Different Kinds of Bridges

Groom Stops Mid-Vow & Admits He Loves Someone Else—When He Points Her Out to the Bride, Her Heart MELTS

I have been having a few difficult moments in the last weeks……relapses from foods I should not eat…..illness from too much stress and too many memories……as well as wonderfully joyful moments with daughters and phone calls and mission trips and late night shopping runs with my favorite driver! Life is so full that I am afraid to take time to reflect sometimes….until I come across terms like “highly sensitive people” and take the test and score pretty high and begin pondering why I never have known about this term and why it all makes so much sense after reading about it……retaking the Myers Briggs and applying that to the other knowledge of highly sensitive people and beginning to make connections between the personality of an INFP / INFJ hybrid combined with a highly sensitive nature. So connections are what I do apparently. Making connections and dreaming and thinking and feeling emotions and desiring to teach and talk and discuss and build bridges between people and ideas are the things that energize me……..

And then on Sunday afternoon, after a week of pondering a poem by Rudyard Kipling called The Sons of Martha (it is posted at the bottom of the blog), and talking with an engineer about the poem…and later that afternoon rereading a blog of mine called Shouting and having a section leap off the page at me….

Admitting defeat is so much easier than walking the precarious, preposterously difficult road that a sex addict would need to walk in order to make it right and build a bridge to healing for all the hearts destroyed by the lies.

…After all that…..I happened upon a Facebook post that connected everything and reduced me to absolute tears.


I read it and couldn’t even get through to the end of it the first time. Suddenly all of the things I had been reading and all of my homework, which has been to write down all of my desires in each of my various relationships…….suddenly it all came together into a giant heartache which let me know to look more deeply for the desire of my heart that was staring at me…..trying to get my full attention.

Suddenly I was seeing with fresh eyes and feeling with the heart of an eight year old little girl….and a wounded eighteen year old woman….and a pregnant mother……. and a broken-hearted forty-six year old wife. Suddenly all the desires were rolled into one very poignant desire that pierced my heart to its very core.

I needed a bridge builder. I needed someone who saw me and desired to build a bridge to my heart.

I desire a bridge builder even now. It is one of my deepest desires.

Suddenly the Sons of Martha poem made more sense and the passage I had written made more sense and the Facebook video crystalized what I needed to know about my heart. Suddenly…the Sons of Martha became the men like the one in this video…taking the burden laid on them by God and building a bridge for the heart of their beloved. The Sons of Martha became the brave men who take the cares of others placed in their life by God himself, and simply serve in powerful and profound ways. It was an aha moment for me, since I thought I knew what the poem was trying to say, and I had been fighting with this poem all week.

God is so tender and always shows me so sweetly how stubborn I can really be in my self-righteous little way!

I choked back tears watching the video for the third time….the ache was palpable. This little girl has such joy and surprise on her face. This man has given her such a gift. She was being fully loved in that moment right where her largest wound was located. His bride was being fully loved in that moment….right where her greatest fears were. I could suddenly feel exactly how much fear there is around allowing someone else into a life that includes four daughters. Mine are grown….but the desire is the same. I would desire a bridge builder like this man, capable of coming for their hearts as well as mine.

And I realize….in my story….that bridge is so complex and so difficult to build that only God himself may be skilled enough to construct it. I realize that my heart may be so far on the other side of a canyon that no one can ever see it and have the strength or desire to construct that bridge.

And so I cry.

I cry out to God about how unfair that feels. I cry out to him about how scared I am and how very much I do not want to be alone forever. But I also cannot find a way out of the dark woods on my own. I cannot build that bridge myself. I am not that kind of engineer.

I cry out because when I was that young girl…..I desired for someone to come for me like this. I wanted it even then….a bridge builder who would pledge to love and come for me faithfully…..because I was part of a family……because I was seen and loved and included in that vow.

I cry out because as a wife…..I desired that bridge to be built, and I was part of the destruction often times. I see my lack and my places where I hid and refused to open up. I see the places where the bridge was poorly constructed and was only a hollow structure just waiting to fall apart in the first storm. I see the lack of craftsmanship and the way in which it was for show only and not carefully and lovingly constructed with wisdom and precision.

I cry out because as a pregnant wife…..I wanted that bridge to hold me steady during those difficult months and years, and I wanted that bridge to be a way to meet under a full moon and build an even deeper romance with the one whose children I was mothering.

I cry out because even today…..I desire that bridge. I desire a bridge so strong and true and faithfully built. It is one of my deepest and truest desires even now.

I cry out because part of me wonders if this bridge is even possible for someone as old as me and someone as unable to be brave at times as I can be.

So….this revelation and connection is beautiful….and horribly difficult at the same time. Healing from a destructive marriage can be intensive at times. Trauma can be difficult to maneuver at times.

But God is certainly faithful all the time.

 I can see how he helps me to make these connections and come to a place of seeing clearly…..even if he doesn’t always take away my desire or give me the things I desire in the way I expect……He always shows me my desires and then invites me to come deeper into his heart.

God help me to lay this desire at your feet. It feels so overwhelming and so raw. It feels so big and so empty in the place where I desire this. It feels impossible at times to even imagine a future in which this desire is met. Help me to see with your eyes and not my own here. I am not an engineer, and I am not capable of building this bridge without you and without a man of your choosing. Help me to know if there is such a man and if not, help me to walk alone with grace and confidence.

 The Sons of Martha

The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

They say to mountains, ” Be ye removèd” They say to the lesser floods ” Be dry.”
Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd – they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill tops shake to the summit – then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

They finger death at their gloves’ end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.

To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
They are concerned with matters hidden – under the earthline their altars are
The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth.

They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
They do not teach that His Pity allows them to leave their job when they damn-well choose.
As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren’s days may be long in the land.

Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;
Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that !
Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessèd – they know the angels are on their side.
They know in them is the Grace confessèd, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
They sit at the Feet – they hear the Word – they see how truly the Promise runs.
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha’s Sons!


2 Replies to “Different Kinds of Bridges”

  1. You are a Wonder Woman with words for wounds. (No, I haven’t seen either movie, or read the comic book.) The poem was a surprise. P

  2. Hahahaha….what a timely title…..I actually heard the movie was pretty good. 🙂 Thank you, Charlene. I found the poem has become more of a surprise as it sits in my brain and ferments. I love Kipling and didn’t know G.K. Chesterton and he were contemporaries……I have had fun with this. 🙂

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