Who's your worst enemy?

(WARNING: NOT TO BE READ WHILE EATING)

I guess my intent is not to spend the next umpteen posts telling endless stories of wounds incurred in the war zone of life. No one gets through life without taking hits, no one. And really, it's not the hits themselves that impact one's life so much...it's the message of the wound that has the lasting power. It's the vows we make around the wound, often in the interests of self-protection to avoid future repeats. We also make agreements with ourselves fueled by anger, hatred, utter terror and a host of other stout emotions in the aftermath of woundings that drive us to make those "I will never again", "From now on, whenever....", "I can see that I'm not....", "My life will always/never be...." etc, etc, painfully etc.

But for me to go on in this blog-o-mine requires me to take an unpleasant tour through the worst wound of all. Yes that one, the "mother of all wounds". To say that I have not been looking forward to this is the mother of all understatements. Matter of fact, I am tapping out this post mere days after my last one which, for me, is an unusually short interim. Why? Because today, my birthday, in my devotion time I felt the Lord release me to go and at least start this dreaded post. The picture that describes my angst about this comes from when I was a tyke and was sick to my stomach. My Mom would keep telling me that I needed to just throw up and get it over with. Well, I hated that process so much that I would put it off and put it off until finally (mercifully) nature just had it's way and I went through the brief trauma but gained relief as a result. So, excuse me in advance, I have to throw up....!

From where I sit, the worst wounds of all are the self-inflicted ones. After all, those coming from other people and other sources normally just couldn't be avoided. We get hit, we reel, hopefully we heal well and we move on. But those heart gashes we brutally slice on our own are a diabolical self-betrayal, a turning of our self against our self. Where do you turn when you can't trust yourself to do right by you? What can be worse than becoming your own worst enemy? How are you supposed to get up in the morning of a new day and look forward to a day of blessing when you yourself have become the enemy camp?

OK Santiago, approach the white porcelain confessional and get it out! It was the late 80's, I was married and Jessica and Jenna were (and are) the most precious daughters on the face of this earth. Trust me, this is a true statement!! They would and still do melt my heart and send me quickly to my knees in both gratefulness for getting to be their dad and for protection and blessing upon their lives. I was at the time a troubled man. Having made Jesus my Lord May 19, 1975, married in October of 1977, we had gone 7 or 8 years to a great church that ultimately fell completely apart. A couple years of co-pastoring a home church and I was fast taking on water as my ship headed for the dangerous rocks and ultimate shipwreck. I was in a position of power in my career, had a VP title, company car, successful....

However, at home I was esteemed not. I just couldn't seem to please or get it right and domestically it was a continual eggshell walk.(Caveat: I blame no one but myself for this wounding. I take full responsibility for my actions and I am 110% accountable. No part of this post is meant to be offered as an excuse or even a viable or understandable explanation. All that follows is nothing but the reaping of a black harvest from black seeds regretfully sown by me.) A typical weekend took the form of me saying or doing something offensive on Friday which precipitated a long lasting anger response that would tank most weekends.

In stark contrast, at work I was kind of 'the man'. I had been instrumental in rolling out a particular program that was dramatically turning around our companies financial picture. I was getting lots of kudos, I was in demand for the 'work hard, play hard' after work get-togethers at the local 494 clubs. Oh at first I resisted mightily. As a believer, that wasn't for me. But the erosion of this position went pretty fast and within several months of saying no, one night I went. I was virtually an instant hit and was crowned king of the party and expected to become a permanent fixture by my peers. And what about those work peers? How dangerous can the group become with whom you spend, at that time, 50 hours a week? They become not only like a family...they can become in some ways even closer as you share all the emotional ups and downs of fast-paced business dealings. Fox hole buddies.....

Well, you have undoubtedly seen this coming....

I also found myself getting lots of attention from some of the females at work. After work there was no shortage of letting down your hair and dancing and laughing. I am ashamed, eternally regretful to have to confess that I succumbed. I let it happen. No need here for gory, tabloid-quality details. Suffice it to say that I did adulterous things with several women. No affairs with any of them, never slept with any of them but, regardless, I did adulterous things that would not stand the light of day much less the light of the Truth. I betrayed my wife, my daughters and myself. I may as well have plunged a cold blade of steel into their hearts and into mine. I ripped asunder, shredded, the gossamer fabric of trust.

This ilicit behavior occurred within a 6-8 mos time frame. That time passed and life went on for about a year and I lived with basically little to no conviction of wrongdoing. I realize this sounds all wrong and sick but this delayed reaction to my sin was how it actually happened. One morning I was shaving, seeing myself in the mirror and it's like a light bulb snapped on inside me and I was overwhelmed with "Oh my God, what have I done? Who have I become" (I am now very sick about regurgitating this horror. I intend to make a final dash to the end so pardon any abruptness.)

Suffice it to say that eventually I ended up confessing the truth. Oh, not in a brave way...no, I have no credit coming. It was pulled out of me bit by bit by someone who, (bless her heart this is a talent of hers, not a weakness), could make a KGB agent look like a rank amateur. Finally it was all out, I lived in the house for a little while longer but that soon came to an end. We were separated for 2 yrs, there were several aborted attempts at reconciliation/restoration. But I had betrayed someone who Meyers-Briggs described as being closest in makeup to the historical character of Joan of Arc. What followed were 2 of the darkest, most depressing, lost years of my life and I owe it all to me and the enemy who must grin even now as it is retold.

We were officially divorced July of 1992. I will not be like one of those Hollywood characters who, on their death bed, report that they have no regrets. I have many and my heart is full of scars. I say this not to eilicit sympathy, that would be ludicrous. No, only to set the record straight on what was the source of the worst of my wounds...it was me.
Yes, there is restoration to be discussed. But, as before, I am going to leave this stinking mass of putrid slop just lie there. My South African friends, Dean and Lorna, have offered their hot sun and so yes, I put it out under that scorching, African sun for now to quiver along with the other arrows.
J, if you ever come across this I can only say once again how very sorry I am for all that I brought down on you. Know that it has exacted much of my life from me and to this day I walk with a limp.....not that that would bring any consolation.)

Happy Birthday Hoppy