Forgiving the Unforgivable

How Divine Mercy Saved My Marriage

One day, in a fund-raising mailing from a religious organization, I received a five-by-seven image of Christ that depicted him in a way I had never seen before. He was clothed in a white robe, and his right hand was raised in blessing. With his left hand, he pointed to his heart, from which streamed two rays of light-one red, one white. The picture bore a prayer: "Jesus, I trust in you."

Today, many of us would recognize this as the Divine Mercy image revealed to St. Faustina Kowalska. But in 1958, when I opened that envelope, I had never heard of this Polish nun or her message. Still, I found the picture consoling and put it up in the laundry room, where I could see it often.

Where Has Love Gone? This sign of God's mercy came into my life during a long and painful period. For reasons I didn't understand, my husband had become very cold. What happened? I used to wonder. We were so in love when we got married. Now, nine years and three children later, we were on separate tracks. While I struggled at home to meet the needs of our growing family, he seemed consumed by his work as vice president of an up-and-coming business.

Knowing that he was in line for promotion to CEO and that his job was stressful, I didn't let on how disturbed I was. I played it very low-key and put up with a lot-actually, with much more than I knew at the time.

The births of two more children did nothing to change this scenario. My husband became more and more detached. He always provided well for our family's material needs, but he still seemed to be holding back his affection and love from me and the kids. Maybe he has a personality disorder, I used to think. Since I always wanted to keep the peace, I never asked him about it.

Neither did I ever contemplate separation or divorce. For one thing, I still loved my husband very much. And for another, I simply never thought of divorce as something that could happen to two people who were cradle Catholics and graduates of Catholic colleges. Instead, I suffered alone.

During those years, I could tell that God was pulling me through. Even at my lowest points, I never felt separated from God's love. Through spiritual reading materials and tapes, God gave me strength to go on. And always, there in my laundry room, was this image of Divine Mercy. I meditated on it again and again in those long, lonely time, and though it grew worn and tattered, it never failed to comfort and calm me.

Moment of Truth. Finally, after fifteen years of coldness and indifference, my husband began to express more interest in our family life. As if he were coming out of a dream world, he paid much more attention to me and our children. In fact, he became a real family man, and our marriage and home life changed remarkably. I began to feel his love.

Those mysterious years of coldness receded into the background as our children grew up and moved on. We celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary, our fortieth, and our fiftieth as a happily married couple. Then, two years ago, I experienced once more my desperate need for God's mercy.

Our son had been in a serious accident and had to be taken to the hospital. This crisis was wrenching enough. But there, as we kept vigil over our child, my husband launched into a confession that turned my world upside down.

Why he chose that moment, I don't know. But as I listened, horrified, my husband poured out the sorry tale that explained those fifteen bewildering years of our marriage. During the whole period, he had been carrying on an affair with his secretary. It had begun six years into our marriage, when our third child was two. The long days, late nights, and Saturday meetings that I thought he was devoting to his work had actually been a cover for his secret life.

I could hardly believe my ears. As my husband continued his confession to me, I felt a volcano of emotions beginning to boil up.

He said that after fifteen guilt-free years of lying and deceiving, something had touched his conscience. Finally aware of the horrible state of his soul, he sought out a priest and made the most sincere confession of his life. Tremendous peace and relief washed over him, and he felt unchained and strengthened to begin a new life. He broke with his secret lover, returned to his family, and never looked back.

"Why Should I?" If my husband had taken out a knife and stabbed me there in that hospital room, I could hardly have been more shocked or hurt. Incredible as it may sound, never once had I suspected adultery. He left no clues. More importantly, I trusted him absolutely, assuming that we were both serious about our faith and our marriage vows.

Our son went on to complete recovery, but it has taken me much longer to heal from the deep wounds I received that day. For months afterwards, I screamed and cried in fury. "I loved you and you double-crossed me! How could you do that to me?" I couldn't even look my husband in the eye without feeling betrayed and overcome by sorrow. Fine for him to have made his peace with God. But what about all those years I spent in anguish-fifteen years of living a lie?

I was furious with his confessor, too. Shouldn't I have had the right to choose whether I wanted my straying spouse back? I was angry with myself for having been so naïve and accommodating. I was even angry with God. Why hadn't he intervened sooner?

My husband begged forgiveness a thousand times, but I just couldn't find it in me, even though I admitted my anger every time I went to confession.

"You have to forgive him," the priest would say.

"I don't have to do anything," I'd retort.

The most I could do was to pray for God's mercy as I clung to my Divine Mercy image and kept contemplating it. Very slowly, its message made its way into my heart.

Another Work of Mercy. It was God's mercy that I happened across an article on the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. It identified lukewarmness-also known as spiritual sloth or, more technically, acedia-as the true enemy of spiritual progress. Acedia, it explained, is the chronic sadness or discouragement that comes upon a person who laments all the effort that is necessary to live the Christian life.

The statement hit me right between the eyes. That was me! God was inviting me to forgive my husband, get on with life, and place myself in the Lord's hands. Yet here I was, lamenting my hurt, nurturing my sadness, and resisting the hard work necessary to truly forgive. I decided to refuse no longer.

I won't deny it's been a struggle. I was so deeply hurt that it is still sometimes hard to say, "I forgive." Yet with every Our Father I say, especially at Mass, God draws me closer to himself and helps me to renew my decision.

Ironically, but mercifully, the struggle to forgive my husband has not only been humbling, it has also revealed my own sinfulness. In Jesus' parable of the workers in the vineyard, the landowner asks his disgruntled employees: "Are you envious because I am generous?" (Matthew 20:15). When the Lord put this question to me, I could only reply, "Yeah, sorta." While I was grateful that the Good Shepherd had gone looking for my husband and carried him back on his shoulders, I had to admit that part of me protested the special treatment. After all, he was the sinner. I was trying my best to stay faithful-both to the Lord and to my marriage vows.

What I have come to see, though, is that both my husband and I are rescued and repentant sinners. Both of us are recipients of God's unconditional mercy. In our bedroom hangs a reminder of this reality-a large painting of Jesus, the Divine Mercy. Commissioned from that little image I kept in the laundry room, it now comforts and encourages us both.

Though I still have my tearful moments, I thank God every day for the miracle of my husband's transformation and for our life together. Amazingly, I can even thank God for the hard times that have drawn us both closer to him. With God, all is mercy.

Do you have a story about how God has worked in your life? Send it to us at editor@wau.org.

by Margaret Mary Juilanna*

* Name has been changed.

Copyright Word Among Us Apr 2005
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