are they still an unsafe person?' How do you reconcile knowing those wounds don't need to be dredged up through a shallow encounter while knowing deep down the forgiveness is there but the trust will never be. 

    I've become so deeply at peace with myself, but what happens when that starts to express itself as avoidance? Afraid of not being able to escape people. My body reacts in panic at the thought of a boyfriend; I sleep soundly knowing God's got me. Yet, I have peace knowing God has fulfilled his promise that he will guide, direct, protect, me as my husband; a truth I know deeply. My life is so sweet, I'm covered in peace. I'm in awe of life and my Creator. So I asked myself how do I bridge this disconnect in my mind? What is biblical discernment, and what is fear? Where am I operating from my own thoughts and feeling, and how do I know when I can truly call something God's discernment? 

    I have been consumed with these thoughts for months. I recently listened to a reel that said "When you grieve someone who's not here there is a little bit of closure. When you grieve someone who is still around it's hard. You can grieve something that's final that has closure, like death. But divorce (from any type of relationship even friendship) is not, that person still exists, even though divorce is final. You grieve what was, you grieve what is, and you grieve what you thought it was going to be. It's a three-prong hurt. You are hurt from all facets of time." - Drew Lynch

    It had me thinking a lot about my late husband versus people who are still here but whom my  relationships are fractured. I think about the reunion I will have in the next life with Michael and how I can embrace him as a friend. His death that has allowed me to process our relationship without the fear of being consumed by the possibility of running into him again. Every year, I seem to take another part of our ten-year relationship and process it. 

    Last year at a conference I looked down at my name tag that identified my relationship to the fallen service member I was there because of. It said "Spouse, Navy, Army." I stared down at it and thought about how I was a military spouse. I was a wife to Michael and the person he communicated with the most for the last 10 years of his life. I was the one who assumed all of his belongings, the one that has the tag that says spouse. It's hard for me to say I knew him "the most" in the last 10 years, but we were hitched together and raised a family and every part of me fulfilled to the best of my ability to be his wife. I was closest to the daily reality of the last 10 years of his life. 

    Michael may have broken vows, terrified me, and given me extreme PTSD, but I don't have to worry or fear that I am claiming a false title by calling myself a widow. I will never know how Michael felt about me, but I was his wife. He didn't leave a note. I don't have any closure in the traditional sense; what I have is an ache for how deeply he must have been hurting. I know that when I see him again I won't be saying "there is the love of my life." But I will embrace him and say I had no idea what you were thinking, but my heart hurts for how you must have been hurting every day. 

    Before Michael died I could have seen him laughing at me for saying that. I thought he was the strongest person I ever knew. Maybe he was, but what made him strong might have been why he died. I wonder now if the same ability to endure everything silently-the thing I mistook for strength- was part of what kept him from letting anyone see him fully.

    Which brings me to why "you are hurt from all facets of time" stung. It made me think of those who are still here and how badly I sometimes want to know why they did what they did. Knowing I could call them, but also not believing what they would say if I did. The betrayal of promises that seemed they never intended to keep, and the weight of all the time that passes. It hurts; it feels like it always will. I think back to the ways some showed up for me in moments when I was desperate for friendship. How they became my best friends and saved me from my pain. I think of laughing, crying, sighs of relief, and mostly community. Now I remember all of it from behind what feels like a thick, bulletproof glass wall dividing us.

    These last few years estrangement has taught me how something designed by God for good-love, friendship, marriage, community- can become destructive when broken people highjack it for something it was never intended to be. It reminds me of my unhealthy relationships and how they led me to Jesus by giving me a counterfeit version of love first. Love from broken people who could not sustain the love God has for me, yet gave me a map that helps me recognize the real, healthy love of Jesus when I finally encountered it. 

    I will always love those who swore they were my best friends yet when they found an escape or addiction stronger than my love for them they ran. I will always love those who said they loved me, even though I grieve in a three-pronged fashion. But what I won't do is allow them to lie to me because they put themselves in positions they could only remain in by first lying to themselves. So does it still hurt? Yes. Does being bulletproof against others crush me, yes. But Christ alone strengthens me, so I'm not searching for those people to validate me anymore. I still grieve them, though, and pray they find Jesus.