I was blind, but now I see

Tear drops of sorrow beating down upon my chest
For never knowing the true meaning of success
Genius and a rebel are the ways that you're perceived
But how can anyone be so utterly deceived

How could I have been so blind all this time?
Now that all the scales have fallen from my eye
How could I have been so blind?

Words full of knowledge, lacking wisdom were just lies
Actions representing the very things that you despise
Self-deception fills you in the final hour
Holding back the wall of fear that threatens to devour

You tried to take me to an evil place
But I slipped right through your human hands

Lack of repentance was the reoccurring clue
History of contention points the finger back at you

"Blind" by the Galactic Cowboys from the album Space in Your Face

Another.

Finding a church community has always been hard, so we tend to visit a number of different churches fairly regularly. We've been going to one where my dad used to be the pastor. Very small, limited resources, extraordinarily friendly.

There's a man there incredibly talented in music, public speaking, et cetera. He's been on their leadership board for quite awhile, and used to be an ordained minister.

Week before last he announced his withdrawal from leadership, and let us know that he's

1. divorcing his wife, and
2. involved with another woman.

I know what it's like. But it's shocking and devastating nevertheless. Interestingly, we both came to the same point where we had to choose between this Other Woman whom we thought was the source of these powerful feelings, and our wives to whom we had committed ourselves. I chose my wife, though it took nearly two years of mourning to recover from the loss of the Other Woman. He, like so many, is choosing the Other Woman.

This guy is a significant key to the life of that congregation. Never mind his family. He feels (as I did) that he's been dead and trapped and going nowhere, and that breaking out of his marriage is a key to life, his very survival. Man, I can identify -- I felt very much the same way.

And yet, when I chose my family, feeling like I was tearing my own heart out and burning it to ashes, feeling like I would never have any hope of life if I gave up the Other Woman... eventually life came to me, and to my utter amazement, it was She whom I had had right before me all along.

I was so utterly deceived about what my life was, and what it lacked. What I thought I needed, I had all along. I was just believing amazing lies that crippled me.

And I think he's believing the same lies.

I understand. I empathise. If someone had quoted chapter-and-verse at me at the time, I don't know that I would have responded very well. But I did choose the path, not in faith, but in resignation. And it turned out to be better than I could have ever imagined.

How can I not at least try to communicate that?

Spring Cleaning

The ancient desk had to go. Years ago I had rescued it when my dad casually mentioned that he was planning to pitch it. It had been in my house my whole life, and I couldn't bear to see it go at the time. So it lived at my house for the past ten years or so.

But now it was time to pitch it. It was big and bulky, too large to make a good computer desk.

We are not in a place of hanging onto the past.

Sifting through the mountains of paperwork stored in that old desk, I came across a file folder. In it were printouts of my old blog, posts made in depression and anguish and searing loss, while I tried to figure out why I was in love with a woman that was not my wife, and why it hurt so bad to be prohibited from seeing her. Painful writings. Hurtful writings.

In the folder were also stacks of other evidence that my wife had collected to bring to her lawyer, when all hope of reconciliation had ended. In it, I think (though I didn't verify) was the CD containing every Instant Message and email that I exchanged with the other woman.

The summary of my sin and shame.

I handed the file folder to the Lady. "I, um, don't know what you want to do with this."

She took it and glanced through the contents, recognising it instantly. She was silent for a long time. I puttered around in another pile of papers while she thought.

Then: "I suppose we should pitch this," she said quietly.

"I'm very okay with that, Lady," I said. "But I don't have the right to make that decision."

She was silent for another long time. I kept working, pitching some papers, filing others.

Then she came to me and looked into my eyes, folder in hand. She waved the folder vaguely and said, "you're not this person anymore, are you." She said it like a statement, not a question, but her eyes pleaded with me to answer correctly.

I looked deep into her eyes and gently grasped her shoulders in my hands for added emphasis. "No," I said firmly. "No, I'm not. Never again," I added, referring both to my years of depression and the affair.

Her eyes searched my face. "Never again?" she queried.

"Never. Again."

"Then put it in the trash," she said.

"You're sure?"

"If you're sure that you will never be that person again."

I took the folder, containing the evidence of my infidelity of heart, and put it in the trash bag. I tied it closed and took it out of my wife's presence, out of my house, out of my property. I placed it at the curb with the other trash.

The evidence is gone. But I will never forget, because I will never allow this to happen again.

God vs Man

It was the pain, you see, that inspired me to write all those years. I write far less now, because I am free of that pain.

I was in love with another woman. I had felt so worthless, so incapable all my life. I never ever felt as though I could make it. Not emotionally, not occupationally, not sexually. I didn't believe I could succeed as a human being, much less a man. Even married, even with children, I didn't believe I could even survive. I prayed constantly for death.

And in the middle of this desperation, I fell in love. And suddenly I wanted to live.

Here before me was the promise of all the advertising, all the television shows and movies, all the popular-culture novels, all the multigazillion-dollar pornography industry. The promise of unattached sexual experience, without consequence, without responsibility. The promise that a beautiful girl would look on me and see a god, dazzled by my sexual prowess. I would be Eros, god of erotic love, worshipped and adored, and never asked to change a dirty diaper or take out the garbage. Any romantic gesture would be a mind-blowingly wonderful bonus, not looked for, not expected. There would be no expectations whatsoever, except another sexual encounter.

And because she was a virgin, having never even dated, I would have been uncompared and uncomparable, until it was all over. And I would be forever remembered as her first.

Oh, the temptation.

The promise of godhood beckoned me for years, as I slowly walked further and further into my trap. Her liquid eyes bored into my soul, promising me immortality and worship. "I will give you the world," she said silently, "if you will let me bow down and worship you. You will never need to balance my chequebook or pay my bills or sweep my floor. Just come to me in secret and be my sex god."

But incredibly, as I moved towards her promise of godhood, I became less a man. I became secretive. I was too distracted to lavish my love and romance and affection on my devoted wife. I spent hours communicating with the girl instead of with my wife and children. I sacrificed them for her. I failed in my responsibilities and duties to them, because godhood didn't require that I be a man, but only a god. And so I failed completely as a husband, and as a man.

And, of course, the promise of godhood was only ever a lie to begin with.

Sure, I could have had sex with her. I could have given her orgasms and revelled in her praise and adoration. I could have drowned myself in her body and exulted in my sexual prowess. I am good in bed; I could have given her amazing introductory experiences.

Thank God I didn't. It nearly killed me to give up that dream before it turned to shit in my mouth. What would it have been like if all I had taken it any further, and completely ruined my hopes of returning to reality?

The dark promise of godhood still beckons sometimes. But I recognise it for what it is --- a cunningly constructed lie, prettily wrapped destruction. Pandora's box, containing all that is evil inside myself.

And I look, instead, at my beautiful wife, still timid and cautious, still testing, still shy to give herself completely to me. And I delight in the responsibilities of manhood, knowing now that I can do them. I can be a man. I do not need to be a god, because I finally realise I'm capable of being a man. Better a real man than a false god.

I am happier now than I have ever been. And that is why it's hard to feel compelled to blog the way I used to. That driving pain no longer dominates my life.

It's pretty damn nice.

Update: Rings and Rebuilding

Long time since an update. Everyone's probably stopped bothering. Nevertheless, in case anyone wanders by, a quick update.

At Christmas I knelt before her, with our children watching, and asked her to once again marry me. Long moments passed, before she whispered "Yes," just as she had that glorious evening long ago. The children screamed with joy and danced gleefully around the room.

My daughter drew a picture of me giving the Lady the ring, with the captions: "Thankyou thankyou thank you thank you thank you..."

We're working on things slowly, but progress comes. She loves me. She is slowly, slowly falling in love with me. I have now been in love with her for two hundred days.

The time is coming when we will have a new wedding, to cast aside the broken foundations and start a new one. Soon...

Update

She returned from New York, willing and wishing to work on building a relationship with me. I met her at the airport with 15 roses, dressed in a nice jacket-and-tie. Took her to a decent little restaurant that I had researched online, so I could order for us without consulting the menu. Presented her with a new engagement ring.

Took her to the hotel room, which had about a hundred little candles burning in it. Every surface was covered in rosepetals; the floor, the bed, the bathtub. She was frightened, but inebriated enough to make love with me.

It was really very wonderful.

I brought her home to our children, who were ecstatic to see her. I've been extra attentive, trying to be more sensitive and thoughtful than normal. We've been able to talk. After Christmas, she's willing to go to the counsellor with me to work on issue we have: poor communication, misguided expectations, fear and defensiveness.

I am more hopeful than I have ever been.

I don't know if I will post more here. When things are going well, my urge to write is much less.

Your thoughts and prayers, dear readers, have been greatly appreciated. May your lives have incredible joy. Mine is certainly beginning to.

Peace.

Norseman Jack.

Good News from New York

Words from the Lady in New York:

Oh, I do want to be with you.

I love you Jack, and I do miss you. It's fun being busy doing things here, but I miss you. I keep praying that I'll get everything I need from this trip in order to come home at peace. Some of that at least is happening.

Love you darlin'

I don't know what it will be like when she comes back. I mustn't assume or expect. But how could I possibly not have hope?