Over the past few months I’ve watched several marriages fall apart and others go through some very hard things. I’ve been thinking so much about those three years of sheer suffering I went through while I fought to keep mine together, pleading and fighting and trying everything I could to keep a ship from sinking that had long been sunk. It was hard. It was terrible. And it was terrifying.

It’s hard to watch now in someone else’s life because I know just how it feels and I wouldn’t wish that brand of pain on anyone.
I get to observe these broken marriages with a clarity that only comes from hindsight. It’s easy to see the path through when you’re not the one hurting. And it’s hard to tell someone what to do with their life because the only person who has to live with the consequences of their choices is not me, but them. Life can be so messy. And so, so hard.

Which brings me to Thanksgiving.

Today I am thankful for pain. Pain is life’s great transformer, it changes hearts that are smashed into pieces into something new and beautiful. It’s never what we want, but oftentimes the only thing we need. Pain often does God’s work.

I learned to make pain my teacher, learn what I could from it, let it wash over me and embrace it. I was determined to learn every lesson I could from my tragedy and let it make me better. Pain was my healer.

Four years ago, our relationship budding and new, I ate pie for breakfast with Josh, hiked devil’s kitchen with Josh, cooked Thanksgiving dinner with Josh, realized I was falling in love with Josh. I didn’t know then that life would look like it does now, that he was the incredible man, father and husband that he is. I barely had a glimpse of the gift I was being given.

But Josh isn’t the hero of this story, he’s just part of it. He wasn’t what saved me, I was saved before we met.

It was the pain. I allowed it to open up my eyes, to burn everything to the ground so I could rise from the ashes. I did the long and hard work that it took to become a whole person. I cried a river of tears, looked deep within myself, and I healed, at first inch by inch and finally in leaps and bounds.

And because I healed I was given this full and wonderful life for which, today, and every day, I am so incredibly thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Today I cried on the bathroom floor, back up against the cabinet, hands clutching the rug. I had to ask more than one family member today to not talk to me about politics, for the sake of our relationship.
Today one of my downtown business owners, and friend, drove to my office just to give me a hug. I’m pretty sure we voted for different candidates.
Today I had to show myself (and those around me) a mercy and unfollowed a handful of friends who were rejoicing in their newly-voted-for good fortune. It’s just too much right now.
Today I signed my family up to buy groceries for a single mom who’s only holiday wish was to give her four children a meal in which she didn’t have to restrict their portions, a meal where there would be more than enough.
Today I thought about the last 8 years and how the Republicans vowed to obstruct every action Obama took, just because he was a Democrat. And I knew that us progressives couldn’t stand for a reciprocation of those actions. I knew that it was time for us to lead by example, being the bigger people, because someone has to choose love first and we can’t afford to stand deadlocked.
Today I heard Hillary Clinton say, “Scripture tells us: Let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season, we shall reap, if we do not lose heart.”
Today there are threads of hope, silvery and strong.

click for Josh’s version of our 24 hours post-election

Hate won.
How long will it keep on winning? How far and wide and deep will the aftermath be?
Who is left to stand up for what is good and true? Who fights for the marginalized, the minority, the abused, the broken? And for those of us who do, how futile will our efforts be?
How do we stand in the way of hate, abuse, discrimination, when we no longer have our government backing us?
I am afraid.
All around me I see darkness, growing ever darker. I don’t see the small, shining beacon of hope in the distance. I’m trying so hard to find it.