When I met my ex-husband at the courthouse to file for divorce, I was a wreck.
It was the last step in the devastating heartbreak that ended our marriage. He was in no rush to finalize everything; a year into our marriage he told me that it was simply a contract with the government legally tying two people together. I remember exactly what road we were driving down when he said that, and how my jaw dropped. “Marriage is sacred,” I replied at the time, pushing against his nonchalance. “Marriage means everything to me.” He shrugged and changed the subject.
I stood on the snowy steps of the downtown building, clutching onto the paperwork I had prepared. I didn’t know if he would come like he promised, but eventually he sauntered across the road. We walked into the courthouse and stood in line to go through security. We made small talk, and I fought every urge to fall into conversation with him like we used to when we were friends. In our few interactions since the day everything ended, I always overextended my heart. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, working hard to keep my eyes straight ahead, and not on the ghost of the man I once loved.
I put my winter coat and folder of paperwork in the x-ray bin with shaky hands, watching it go through the scanner. I played with the hem of my shirt as I waited for the officer to gesture me through the metal detector, trying to keep my breathing steady. When my things reappeared, I quickly collected them, not wanting to be in the way of others. My heart was hammering, my eyes stinging. This was a unique kind of torture that most break ups are graciously spared.
Right when I felt like I might need to excuse myself to go catch my breath, an officer walked right up to me. He put his hands gently on my shoulders, smiling kindly. “Deep breaths, sunshine.” He encouraged. “You’ve got this.”
I melted. My ex-husband used to call me ‘sunshine,’ before everything fell apart. Some will call it serendipity, but I think it was the intercession of the holy spirit. This complete stranger saw me unravelling, and in his simple encouragement, reminded me that I was stronger than I felt. It was like a little wink from God that the greatest love of my life was yet to come; that sweet nicknames and sure hands were in my future.
I share all of this because I want you to know you’re not alone. If you’re scrolling and heartbroken, feeling like the love you once imagined for yourself will never come to be, know this: the best is yet to come. Matthew 6:30 says, “if God cares so much about the wildflowers, most of which are never even seen, don’t you think he will attend to you, care for you, and do his best for you?” I believe this with my full heart, because I’ve experienced it first hand.
The best is yet to come, sunshine.