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Four years ago, I suffered the worst heartbreak of my life. I'd been dating Andrew off and on for three years, and I knew we needed either to move forward in our relationship, or move on. Despite the fact I'd met him at church on Valentine's Day, that he made me laugh and feel beautiful, that he loved God and his family, I still felt uncertain about moving toward marriage with this terrific guy.
I asked married friends what they felt before they got hitched. They all responded with some rendition of "I just knew he was the one," a feeling conspicuously absent in all my thinking and overanalyzing. I even met with a Christian counselor, who confirmed I wasn't a commitment-phobe. I prayed—no, pleaded—with God for direction. And when I was met with silence and a lack of peace for months on end, I slowly, excruciatingly let this relationship go.
Without a tangible reason for the breakup, it's been easy for me to question the wisdom of my decision over the past four years. There were no "irreconcilable differences" or "I want kids and he doesn't"-type issues to blame, only a vague sense that God said no. I've alternated between seasons of peace (which, thankfully, have grown longer over the years) and seasons of waning trust in God's grand plan. I haven't been obsessing, just wondering what to do with that nagging question mark in the back of my mind: Was that really your leading, God?
I was on a shopping excursion with my roommate last summer when I saw Andrew across a trendy furniture store. There was a woman with him. Even though I hadn't seen Andrew in more than two years, I failed to muster the courage to walk over and say hello.
Later, kicking myself for being such a chicken, I chatted with God about this "chance" encounter. Were you wanting us to get back in contact, God? Was it just bad timing before? The "what ifs" crept in big time, and I prayed once again for peace and direction. In the four years since the breakup, I could count on one hand the number of guys I'd dated. When I'd let Andrew go, I'd secretly assumed there would be someone even better waiting around the next corner. When that didn't prove true, I began to doubt my decision—and God's apparent leading.
I remember telling God it would almost be a relief to know the woman in the furniture store with Andrew was his wife. It would put the maddening questions to rest once and for all.
Well, about a month ago, I had another "chance" encounter, this time with a woman from my Bible study. We were chatting about work when she casually mentioned she knew Andrew. She'd even dated him briefly. She still saw him on occasion at work and knew he'd just gotten married a few weeks before.
I stood there in stunned silence, an odd mixture of grief and peace washing over me. It was the clarity of a closed door and the loneliness of an empty horizon all at once. And I stood amazed at the way God had orchestrated this answer to my prayer. While it wasn't a confirmation that the past decision to let Andrew go was absolutely God's will, it was a peace with which to look to the future. And, I've learned, sometimes that's all we can hope for.
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