Bless the Broken Road

03/05/2021

Saturday, October 3, 2015 was cold. It had been raining for days, and the outdoor wedding planned at a secluded place in the ‘holler’ of Madison, Virginia was, unfortunately, moved indoors. Inside a beautiful little country church. There were wooden pews with no padding for my guests, and the hardwood floor creaked with almost every step we took. It was decorated last minute, but I truly didn’t care. My dress was perfect, the man was perfect, and the day was simply perfect.

The doors opened up from outside and, with my dad on my arm, I began to walk down the aisle to an acoustic version of ‘Bless the Broken Road’. What most in attendance probably don’t know but could assume was that I was high. I popped several Xanax that morning, and I think I even took a few heavy hitter painkillers right before we left the house for the church. The truth is, I was marrying into what I perceived to be a perfect family, and it was absolutely imperative that I keep up the appearance that I, too, was also perfect. What I didn’t account for was that my mask of fake perfection and counterfeit humility would soon be too heavy to wear, and they would inevitability slip off. 

Over the next three years I put my new family through hell, quite literally it would seem. I was an angry stepmom who was jealous of her stepchildren. I was an angry wife who thought of no one but herself and could somehow manipulate my husband into keeping me around. I managed that pretty successfully for those three years but Memorial day 2018 my perfect husband had truly had enough. Honestly, looking back, I can say that I was just done on every level myself. 

I was visiting my family in North Carolina and on May 28, 2018 at exactly 1:00 pm I called him. My world shattered around me and the memories of it still sting quite a bit sitting here three years later. When he answered the phone he very quickly said, “I need you to listen to me and listen closely.” What followed were words that I can barely bring myself to remember let alone sit here and type. In short, I wasn’t allowed to come home, and all of my things had been packed for someone else to pick up. That was it. This was it. I remember begging him and coming up with multiple excuses to the accusations of my drug use, but nothing worked. He was done. We were over. And I had never felt a heartbreak like this in my life. 

Three years ago I was in such a place of despair that I couldn’t see anything else but my own misery. I wanted people to wallow in it with me, and I guess my mindset was that if you didn’t, you must not love me. What I can see now is that Jeff* had tremendous strength. What I can also see now is that his heartbreak over the end of our marriage was probably much deeper than mine. I try to imagine what it must have been like to tell me to never come home. I try to imagine how difficult it was to pack my things and find evidence of the secret life I lived right under his nose. I try to imagine the conversation he had with his children and his family. I try to imagine their hurt and probably their eventual relief that I wouldn’t be back. But I don’t have to use much of my imagination to see them happy, healthy, and at peace today. 

I came into their lives like a wrecking ball and destroyed the tranquility they had created for themselves. I don’t blame Jeff anymore for doing what he did to protect his family. He was being a good dad, a good son, and a good brother. Honestly? If the tables were turned, I don’t think I would’ve given me as long as he did. 

Somehow I have gone 3 years without hearing our wedding song, ‘Bless the Broken Road’, but I heard it just a few nights ago during a Bible study. I had to leave the room because I wasn’t ready for the feelings it evoked in my heart and in my physical body. I think I barely made it to my bedroom when a sob broke out in the ugliest of fashions. Looking up the lyrics, God is showing me this song in a brand new way. 

‘I set out on a narrow way many years ago

Hoping I would find true love along the broken road

But I got lost a time or two

Wiped my brow and kept pushing through

I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you’

My road is broken. It has been broken for so long that I have often wondered if God’s Department of Transportation can see any hope in its renovation. But even in the lifetime of brokenness that Jesus has watched me create, He still sees me as worth pursuing. And He does. 

‘That every long lost dream led me to where you are

Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars

Pointing me on my way into your loving arms

This much I know is true

That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you’

Jeff doesn’t know it and probably never will, but his actions broke my heart into oblivion. Yet, his actions pointed me straight to Jesus. It took a little more than a year for me to fully trust my internal compass, but that heartbreak saved both my physical and spiritual life. Someday I hope to tell him how grateful I am for his strength. 

I don’t know if I will ever be able to hear that song and not think of Jeff and grieve a little over what was lost. But I do know that I will forever see the lyrics and think of how my broken road led me into the arms of Jesus. 

*Name has been changed