The Miracle of Reconciliation

The Miracle of Reconciliation

Merriam-Webster defines reconciliation as: “the act of causing two people or groups to become friendly again after an argument or disagreement.” The problem with this definition is that it doesn’t even come close to scratching the surface of what true reconciliation can mean. To a believer, this means taking an impossible, hopeless situation and through forgiveness, witnessing a complete restoration of families, marriages, and friendships-- a feat impossible without the blood of Jesus. After all, the price he paid offers hopeless sinners a new life in him. Talk about the ultimate act of reconciling himself to us. 

I never realized how miraculous this process was until it saved my family. In my house the word “divorce” was not taken lightly. Both of my parents were born again Christians and for the most part they always seemed happy together. My mom stayed home with my sister and I until we started school, taking small side jobs such as cleaning houses or babysitting. My dad always worked full time and was an excellent money manager and provider. Although my sister and I overheard them argue several times, we were equally shocked when the news was delivered that they would be getting a divorce. I was a freshman in high school so the announcement could not come at a harder time. Struggling to figure out who I was, I often bounced from friendship to friendship and from guy to guy. Hearing the news that the two people I thought had it together the most would be calling it quits hit me straight to the core. If these two people couldn’t make it work, who could? 

Our family situation went from bad to worse quickly. My sister ran away with a young man from our youth group who was already on probation for past issues, and we were literally looking for her for a week. My dad flew out to New Mexico to pick her up, and my grandmother flew in from Georgia to help take care of the home situation. Meanwhile, my mom got an apartment with a man from our church, and I could hardly ever get a hold of her. When I did talk to her, it was like talking to someone I used to know, not my own mother. My other grandmother also came in to help but I felt like our perfect little family was being morphed from “Leave it to Beaver” to Jerry Springer over night. 

Anger was rising inside me but I’m not really sure who it was aimed at: God, for not protecting my family, my sister for acting out, my mom for leaving us, or my dad for not being able to fix everything? I’m still not sure of the answer to that, but I can remember feeling very out of control of my life during those long months. Formally an honors student, I let my grades slip and brought home two F’s on my report card. My teachers would be instructing, but my mind was a million miles away, trying to figure out how to put the broken pieces of my family back together again.

After several months of separation, my parent’s divorce was final. The day I truly digested the finality of it all was when it came out in the newspaper under the records section. I remember wadding up that crunchy piece of black and white print in my fist and hoping no one else would see it. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else finding out that my family was falling apart. Something inside of me told me that it didn’t have to fall apart, and one day I walked past my parent’s old bedroom and found my dad sitting on the corner of the bed with worship music blasting.

“What are you doing?” I tried to half-shout above the music. My dad didn’t hear me.

He must have caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror, because he turned towards me, his face stained in tears. 

“Daddy, are you okay? What are you doing?” Suddenly I felt a pain in my chest at the sight of this strong man, so apparently broken.

“Yea,” he barely choked out. “I’ve just been in here praying for your mom.” His words were etched in love and compassion, the very opposite of resentment.

I was dumbfounded. I can’t even recall the list of wrongs that had been done to my dad, nor would I want to. But this, I will say: my dad had every right to be hurt, angry even. His home was shattered, relationally and financially tattered. But in this moment, he was teaching me a lesson that I will carry with me all the days of my life. My dad was choosing to show my mom mercy in the middle of this storm. Never once did I hear him say a negative word about her. In fact, one time I remember saying something along the lines of:

“What is her problem? Doesn’t she see how stupid she is being?” to which my dad quietly replied,

“She’s your mother and you don’t have to like what she’s doing but you will respect her.”

“Don’t you think it’s stupid, though?” I wanted him to agree with me.

“I think I love her and this will all work out.”

His voice, confident, illustrated the way I believe the heavenly father looks at impossible situations. He loves his children, and because he holds the whole world in his hands, already ascertains that it will be alright. 

My dad and I travelled to Georgia together that summer to visit his side of the family. During the week-long stay everyone was prying and prodding, wanting updates of our situation. No matter what was said about my mom, I only heard positive language from my dad. He loved her, he wasn’t moving on, and believed with all his heart in reconciliation. After all we had been through; it was tough to take in. My dad knew that his marriage was “over” according to the law, but in his heart, it was his to protect. 

Meanwhile, back in Kentucky, my mom had been experiencing horrendous back pain. After a series of doctor’s appointments, it was decided that she would need to have back surgery. At one point, her pain got so severe, that she was desperate enough to call her estranged family, asking for an unthinkable favor…one that would change the face of our family’s history indefinitely. 

“Laura, it’s for you,” my aunt called from in the other room.

“Hello?” I questioned, surprised to be receiving a phone call.

“Honey, it’s your mom.” Mixed emotions. It was comforting to hear her voice, it always was. But I was still very hurt.

“How’s it going, Momma?” My voice must have cracked, so many emotions stretched the distance between us.

“I need you to ask your dad something for me and then let me know what he says.” 

I was used to being the messenger. Due to my dad’s hearing loss, he had a difficult time using the phone. I didn’t really care what her question was. I just felt thankful that she wanted to speak to him at all. By the time she expressed her request, I felt a tinge of hope rising in me. I didn’t want to be disappointed so I tried to suppress it. I told her that I would call her right back and let her know what he said. 

“What was that about?” several voices wondered the same thing.

“Momma wants to know if she can stay in our house while we are down here. Her back is getting worse and she needs a comfortable bed to sleep in.”

Quietness swept over the room like a blanket. Glances exchanged between adults. I waited anxiously for his verdict.

“Of course she can-- that’s fine with me,” my dad responded, his quick acquiesce catching everyone off guard. But I wasn’t going to argue with him. I quickly grabbed the phone to call her back. The utter joy in her voice proved her gratitude. As a result of my dad’s kindness, and my mom’s willingness to ask for help, a miracle would transpire. 

While we finished up our visit with family, my mom settled into the house she had so willingly left just a short time ago. One night, she was lying in the bed in her former bedroom, thankful for a brief reprieve from the onslaught of pain. Suddenly, our family cat jumped up onto the bed and began to rub against her. His purr, deep and rhythmic, erupted softly as he scooted several times against the palm of her hand. This cat knew nothing of broken promises or confusion; he simply knew this was one of his owners and he loved her. Suddenly, my mom began to break. A revelation opened before her-- the realization that this was her cat, her bedroom, her house, HER marriage. As the cat begged for attention, my mom begged to have her real life back. She decided in that moment (made possible by my dad’s mercy), to ask my dad for forgiveness. A few days later, my mom went to a pawn shop to get her wedding rings back. Of course, we were clueless to her plan, but God knew. God knew before any of this happened that their testimony would save other people’s marriages. He was showing us that reconciliation wasn’t just a fancy concept from the Bible, but a tangible opportunity to get back on track. 

What came next was like a scene straight from a movie. After eight hours of travelling back home, my dad and I were exhausted. I saw my mom’s car in the driveway and I got a little excited; I had forgotten that she was staying in our house. My dad must not have forgotten because he started unloading the trunk a little more quickly than usual, piling suitcases and bags into his arms as he trekked to the side door. I caught up to him just in time to watch it transpire. The entrance had barely been cleared, when I caught sight of her. My mom, looking even more young and beautiful than I had remembered her, was propped awkwardly on one knee, looking as vulnerable as a small animal caught in a net. I could tell by one look at her that she was on the verge of tears. She said a few things, but I didn’t catch all of it. I was too caught up in the heaviness of my heartbeat, the realization that God was intervening in a hopeless situation. 

But I caught the last part. The important part: “John, I love you. Will you take me back?” She had a small velvet box in her hands that must have been trembling slightly.

Time might as well have stood still. Was this even real? In my mind, I had already forced myself to picture my parents with other people, and in those terrible visions, I accepted the reality that it was too late for them to work it out. And it was too late-- by logical terms. But truth is not always logical, and this was one of those times. 

My dad laughed a little, a smile sweeping across his face. Not a mean laugh, but the “I’m so happy and thankful and blown away that it’s hard for me to speak” laugh.

“Yes, of course I will,” he pronounced, beaming. My mind took me racing back to that evening that I saw him in his bedroom crying. He was speaking life over his companion back when the rest of us were walking around defeated, believing a lie that it was too late to fix their marriage. And right in front of my eyes, I was witnessing something beautiful. 

It’s natural to view my dad as a hero, which in my eyes, he certainly is.

But one should not overlook another hero, my mom. Once faced with the shame of all that had transpired, my mom could have chosen to possess those feelings of guilt and bitterness indefinitely. She could have stayed in the mess, stuck in her sin, and chosen a lie as her identity. However, she decided to peel off the mask of shame and stand for the truth. As she asked my dad for forgiveness, she also set the example for other struggling couples to follow. Her story could have ended much differently, but she wasn’t going to let the past control her future. Their reconciliation was a direct result of my mom’s willingness to humbly ask for a second chance. My parents were happily married for almost forty years before she was killed in a car accident, and I give God all the glory for being the ultimate restorer. It’s as if he was literally speaking over their marriage: “Behold, I am making all things new.” Revelations 24:5.  How much more does he want to make “all things new” in you? I think all of us can relate to my mom’s situation. Mistakes made, regret prevalent, and if we would just humble ourselves before the Lord, he would welcome us back with open arms.