The empty Vodka bottles hidden around the house and the bullet hole in the ceiling should have been a clue, but lies covered up the truth. That’s when the deception began. 

My marriage, shrouded in secrets, did not turn out as I had hoped. I married a friend who had become a pastor, but my dream of being a pastor’s wife would not come to fruition.

I had known him since I was 15. Our fathers worked together, and his family was well-known in the community. He was a friend and appeared to be a Godly man with a common passion for the Lord. I prayed over my choice of mate and looked for someone who shared my faith, someone familiar to me, trustworthy, and good. I was innocent in believing that I was truly hearing God’s voice.

He served as the pastor of a small Baptist church, and I desired to be the wife of someone committed to full-time church service, immersing my life in ministry to God. During our engagement and early marriage, we worked together in the church he pastored and organized the place to serve as our first home. Our wedding was rooted in our Christian beliefs, complete with Godly vows, communion, and music that reflected our prayer for a lifelong partnership dedicated to serving the Lord. We completed premarital counseling with a pastor and discussed how we would grow old together, raising our children to love the Lord.

In hindsight, the signs of deception were evident, but my innocent faith in the Christian man he claimed to be blinded me to his mental illness and substance abuse. The issues seem straightforward now, but it was as if a veil clouded my view back then. 

After I pledged my love and commitment to a marriage before God, it was only a few weeks before I realized that my home was not to be the Christian sanctuary I prayed for. There had been issues that everyone around him knew about but hid from me. I walked into the marriage like a lamb to the slaughter. My husband left the small church he was pastoring soon after we married. Before the wedding, his behavior was Godly, gentle, loving, and attentive – planning a life in service to God and openly abhorring the use of alcohol, drugs, and anything that lifestyle represented. After the wedding, his behavior was anything but gentle, loving, and Godly. It was as if I had been caught and caged, and he didn’t need to continue the charade. 

Once I said, “I do,” I was bound to stay committed to my marriage. That was what I thought God expected of me. I was trapped by my promise to God, one to love, honor, and obey, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. 

My first mistake was adhering to a distorted view of God’s expectations. 

And so, the secrets began.

Night after night, I would come home to a husband who was so drunk that he didn’t recognize me. I would spend nights searching and pouring out the Vodka and pills that I found to sober him up and hiding his keys so that he couldn’t drive drunk. I also spent the nights figuring out ways to escape his drunken rages. 

The alcohol, drug, and pornography addiction he hid so well, as well as the emotional and spiritual abuse, were constant. His denial of a problem, combined with my isolation, gradually broke me down. His threats of suicide kept me trapped. Degraded publicly and emotionally drained, I believed the distorted Biblical reasons that he gave to keep me trapped in a marriage that was destroying me. I clung to God for my sanity, praying and believing God would heal him, his addictions, and our marriage. I learned to keep secrets because doing so made our lives appear normal, but in doing so, I had become an enabler, doing whatever was needed to keep the peace. 

As his addiction and mental illness continued, it moved to an even darker reality for me. The emotional and spiritual abuse that had been there since the beginning had now moved to a realm that was harder to hide. Behind closed doors of my Christian home, I found myself in a secret world of physical abuse. 

I had to find ways of covering the bruises, fingernail scratches, and cuts that were inflicted, hoping no one would notice. The hair-pulling, being dragged on the floor, ripped clothing, hiding my phone and keys so that he would not take them from me, marks around my neck from being choked, broken items thrown around the house, being held in a room and not let out, chased around the house trying to figure out how to get out the front door, running away from him trying to run me over with the car and door frames shoved in after I locked myself in a room to get away from an alcoholic rage happened more and more frequently. There were the sleepless nights, making promises to keep him calm and get through the night until I could get safely to work. 

There were times of fighting to get away from being pushed downstairs after coming home from surgery with staples in my abdomen, the fight to get outside and escape in the car until he passed out, or running to sit in the dark by the mailbox so that neighbors could see me. I had emergency kits just in case I needed them, and the gun was in place that only I could find because the bullet hole in the ceiling seen early on was evidence of his using a gun as intimidation when in a drunken rage. All while keeping the secrets, but finally getting the strength to go to two pastors who said they were not qualified to help me. I was alone..

And then there was the night I sat on the bathroom floor with pills in my hand, contemplating suicide to escape the life I was trapped in. 

But God intervened and stopped me, showing me He was there, so I stayed. And I prayed. 

Looking back, I realize that I held on because I believed God’s grace, mercy, and healing power would take over, and he would be healed and our marriage restored. But even though the healing never came, I prayed.

Reflecting on my past, I see my mistakes. I was deeply immersed in an isolated and secretive world, and my perspective was clouded by the dark oppression that filled my home. Despite having a close relationship with God and actively seeking His guidance, I felt torn. I persevered due to my distorted view of God’s expectations, which felt almost unbearable. 

I held on for 29 years until one fateful Friday afternoon, the first week of May 2013, when I returned home from a work trip to find him in yet another belligerent drunken stupor. A few months earlier, I was forced to call the police to help me, and they put him in the back seat and sent him home with me because I was afraid to press charges -and for good reason, because I paid for it the next day. But it was then that I got the courage to set boundaries. I had now drawn a line in the sand that he crossed. On that Friday, God spoke to me as clear as day. He whispered, “It is time. Leave him to me. Your time is done. Get out of the way, and I will be with you every step.” I heard clear instructions from the Lord, and I was ready.

God proved Himself faithful that day and in the hellacious days, weeks, and months that followed. God went before me, laying out the path I was meant to take and providing the peace, clarity, provision, and protection I needed to make a change and escape the life I had led for so many years. 

It was a fight, but we finally divorced, and my husband died three years later. Those three years were filled with constant harassment from a man who could no longer control me. There were abusive phone calls all night, making threats to my church to keep me from going on mission trips, and constantly coming to my home in a drunken stupor.  

But as he lay in hospice, God gave me the strength to put all of that behind me, at least for the moment, and I was there at his bedside for the week before he passed away.  

As he lost consciousness, I was able to pray with him and tell him that I forgave him. There was no apology or repentant heart, but forgiveness was mine to give and not dependent upon him. His death was a horrific struggle due to cirrhosis of the liver and complications from the abuse he had inflicted on himself, but God showed him mercy and took him home. 

It was then that my restoration story began.

Forgiveness is a powerful act, sometimes possible only through God’s strength. It frees you from bondage and allows you to move into the life God has prepared for you. Forgiveness is the key that opens the door to restoration. 

Restoration and rebirth can be challenging and come with emotions ranging from guilt, anger, and delayed heartache to peace, joy, and laughter. Dealing with the emotional roller coaster of emotion coupled with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can be confusing. I struggled to process my past experiences and integrate them into my current life. The panic and night terrors that still come with memories are almost too much to bear. It is much like watching a toddler learn to walk; some steps are taken confidently, strongly, stably, and decisively. Yet, without warning, the wobble occurs, and that sure-footed child may fall to the ground, unsure of their ability to get up and continue.

The internal stability that comes with restoration returns slowly and inconsistently, and confidence does not come overnight. God’s healing unfolds gradually and in layers. 

I spent five years single, dedicating my heart to building a closer relationship with God. During that time, I learned to feel peace, even though an undercurrent of instability lingered. 

Then, when I least expected it, God placed an amazing Christian man into my life – someone I had known as a young teenager in church. He has become a vital part of my healing and restoration. Through him, I am learning what a Godly home looks like. God handpicked this man because He understood I would need a gentle, spiritual nurturer to help unravel the confusion I once knew and weave it into a beautiful new life tapestry. God reformed the damaged clay of my life into a new vessel He designed (Jeremiah 18:4).

We married, and my life feels complete—I am the soulmate of a Godly man who loves me. I still struggle, and working through the residual brokenness inside me has been difficult, but God has not overlooked any of the tears that have fallen in the darkness. None of the prayers whispered in secret has gone ignored, and none of my heart’s longings has gone unnoticed. 

My life stands as an example of the faithful watchfulness of a sovereign God. One who sees you – can restore you – and will use the unique story he writes with the broken pieces of your life in a way He sees fit. 

God is the master of the impossible. He is faithful and good and will be the same for you.