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Choices

Choices are difficult to make. I came all the way out here to get educated, so that I could be a minister, I am faced with going back to Massachusetts to live. I feel the effects of being divorced. I am wounded. I hoped to be in marriage that lasted and to turn a house into a home I could looking forward to going to. Everything fell apart.

I could say it was all my fault. That would be a lie. A relationship became sick and even cancerous. It needed to end so that people could survive and thrive. I have seen my children do well. My former spouse renovated a home, will become a pastor, remarried and leads the children in celebration on birthdays and holidays. I have become a person on the outside looking in. Pastoral aspirations sacrificed, working overtime to pay bills. My children are grown up and are distant. My initiative is unending and exhausting. I am increasingly aware that I see my kids less. The home I sought to build is a place that pains me to even look at. My former spouse invites a new man into this home where my kids lived and grew up. I am dying as long as I live here. I long to go to a place I can want to live. I long to be in a place I can call home. I am choosing to live, and in so doing teach my children to do likewise. That is my choice.