My soon to be ex-wife and I are in the process of filing the paperwork for our divorce and property settlement. All of that is a tragic story in and of itself, but as we have begun to negotiate the terms of the property settlement, I have begun to sense a whole new dimension of the significance of what we are doing. And as I have tried to comprehend this seemingly weightier reality, I believe that the Lord has been informing my thoughts and enabling me to see a truth which, although it may be obvious to others, is a new revelation to me. And this epiphany, if you will, has to do with the meaning and importance of that abstraction that we call the home.
I have come to see that a home is more than a building and/or a collection of furniture and decorations. A home is an ethos—a cultural, emotional and spiritual construct that is greater than the sum of its parts. Although over the course of a marriage, you might move to and from a number of residences, I have come to see there is a substantive reality along the lines of a platonic form or archetype that is the transcendent reality behind that which is apparent, and which moves, intact, from residence to residence. I have heard it said that “your music” is the soundtrack to your life. In that same sense, your home is the setting—that is—the stage and backdrop of your life. It is a tapestry woven of strands of objects and experiences—of memories and emotions—of hopes and dreams, both realized and dashed—of the fundamental character and spirit of the story that is your life. And I believe that the Lord has been showing me that this reality is not just a natural reality, but an intensely spiritual one that is of His design.
Take, for example, the coffee table that was in our living room for decades. We bought it when we had been married for around five years. Thirty-five years later, it is scratched and the finish is almost completely worn off, yet it is still sturdy. And it holds a treasure trove of memories ranging from our son Ryan dancing on it half-naked when he was a toddler, to the times we had Bible studies in our living room when we were planting the church, to family gatherings throughout the years on Christmas and other holidays, to too many instances with all of our family and friends to begin to recount. It is a fundamental brick in the structure that is, or should I say was, our home. In retail value, it is nearly worthless. But in emotional and spiritual value, it is priceless. And now we have to decide who gets it.
And that is just one of many items that we acquired over the course of our marriage that make up our home. There are odds and ends—knick-knacks and memorabilia, all part of this wonderful reality that is our home. And not only these but, in addition, there are the heirlooms—the bricks in the structure that have been passed down from previous generations with all of their significance and stories, some known, some not, that are all still a part of the cultural and spiritual heritage of the home. If “the sins of the parents are visited upon the children unto the third and fourth generations,” then might it not also be true that the blessings are as well? Hence, the treasures, both great and small, that have been passed down through each family line and have been woven into the fabric of our home, have added to the richness, strength, and significance of the tapestry.
So as we have begun the process of trying to come to an agreement as to how to divide up our property, I have this intense sense of grief. To be sure, as believers we have been taught that the marriage covenant is sacred and that the breaking of that covenant is tragic. And I certainly both believe and feel that truth. But I have come to see that the covenant involves more than just the relationship between the husband and wife. I believe that this unseen, but substantive, reality that is the home, is a sacred thing as well. So as I think about that coffee table and all the meaning it holds and the fact that now, in the property settlement, we have to decide who gets it, it feels almost blasphemous to be engaged in a process that, in reality, represents the ripping apart this sacred place. And that is exactly what this property settlement feels like—the destruction and looting of a holy place. It feels tragic that this sacred heritage (a heritage that should have rightly been bequeathed to our children when we die), is being torn down before its time. It really does feel like death.
I have a close friend whose father died recently and she has been going down to southern California from time to time to help her mother with the process of sorting through and deciding what to do with all of her father’s “stuff.” Much of it is being divided amongst my friend and her siblings. Some of it will remain with her mom, and some is either being given to the Goodwill or discarded. And though there are many fond memories and some poignant nostalgia in the process, there is still the pervading pall of death. And that is what this property settlement feels like to me—the premature death of our home and it fills me with grief.
I also think that, although I didn’t realize it at the time, this is why it was so difficult for me the first year after I moved out of the house. Up until now, the reason that I was so full of grief and so depressed was largely unclear to me. I knew it wasn’t from being separated from my ex. Meaning her no disrespect, it really was a relief to be out of the conflict and constant tension that characterized our home environment before I moved out. But I did feel this profound sense of loss. This recent realization of the significance of the home makes the basis for my feelings abundantly clear. I had been suddenly cut off from the reality that was our home after having lived in it for thirty-eight years. It was like having the foundation of my life suddenly pulled out from under my feet. I felt literally like a man without a home. I had a place to live, but I no longer had a home.
I think the experience for my ex was minimal because although we both moved out of the place we had been living, she took nearly the whole household with her, pretty much intact. So that foundation was still there for her and when I visited her at her new place, it still felt like my home--I just didn’t get to live there. But now that we have to do a formal property settlement and divide up our stuff more evenly—or speaking in more honest terminology, to rip our home to pieces—I fear it may be difficult for her emotionally. Hence, I am doing everything I can to be gracious and avoid conflict, but there is no way around the destruction.
Through this dawning realization (no pun intended), I think the Lord has given me a deeper understanding of why He hates divorce so much. It is because it is so destructive and so much a victory for the enemy who comes only to steal and kill and destroy,” when it is God’s desire that we would “have life, and have it abundantly.” There is no life, rather only death, in ripping the sacred home to shreds. I pray my experience can be a warning to others.
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