Written October 13, 2009

I see my reflection in the laptop screen. I am not the same man I arrived here as. My face is thinner. My eyes are different. My entire makeup as a person is different. Before I was a man that had a huge comfort zone insulating and isolating me. The new man has no comfort zone. He is out in the wild with God.  A man who is more alive than he has ever been for better or worse.

I initiated the divorce proceedings because my wife didn’t want to file until after the first of the year for tax purposes. I could not have this hanging over my head during the holidays like an executioner’s ax.  I have a new life to begin. She has already begun hers.

I will never paint her as a villain.  She tells me she doesn’t love me anymore and I can’t make her love me.

God is good. He is my strength and my fortress.

I went to the Post Office and rented a PO Box so I have an address. Strange, after seventeen years of marriage all I am now known only as “Box Holder, PO Box 836 Madisonville Kentucky 42431.”

A couple of weeks ago I lost my mind for a spell and got a tattoo on my right bicep. I completely understand why people get tattoos to mark significant events in their life. I wanted to mark an emotional earthquake in mine.  Not to signify her or what she means to me but an event that brought me to my knees and closer to God. I never want to forget. My tattoo is a cross made of three roman spikes.  And I must say, it’s pretty bada##. I told the artist what I wanted and he came up with a great design. When I got in the chair he asked me why I was getting it and I told him the whole story start to finish. He said, “I’m so sorry. That’s really, really sad. At least you aren’t doing something stupid like getting her name tattooed on you.” If I can talk to someone about Jesus using my tattoo, glory be to God.

One thing I have learned and take heed…if you don’t go to the mountain to really spill your guts you may get dragged there over the rocks. It ain’t a pleasant experience.

I have stopped worshiping at my home church. Too painful. I have been attending my friend Eric’s church. An interdenominational group of believers. The first Sunday I attended I cried the entire time. When the altar team assembled for people needing prayer I almost ran there and found myself in front of a Messianic Jew. I told him I needed prayer for a healed marriage. He grabbed my head and said the most beautiful, powerful prayer I had ever heard. Then I felt Eric’s hand on my back. He was there with me. What a wonderful friend. In fact, recalling it now is making me cry. At the end of the prayer the Messianic Jew uttered in ancient tongues. It caused no fear or confusion in this deep fried Southern Baptist child. It brought only peace. Bring it on God.

A few days ago my pastor JD called to check on me. He asked what I was doing and I said, “To be honest JD, I’m pacing the floor wondering what the hell happened.” He chuckled and replied, “You are exactly right. Hell happened.” Can we have an Amen?

But something great and miraculous is happening to me. God is in the process of making me into a brand new man. I don’t even know who the guy was who left his home in the woods. I am so far out of my comfort zone and so far from ok I don’t know what they look or smell like anymore.

I am in a fire. I can’t jump out of it. I can’t go around it. I have to go through it. And that I am, by the grace of God, to the other side and out to the lushest, greenest pasture I could ever imagine.

God and I have begun work on Cecil version 2.0.

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