The Blessings Of A Broken Road

Last week, I talked about my parent’s celebrating their 46th wedding anniversary. This past week I marked another anniversary. This particular one was not celebrated or talked about or probably even noticed by anyone but me. It was a very important date, though, because it was a date that changed my life.

Sixteen years ago, on Oct. 16, 1992; I drove myself and all my possessions across the border from Louisiana to Arkansas. All my possessions sounds lofty, but what it really encompassed was what could fit into a Toyota Corolla. Me, my cat Isaac (named because it means "laughter" and I so wanted laughter in my life again), some clothing, a 12 inch television, and a few things that were sentimentally valuable to no one but me.

I was, in effect, running away. I was running away from hurt and violence and fear and the constant threat of never knowing when an angry vile filled eruption would occur. But I was also running to. I was running to peace and tranquility. Running to acceptance and understanding. Running to the unknown, which; although scary, was so very much better than the known.

I had very little money. I had no home. I had no job. I was going to be living temporarily with my best friend, sleeping on an air mattress for the immediate future in the only spare room she had. Her laundry room. We fixed it up and it turned into a fine, if a bit noisy, second bedroom. I worked as a temp at dozens of jobs, making less money than I had known was possible.

There were some hard days, some scary days and some lonely days when it seemed like I was all alone in the world. But being all alone was better than being in a toxic relationship, and I cherished the peace and the quiet–just beautiful quietness and peaceful silence–of coming home to a house where no one was waiting in anger when I opened the door.

No one was waiting to accuse me of one more wrong, to challenge me about one more fault or flaw or shortcoming. Knowing that I didn’t have to dread coming home was one of the very best parts of my day.

Coming home to Arkansas was the best decision I have ever made. Actually, it was a group of decisions. I had to decide to leave an abusive relationship. That sounds like it would be easy, but it wasn’t. I meant every single word of "till death do us part" and breaking those vows broke my heart. I took the failure personally, and it took me years to decide that there was nothing more I could do to save the relationship.

I had decide where "home" would be. I had been raised in Arkansas, but I wanted to go somewhere and totally start my life again. I thought a fresh start somewhere completely different might be better.

In the end though, home was here, and I longed for my place, for my people, for my way of life. I met my husband here, and we had our child here. I reconnected with my family here, found old friends and made new ones.

There’s a song called "God Bless the Broken Road." It talks about how every long lost dream leads to where we are now, and how others who broke our hearts were like stars guiding us to the ones we are with now.

My husband and I have been married for fifteen years. We have a 13 year old son that we cherish. My relationship with my family is precious, and I love his family as though they were of my blood.

Driving into Arkansas 16 years ago, I crossed through a little border town called Crossroads. I thought it was a pretty good description of the place I was in my life. I hoped I would find peace, and wondered if I would find happiness. Never in the wildest of my hopes and dreams did I imagine the depths of the love and peace and joy that were waiting for me. God truly did bless the broken road that led me to my new life.