Blog

By Anonymous

Pornography saved me.

And my marriage.  And eventually even my husband.  For real.

Maybe I’m crazy.  There were a lot of days in the past three years that I was sure I was crazy.  There were a lot of days I could hardly get myself out of bed, much less be an adult that day.  I cried more tears than I did when my mother passed away.  And the craziest thing is that I don’t cry.  Ever.  Except for THIS–discovering my husband had been hiding a pornography addiction for well over a decade.  But THIS turned out to be exactly what I needed.  This particular situation, discovered in this particular way, at this particular time.   Jesus got my attention.  He saw me in an impossible situation. And then He saved me.  Isn’t Jesus funny???

You see, that’s what I’m discovering–the irony of it all.  All of this had to happen because Jesus loves me in just this particular way, at this particular time, in this particular space.  A space that, by the way, is irreparably broken.  Like our marriage.  Like my husband.  Like me.

Don’t misunderstand–I don’t blame myself for his porn addiction (although I definitely entertained that thought for a while after I first made the discovery), but I am broken too.  My husband broke me.  My friends have hurt me.  Past boyfriends have betrayed me.  My family has wounded me.  And up until this point, my primary coping method was to be strong.  Don’t cry.  Be independent, confident and successful.  Be assertive and stand your ground.  Be a feminist warrior.  Be in control of everything, at all times, at all costs.

Building Walls

But to do this, my heart had been forced into hiding behind an invincible wall I had built over the years.  All of the past hurts and traumas, each one of them, had added a brick or two to my wall-and this last betrayal no doubt had me working on the construction of a few more layers.  I concluded that the only way to keep from being hurt again was to keep this wall strong.  To not let myself be vulnerable, as I saw it, weak and dependent.

Walls are fascinating.  I love them.  Since the beginning of time, in every age and in most civilizations, our first instinct when we sense trouble is to put up a wall between ourselves and the perceived threat—the bigger and sturdier, the better.  This is why cave dwellers lived in caves.  Pa Wilder in “The Little House on the Prairie” immediately built a proper door on the little house when the wolves came too close.  A good fence makes a good neighbor.  Walls keep out the elements.  They protect us from thieves and robbers and annoying neighbor dogs.  They offer us comfort.

But walls are also divisive.  There has been much discussion about walls in our country the past several years.  You see, the trouble lies in that inevitably when a wall exists, a lookout has to be placed to decide who is allowed on either side of it.  It seems easy—the good guys on one side, the bad guys on the other.  Done.  But the reality is never black and white.  Just like the epic Trojan horse, when we build a wall, our lookout might mistake bad for good….but more often the mistake comes in keeping out the good in an effort to be vigilant against the bad.  Walls have this funny way of impairing judgment and stifling relationships.

Think about it—every wall that has ever been built has been guilty of this fault.  The walls of the ancient world kept out legitimate traders and migrants in need.  Berlin’s wall broke apart entire neighborhoods and hindered economic vitality.  Pa’s door didn’t allow him to see when their good neighbor, Mr. Edwards, was coming to help.  The walls of our homes keep out the sunshine and beauty that exist in creation, and while we can try to admire it through a window, we cannot truly experience its fullness from behind the walls.  And we don’t even know what we’re missing until we step into the warm sunshine and freedom of the outdoors.

Breaking Down My Walls

And so goes the wall around my heart.  It was a grand structure, sturdy and strong.  It offered me comfort and protection, and I was sure that it was the best way to live.

But then Jesus showed up to give me a glimpse of His freedom and sunshine.  It sounds so pleasant. Rather, He came in like a wrecking ball.  The time was up on my wall.   He took this life that I thought I had, this person I thought I was, everything I thought I knew about Him and this world and turned it upside down.  He allowed a Trojan horse to penetrate my wall in the form of a porn-addicted husband who seemed unwilling to change, and whom I could not control.

So the battle of Troy ensued.  My wall was rendered defenseless.  I could not control it.  I could not overcome it.  All of my strength and independence held no power. I was left battered and broken and vulnerable—the precise things my wall was supposed to protect me against.  He loved me enough to allow that.  Gee thanks, Jesus.

I know, here’s where I start with the crazy talk again.  But it’s Truth.  Jesus used this discovery of pornography to save me.  He pursued me–HARD and with abandon.  He was relentless.  He would not stop until He had my heart.  And I played hard to get for so long.  He won me only by using this situation to penetrate my wall and back me into a corner of vulnerability.

But then he did an even more glorious thing.  Just when I had nowhere else to turn, He didn’t deliver the final fatal blow, but rather reached out His hand and used the opportunity to give me a peek through the wall at the freedom that might be.  He opened my eyes to the joy I was missing by sending me a child who, in the midst of this crisis, said to me one day, “Mom, why don’t you ever laugh?”  And then Jesus gave me a choice.  I could live the rest of my life behind that wall of anger, resentment, and independence.   And He loved me enough to let me actually continue in this way if I wished.  Or He showed me that I could experience a life of freedom basking in His love.  One that would leave me without a wall and vulnerable to trials and hurts, yes, but one that would also bring me laughter and joy and love again.

Learning to Trust

You see, when I was busy being independent and invincible I didn’t really need anyone-not my husband, not my children, and especially not a Savior.  I’m learning when you build a wall to keep out the pain, it becomes impermeable to love too.  And joy.  And Jesus.  He wants my heart for Himself.  He wants it to be transformed–to feel love and joy again.  And only through this place of vulnerability that I was brought to by my husband’s betrayal was I able to experience His divine mercy and His never-ending love.  Without this pain, I did not need a Savior. So I let Him start to deconstruct my wall, one invincible brick at a time.

But taking down that wall requires TRUST.  And after being betrayed, trust is not an easy thing, which is why I’m not there yet.  For every brick He takes down, sometimes I put two back up.  I hate this vulnerability thing, and I hate the pain that I feel with each brick that is hauled away–the pain that I blocked out for so long.  I’d still much prefer to hide behind my wall of anger, control, and independence.  But the glimpses of joy that I can feel now are worth it.  Just like Jesus thought I was worth it even when He felt the pain of the cross.

So despite the pain and the hurt, I’m getting there.  And what I feel now most is gratitude.  Not anger, or shame, or hurt, or disappointment, or resentment.  Sure-those feelings still come around all too frequently, but my primary state is one of gratitude that He loves me with a love that is unique, and unrepeatable.  That He loved me enough to give me a trial, at the exact moment in time, in an exact way, that would allow Him to swoop in and save me.  Even though the independent feminist in me hates that idea, I cannot ignore the reality that through all of the pain he is bringing healing to me, to my husband, and to my children in places that I wasn’t even awake enough to know needed healing.  And that gratitude, I’ve determined, seems to be the best antidote for the hopelessness I once felt.  So the only possible reaction for me on this three year anniversary of discovering my husband’s addiction is to celebrate—with dinner and a babysitter and everything. A place where He has brought me to look forward with trust, but still face any fears as to where He loves me enough to lead me next.