Three years ago I curled up in the corner of my couch to take a break from hanging some decor in my home. I had been working on a blank space on the wall near the front door. I had left the space bare for almost a year. But today I hung four giant letters: H O M E.


Home. This home is small. It has very limited storage. The tile is cracked, the wooden porch needs to be refinished, it’s not in a great neighborhood, the bathroom sink leaks, the trees need to be trimmed. This list could go on and on. Lets just say it’s far from my dream home.


While walking through my divorce, I had to give up my dream home. The one at the end of the cul de sac with the garden tub, high ceilings, an open kitchen with a massive island, a movie theater, a game room, more storage than I knew what to do with, and the best neighbors who became the best of friends.


I'm extremely grateful for the small home I moved into. But life now is a stark contrast to life then. Life, then, was very comfortable. Life, now, is clumsy and laborious. People talk about how divorce feels like a death. I can see that. But as I scraped myself together to start building a new life, I wasn’t relating my divorce to a death. It was a robbery.


So as I sat with my back pressed into the corner of my couch, I stared at the newly hung letters across the room and started a conversation with Jesus.


“God… I feel robbed. I know You aren’t the one who took that life from me. But I miss it. I miss the comforts of a big house. I miss my friends and the sense of community we shared. I miss the time I got to spend with my kids. I know You’re the one holding things together for me — but I feel robbed. It’s not just about the things that were taken from me. It’s a life I loved and now it’s gone.”


I was scared I’d never again have a life I loved. I’m choking back tears even as I write this because I still remember how incredibly hard of a season this was. But that's why I wanted to have a conversation with Jesus, instead of just confessing my fears. Because conversation implies there was a response. Jesus did respond. In a reassuring voice He reminded me, “Yes, the enemy stole from you. You know this battle isn’t about flesh and blood (Ephesians 6:12). But I promise you this: the enemy has to pay you back.”


I’m going to be blunt with you — His words didn’t comfort me much. I wish I could say I did one of those sniff/wipe combos to my nose, stood up with my chin held high, and straightened my rumpled clothes.
But I didn’t. I politely thanked God for reminding me of this truth. But it didn’t make things better in the moment. I knew what He said was a biblical principle and I believed one day things would be better, but I don’t think I believed I would ever love my life like I used to love it.


I moved on with my day, but in my heart I held onto that moment I spent with God. I’ve had sweeter moments with Him, but this vulnerable moment was burned into my memory as a bittersweet reminder that we don't always get the answer we want or expect. God isn't a magic genie and He certainly isn't obligated to tell us how our future will play out.


Payback, in my mind, wouldn’t come until I was happily married again. Needless to say, retribution felt far away and very specific. But I’m truly thankful God is infinitely more wise, and patient, and resourceful than me and my limited mind.


I had no idea, but retribution was already in the works. Plans had been set in motion. God was doing big things behind the scenes of my story (just like He’s doing for YOUR story, too). Things I couldn’t yet see. This story doesn’t end here. This is actually just the beginning. What happened next still thrills me and I can’t wait to share it with you next week. If you would like an earlier look, my subscribers will get part two on Friday! Click here to subscribe if you don’t want to wait till next week!