Seventeen Octobers ago I had just asked her to be my girlfriend in the lobby of Burritt Hall at Greenville College. We were falling head over heels for each other.
Sixteen Octobers ago my girlfriend was my world and I was hers. We were just kids.
Fifteen Octobers ago we were newlyweds living in our first apartment on Locust Street. We were both in college and held down several part-time jobs.
Fourteen Octobers ago we lived by Bond Lake while she finished up college and I made money as an Individual Care Aide for a first grade boy who suffered from severe cerebral palsy.
Thirteen Octobers ago we were living in Tianjin, China together on our first great adventure. We hosted a Halloween party for some of our favorite students and taught them about apple bobbing, costumes, and trick or treating.
Twelve Octobers ago we shared the world's smallest and cheapest apartment ($290/month rent) by a train track in Wilmore, KY. The housing was built of cinder blocks and I liked the fact I could vacuum our entire apartment without unplugging the vacuum cleaner. They were happy days.
Eleven Octobers ago she had just given birth to our first child and we struggled together to become good parents to our precious colicky baby.
Ten Octobers ago we were wrestling every day with questions about our future as I worked to complete my final year of seminary.
Nine Octobers ago I was just a few months into my first pastorate at Indianapolis First Free Methodist Church, she was about to give birth to our second daughter, and I was sinking into my deepest encounter with real despair/depression in my twenty-seven years of life.
Eight Octobers ago our little family of four raked up the leaves on the church parking lot and jumped in them together. I remember the spot.
Seven Octobers ago I knew that I had developed an addiction to Tramadol, unable to cope with the stresses of urban ministry, fatherhood, depression, etc. Our family went on a cheap vacation to a campground outside of Clay City, IN and, to the sheer delight of our girls, we adopted a stray cat we named Colt.
Six Octobers ago I knew my days as a pastor were numbered and that my life was unsustainable, yet I desperately wanted a way to support my family so I applied to return to school.
Five Octobers ago my family was living in Durham, NC where I was attending Duke Divinity School. It was a year of partial healing, but of inward desperation and confusion over our retreat from Indy.
Four Octobers ago we had moved to Evanston, started attending church together at Reba Place, and my faith was almost non-existent. She began dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder and, to my great shame, I largely failed to support her through it.
Three Octobers ago I was buried in coursework while she kept working to put me through school. The pressure and shame over my inability to provide for my family was more than I could bear.
Two Octobers ago I passed my Latin exam for my Ph. D program, but I was running out of steam and started retreating too often into video games. The sense of failure in life was crushing.
Last October we all just worried about who our nation's next president might be. I clung to a stubborn belief that my marriage and family were going to be just fine in the long run, but I could not have been more wrong.
This October I am divorced and alone. I pray Psalm 6 often.
Sixteen Octobers ago my girlfriend was my world and I was hers. We were just kids.
Fifteen Octobers ago we were newlyweds living in our first apartment on Locust Street. We were both in college and held down several part-time jobs.
Fourteen Octobers ago we lived by Bond Lake while she finished up college and I made money as an Individual Care Aide for a first grade boy who suffered from severe cerebral palsy.
Thirteen Octobers ago we were living in Tianjin, China together on our first great adventure. We hosted a Halloween party for some of our favorite students and taught them about apple bobbing, costumes, and trick or treating.
Twelve Octobers ago we shared the world's smallest and cheapest apartment ($290/month rent) by a train track in Wilmore, KY. The housing was built of cinder blocks and I liked the fact I could vacuum our entire apartment without unplugging the vacuum cleaner. They were happy days.
Eleven Octobers ago she had just given birth to our first child and we struggled together to become good parents to our precious colicky baby.
Ten Octobers ago we were wrestling every day with questions about our future as I worked to complete my final year of seminary.
Nine Octobers ago I was just a few months into my first pastorate at Indianapolis First Free Methodist Church, she was about to give birth to our second daughter, and I was sinking into my deepest encounter with real despair/depression in my twenty-seven years of life.
Eight Octobers ago our little family of four raked up the leaves on the church parking lot and jumped in them together. I remember the spot.
Seven Octobers ago I knew that I had developed an addiction to Tramadol, unable to cope with the stresses of urban ministry, fatherhood, depression, etc. Our family went on a cheap vacation to a campground outside of Clay City, IN and, to the sheer delight of our girls, we adopted a stray cat we named Colt.
Six Octobers ago I knew my days as a pastor were numbered and that my life was unsustainable, yet I desperately wanted a way to support my family so I applied to return to school.
Five Octobers ago my family was living in Durham, NC where I was attending Duke Divinity School. It was a year of partial healing, but of inward desperation and confusion over our retreat from Indy.
Four Octobers ago we had moved to Evanston, started attending church together at Reba Place, and my faith was almost non-existent. She began dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder and, to my great shame, I largely failed to support her through it.
Three Octobers ago I was buried in coursework while she kept working to put me through school. The pressure and shame over my inability to provide for my family was more than I could bear.
Two Octobers ago I passed my Latin exam for my Ph. D program, but I was running out of steam and started retreating too often into video games. The sense of failure in life was crushing.
Last October we all just worried about who our nation's next president might be. I clung to a stubborn belief that my marriage and family were going to be just fine in the long run, but I could not have been more wrong.
This October I am divorced and alone. I pray Psalm 6 often.
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