Two weeks before our 20th anniversary in 1992, my husband left our marriage. Although our marriage had been troubled for a while, I never thought he would cross the line and break his temple covenants.
He did, though, and suddenly I was left to raise seven children. Although he saw them frequently and faithfully paid child support, he lived an hour-and-a-half away and was no longer interested in being actively involved in their activities. I had been a stay-at-home mom for 19 years, even though the Lord had opened doors for me to finish my college degree only months before my husband’s departure. Our three daughters and four sons ranged in age from 17 to four years old. Our oldest daughter was severely handicapped mentally and physically by cerebral palsy.
During the difficult and challenging years that followed, my children and I clung to the anchor of the gospel, which has brought us through the storm. What at first seemed hopeless and fearful has become an experience that defined my attitude towards life’s trials and made my children’s testimonies strong.
Early on, as my future shifted beneath my feet, and with my children needing no less from me than they had before, my bathroom—that wonderful sanctuary of mothers—became my “secret closet.” I sobbed and prayed, begging for help and answers. Although I did not receive immediate answers to my prayers or a still, small voice directing my way, I had the feeling that my prayers were heard and my situation was known. Emotionally drained, and usually with a line of children waiting for me outside, I always stood up and walked out of the door with enough strength to help my children as they struggled with our new life. Within a few hours, the grief would return and again I would retreat to prayer. Gradually, however, my emotional meltdowns became less frequent, and decision and action replaced my despair.
There was never a question as to whether to stop living the gospel, either through blaming God for what had happened or giving in to the feeling of being overwhelmed. The gospel was still true, my covenants remained the same and the requirements no less. Throughout the years of gospel study, I had learned the lessons about free agency, the purposes of trials and the constancy of Heavenly Father’s love. Now it was time to experience it, and I prayed for the strength to endure and lead my family. There was no other place but the gospel to find refuge.
In the weeks to come, besides my wonderful family, my church leaders were an immediate source of comfort and help. My bishop stayed in touch daily in the first couple of weeks, making sure the children and I had all that we needed. A stake president gave me wise and loving counsel and helped guide me through my husband’s subsequent excommunication.
I saw in my life how the Lord, knowing what my future would bring, had prepared me to survive. Earning my college degree was one way, and helping us find a home a few years earlier that was big enough for our seven children was another. Two weeks before my husband left, a teller at the bank accidently let me see a joint bank account I had forgotten about that had enough money in it to pay the mortgage for three months. I remembered that the day my husband left and withdrew the money, giving me a feeling of peace about our financial situation for a while. I believed the Lord had opened the way for me to remember about the account.
Only four years before, we had moved into the house that became the Grand Central Station of my children’s lives and the lives of many of their friends. Many times in the months to come, I did not know where the next house payment would come from, but through earnest prayer and paying an honest tithe, the house payment always appeared. Once when I had no money to pay the house payment, my mother suddenly decided to give me some stocks she had. I sold them and had for several house payments, until the next tithing miracle happened.
One week I had only an $88 paycheck from a part-time job to last for the week until the child support check came, but the $8.80 tithing check I wrote gave me the assurance I would be taken care of as the lilies of the field. And we were.
Helping Bear my Burden
I made a decision in the beginning to keep as much unchanged as possible in my children’s lives. The home my children loved was one rock of our foundation, and our ward was another. We had a small, close-knit Southern ward as comfortable to my children as slipping into a worn pair of old blue jeans. When the door opened to a meeting or an activity, we were there. If there ever was a time in our lives to seek the Lord at church, it was then. I craved the companionship of other ward members and found strength and friendship in their love.
Although it was humbling, and at times embarrassing, to be in such a needy position, I sought the help of other ward members for those things I couldn’t do for myself and found many willing to lend a shoulder to cry on and arms for a hug. A good friend brought over a delicious tuna casserole as she listened to me question what had happened. After I fled to her house one night in tears, her husband quietly came down the stairs in a suit and tie and said, “You need a priesthood blessing.” He bestowed upon me a beautiful blessing that provided strength for the next little while.
After seeing my tears as I dropped my sons off for a game night with their son, another couple held my car door open and wouldn’t let me drive away. They helped me get my daughter’s wheelchair out of the car and fed her a big bowl of vanilla ice cream while they reassured me that I was worthy of being loved.
Good, faithful members of the ward obeyed the scripture in Mosiah 18 that those in the fold of God are to be “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light . . . mourn with those that mourn . . . and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” They helped bear my burden, and our friendships, refined through trials, have remained strong.
I also looked for strong priesthood role models for my four sons and found them. Wonderful men opened their hearts to include my sons, and I forever will be grateful for the young men who freely shared their fathers with my boys.
Foundations of Survival
Even in our small ward, we had an active Boy Scout Troop that became a vital, life-molding experience for my sons week after week, campout after campout. The leaders took my boys under their wings, including them with their sons in father/son activities, encouraging them to attend priesthood meetings with them, teaching them their priesthood responsibilities and correcting them when necessary.
All four sons earned their Eagle Scout and although it was sad to me that their father was not one of the men working with them on their projects, other men selflessly helped, and for that, I will always be thankful.
Early-morning seminary was a tremendous blessing in our lives. What a wonderful blessing that my children began their day with the scriptures, prayer and the company of good people. It was still another constant in their lives, and whatever the sacrifice required to get them there has been worth it.
In seminary, my children learned the gospel principles and guidelines that didn’t change when the circumstances of life changed. They were able to use the scriptures and gospel teachings as a standard against which to measure their father’s misuse of his agency and as a guide in their lives.
Studying the scriptures brought an eternal perspective to my situation. The words of Jacob in the Book of Mormon were especially meaningful as I read how he denounced the unchastity of the men and said that the Lord had seen “the sorrow, and heard the mourning of the daughters of my people . . . and the sobbing of their hearts ascend up to God against you.”
Whatever guilt I felt about my role in the failure of my marriage, I came to realize that my husband’s decision to be unfaithful was his and his alone and that God will ultimately not be mocked. I knew God was aware of my pain as He had been aware of the pain of the wives and children in Jacob’s time and would be with me.
Although I tried to obey the rules of “good divorce” and not speak unkindly about their father to my children, at times I had to be truthful with what was happening. A couple of nights after my husband left, I gathered the children together and as gently as I could told them that their father had decided he did not want to make good choices right then or do what Heavenly Father wanted him to do, but we were going to continue to do what we knew was right. There were tears and anger, but they decided along with me that we would continue along the path we had set for ourselves.
I tried to be as honest as possible without destroying their relationship with their father, which I wanted to remain a part of their lives. When one of my sons got angry with me during a difficult time a few months later and shouted at me that I wouldn’t let his daddy come home, I sat down with him and corrected his misconceptions. When he knew the truth, his behavior improved.
Years before, I had made a commitment to having family home evening every week and was even more determined after my husband left. Sometimes it was short, sometimes it was stressful, sometimes it actually worked and always it was followed by a treat. It was usually on Sunday nights since Monday nights were interrupted with school activities and sports, but we adapted the counsel to our situation.
We would climb up on my daughter’s hospital bed and around on the floor and have a short lesson and then talk. One night I remember, one of my teenage sons lay in the hallway with only his head in the door. When I asked him to come in and join us, he argued technically that his head was in the room so he was attending family home evening. I gave up and went on with the lesson. It has become an experience we laugh about.
Holding to the Iron Rod
The key to surviving a divorce is clinging to the iron rod. A realization that the Atonement covers not only sins, but all hurts, injustices, inadequacies and unfair situations has given me strength through the years. I have tried to teach my children that when confronted with an obstacle in life, such as the divorce of their parents, they can either use it as a stumbling block and a reason for all the problems they encounter the rest of their lives or they can use it as an experience from which to learn and grow.
We were never “a broken home.” It might not have had their father in it, but our home was fun, loving and gospel centered. A few times in classes at church, I even was quick to point out that the term “broken home” could be a source of pain for those experiencing divorce or absent parents!
My children have done well. Except my handicapped daughter, they have all been married in the temple and those with children are raising them in righteous homes. In a few months, we will have our sixth Brigham Young University graduation. Two children have already earned graduate degrees, one is at Duke MBA school now and one in law school at the University of North Carolina . They all have strong testimonies. My daughters are beautiful daughters of God who understand their roles in life, and my sons all served honorable missions and are the worthy priesthood holders. They have been a part of their father’s life to some extent and hope that one day he will return to the Church, although they are realistic about the consequences he has brought upon himself.
I have remarried and, although we do not share religions, my husband has been a wonderful stepfather to my children and now grandfather to our grandchildren.
There is hope and happiness after divorce through the gospel and atonement of Jesus Christ, an iron rod to hold onto through the mists of unhappiness and a light that shines in the darkness of one’s life that will never be extinguished. It is the light of the Savior, which will always be visible as long as a person walks towards it.