Prayer After Divorce His

Lord, the papers are signed. It's done. And I don't know what I'm supposed to feel right now because I feel everything and nothing at the same time.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. I keep reaching for my phone to text her something ordinary, and then I remember.

The habits haven't caught up to the reality yet. People keep asking how I'm doing, and I say fine because I don't know how to explain that I failed at the thing I swore I'd never fail at. I stood in front of people and made a promise.

And now that promise is broken. And I carry that. Some days I'm angry.

Not at her. At myself. At the version of me who didn't say the right things, who came home tired and checked out, who let distance grow until it became a wall.

Other days I'm angry at everything. At the system. At the lawyers.

At how quickly a life together gets divided into boxes. And the kids. God, the kids.

I see them on a schedule now. I'm a part-time father and it's killing me. I count the days between visits.

I rehearse being cheerful in the car on the way to pick them up. They shouldn't have to see me like this. I don't know how to start over.

I don't know how to be alone. I don't know who I am outside of that marriage because I built everything around it. Psalm 34 says you are close to the brokenhearted.

That you save those who are crushed in spirit. I am crushed, Lord. I am asking you to be close.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted." Near. Not fixing.

Not explaining. Near. I keep waiting for the lesson.

For someone to tell me what this was for. But maybe that's not how it works. Maybe the only thing I'm supposed to do right now is survive it honestly.

I'm afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I'm afraid I'll repeat every mistake with whoever comes next. I'm afraid my kids will grow up thinking this is what love looks like.

That fear sits in my chest like a weight. But I got up this morning. I made coffee.

I showed up. That's not nothing. Some days survival is the whole victory.

Lord, teach me to grieve this without becoming bitter. Teach me to forgive without pretending it didn't hurt. Teach me to be a father on the days I feel like a failure.

Teach me that being broken is not the same as being finished. You are close to the brokenhearted. Be close to me tonight.

Be close when the house is quiet. Be close when I wake up reaching for someone who isn't there. Amen.