Through Fire

“I want a divorce,” my husband informed me one day. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach and I began to shake. For the better part of our twenty-five years of marriage, I lived in fear of hearing those words. It was not the first time I had heard them. The first time was when I was twenty-six years old.

Rusty and I married when I was eighteen and he was twenty-five. It was 1965 and I became pregnant during my senior year. I was married in March, graduated from high school in June and had a baby girl in October; an eventful year to be sure. Although the “sixties” were a time when out-of-wedlock pregnancy was considered a scandal, I was thrilled.

My mother had died when I was only eight years old. By the time I was seventeen, my stepsister, who was also my best friend, had died in an accident. My stepmother left my dad and he ended up in a mental institution. I was living with friends and felt I had no family of my own. Getting married and becoming a mother seemed like the best thing I could hope for. “I will have a family and a husband to take care of me,” I had thought. I was completely unaware that Rusty felt trapped. Back then, when a guy got his girlfriend pregnant, he married her; plain and simple.

Rusty was very driven to be a millionaire by the time he was thirty. After we married, he started his own business as a contractor and buried himself in work. Within six years I had five pregnancies but lost one to miscarriage and two were stillborn. It seemed that loss through death followed me everywhere. But I had been blessed with a little girl, Nikki and a baby boy, Todd. I loved being a mom and would have had eight children if it were up to me. Rusty seemed willing to go along with whatever I wanted to do, so he allowed me to take in foster children.

As much as I loved mothering children, I also longed for my husband to cherish me. Rusty and I communicated very little. He was a great provider but worked long hours and only had dinner with us about one night a week. By the time I was twenty-four, my loneliness led me to God. I joined a women’s Bible study and found a relationship with Jesus to comfort me.

When I was twenty-six, my older sister committed suicide. Two weeks later my father-in-law, whom I had grown very close to, also died. Although I had experienced death so many times, I grieved deeply. Then, within a few months, my heart felt it had been ripped apart. Rusty confessed he was having an affair and wanted a divorce.

I had always expected it would be death that would take Rusty from me. It was the way my loved ones kept leaving me. But another woman was not what I imagined would end my marriage.

“Please don’t leave me,” I had cried. I had a strong faith, but no self-esteem. I believed that if I could just do better--be a better wife, lose more weight, become more interesting--that my husband would not want to leave me. Since it was shortly before Christmas, we agreed that Rusty would not leave until after the holidays. Our children were only nine and six. I was desperate to keep Rusty and grateful for a couple weeks to try and win him back. When the holidays were over, however, Rusty left. But he was only gone for two weeks before returning out of guilt.

Even though I knew Rusty was only back out of a sense of obligation, I convinced myself that I could become a better person so he would not want anyone else. I read self-help books and did everything I could think of to make him happy. I also threw myself into the job of mother. There was nothing I would not do for my husband or my beloved children.

Although work filled Rusty’s life, we still took annual vacations with each other and another one with the kids. Our conversations were always very surface, but I convinced myself that things would be okay. I also prayed for Rusty to become a Christian. The children attended Christian schools and they went to church on Sundays with just me. Rusty knew I wanted him to come with us, but I never, ever nagged him about it. I knew I could not force Jesus on him but I sure prayed that one day he would seek out religion on his own.

Then, in my thirties, Rusty again had an affair and told me he wanted a divorce. Again it blew over and he returned. And again, I kept trying harder to be a better wife. As the kids became teenagers, they began to resent Rusty’s lack of involvement. Without a strong relationship with his father, I believe it made it easy for my son to get involved with drugs. He became a crack addict. It was a wake-up call for Rusty. Our son needed drug rehabilitation. We feared for his life. “I’m not doing one more thing for the children without you,” I informed Rusty. I demanded that either we both be involved in drug counseling, or no one would be there. Rusty agreed. It was the first time the two of us really communicated and worked together. It felt so good to work as a team. Our son entered inpatient treatment and committed to stay drug free. Not long after, he joined the army.

As our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary approached, I thought to myself, “We’ve made it.” Our daughter was in college, our son was doing well now and after all these years and close calls, Rusty and I were still together. To celebrate, we went on a vacation to Hawaii.

It was not surprising that there would be a lot of phone calls from Rusty’s business while we were away. That was typical. But something in the gut of my stomach told me that some of the calls were not just business. “Is there another woman?” I wondered. I tried to push the thought out of my mind. “We’ve come so far,” I convinced myself.

Shortly after we returned from Hawaii, Rusty confessed. There was another woman. Rusty wanted out of the marriage. I looked at him--the man whose love I had fought so hard for all these years--and I finally gave up. “All right,” I sighed. “Do what you need to do.” I was tired of fighting for him.

That evening, I sat in front of my house with worship music playing and the floodlights on. I looked at the four flats of flowers waiting to be planted. Tears rolled down my cheeks. When I was a child, I had an aunt who told me that if you had lots of flowers outside your home, it meant you had a happy home. I had the flowers but happiness eluded me.

At the age of forty-four, I was alone for the first time in my life. I learned in my early twenties that I needed to depend on the Lord instead of my husband. Through the years of workaholism and unfaithfulness, I had prayed daily for guidance and wisdom for our family. No matter how hard I tried, I could not change Rusty but only myself. Psalm 37:4 had been my guide. “Delight in yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” My desires were to have a family and a husband that loved and adored me.

As I sat in the dirt, crying, peace came over me. My faith in God was rock solid. It suddenly occurred to me that I could always depend on the Lord. “God, I tried my hardest, but this is not about me, is it?

I then realized that all of the time I was trying to be the best for my husband,

The Lord was molding and making me into the woman He wanted me to be.

“I know you have a plan for my life and I realize it might not include Rusty.” I began building a life without Rusty, and discovered that it was a relief--sometimes a joy. After years of taking care of everyone else, it was just the Lord and I. I still prayed for my husband every day, but I realized he had to find his own way. I joined a Christian singles group, attended a divorce recovery workshop and took college classes.

Six months after Rusty left, he called as asked to see me. After returning from a six-week backpack trip in Australia with our son, he announced he had accepted the Lord in his life. With tears in his eyes, Rusty told me he no longer wanted a divorce but instead wanted to work on our marriage. I looked at him and did not speak for a moment. Life was good now. I was more content than I had ever been. After so many years of living in crises, I had discovered how nice it was to live without it. Would I return to a life of deception, I wondered? Was Rusty deceiving me now just to get me back? The divorce papers were already signed and just waiting to complete the legal procedures. I was angry that he had already stopped the process without consulting me.

“I need time to think about this,” I informed him. I spent the next few days in prayer. The psalm had said the Lord would give me the desires of my heart. I had prayed for my husband for twenty-five years to come to know the Lord. I did not trust my husband, but I did trust God. I felt God saying: “You can doubt him all day long but do you doubt me? You’ve prayed to me for all these years and now are you saying you don’t want to work on this marriage?” I realized my prayers were being answered, so now was not the time to give up.

I agreed to work on the marriage, but with a list of conditions. “If you think you can live with these boundaries, I’ll work with you,” I agreed, half-expecting Rusty to decide it was too much. >I insisted that we both see a Christian counselor once a week as well as attend counseling weekly as a couple. “While we work on our relationship, don’t even think about spending the night here or kissing me,” I informed Rusty. “There will be no sexual contact during this time. If you know the Lord, you’ll want to know my new friends who love the Lord too. I also expect you’ll want to attend Church on Sundays if your love for God is real,” I continued. “And the other woman has to be completely out of the picture.” I ended my list with one last demand: “If this turns out to be God’s work, I want a wedding. I want the gown, the church and for you to wear a ring.” Rusty never wanted a ring, so I had never given him one. To my surprise, he agreed to everything.

After all my years of energy, it seemed I had little left to invest in the marriage now. My attitude was that if Rusty wanted to stay married, then he could do all the work because I did the first twenty-five years by myself. I almost think I was trying to sabotage him. I truly thought I had set up an impossible scenario.

To my surprise, Rusty met all my conditions and worked hard. When Rusty sold his business so he could pour all his energy into our relationship, I became convinced of his sincerity. It had been his business that he had really been married to all those years.

As the months went by, God did the work of mending our very broken relationship. Rusty and I got to know each other like we never had before. Christ became the center of our relationship and we fell in love really for the first time. On our twenty-sixth wedding anniversary, with friends and family in attendance, Rusty and I renewed our wedding vows. Our drug-free son walked me down the aisle to meet a completely transformed man and our beautiful daughter sang, “Let’s Begin Again”. We did begin again. My childhood dreams came true. I was married to a man who cherished me and worked hard to prove his love for me--the man of my dreams. I was forty-five and Rusty was fifty-two.

We honeymooned in the Cayman Islands and behaved like newlyweds. Later, Rusty took me to Australia where we backpacked together. Life was good beyond my wildest imagination until two-and-a-half years after our second wedding. It was Saturday night, August 28, 1993. We were traveling in our motor home on I-55 near Corning, California, with our daughter Nikki, on our way to Washington.

I was jolted awake from a deep sleep and thrown across the vehicle. We had been in an accident and our gas tank was punctured. I was asleep in the back and in a flash; a wall of flames went up between me and Rusty, who was driving, and our twenty-seven-year-old daughter in the passenger seat. The fire was impenetrable, but I was able to kick my way through a hole ripped into the side of the motor home. Although my skin was not on fire, it was scorched. Blood ran into my eyes, dripping from my forehead. Escaping from the motor home provided no relief. Flames enveloped me in the gully where I landed. The grass was on fire. I attempted to flee by climbing a wire fence along the highway, but fell back. From across the fence, two men reached over to save me.

My only thought was for my family. Thick black smoke hid the motor home from my view. “Save my family!” I frantically screamed. Yet, I could not imagine that they could still be alive. As I lay, waiting for medical help to arrive, a policeman gently told me: “Your family is up the road. They’re alive.”

“Thank God,” I thought and then prayed. “Please help us!” Every inch of my being burned in unquenchable pain. When medical help arrived and Rusty was taken first, I knew he had to be in the worst condition. We were all taken to Chico Hospital to be stabilized, but Rusty went on to UC Davis Medical Center’s burn unit in Sacramento by helicopter.

My burned flesh began swelling, so the emergency room nurse needed to cut my wedding ring off. It felt like she was cutting my heart. That ring had so recently become a symbol of the deep love Rusty and I shared as man and wife. “Now what?” I wondered and cried.

The helicopter that had transported Rusty returned for me. Thankfully, Nikki was not burned but her back and arm were broken and her knees were dislocated. As I was wheeled out, I heard Nikki crying for me. I ached to hold her, but I could not move to even call out to her.

By the time I arrived at the burn unit, close friends and relatives met me there. They informed me that a prayer vigil on our behalf had already begun. “Lord, I know you will see us through,” I thought. But this was to be the fight of our lives. We never needed God more. My back was broken and forty-eight percent of my body was burned. Rusty, who was just down the hall from me, was only semiconscious. He had been given a nine-percent chance for survival. Sixty-eight percent of his body was burned.

Not even strong pain medication could soothe the unbearable, screaming pain that made death desirable. Skin grafts and bandage changes did what seemed impossible--increase the pain. Although I hung onto my faith, it felt like not even Jesus could lift me from the deep depression that enveloped me. My intolerable existence made each minute crawl by, day after day, week after week, until summer slipped into fall. Friends and family visited and then walked away to their pain-free lives. “Oh, to walk out that door,” I thought. The reassurances that at least we were all alive, felt hollow. Living did not seem like the better option sometimes.

Rehabilitation was torture. A brace that encased my body was required to sit up. Surgery was necessary to fuse my broken back together. Only later did I learn that only 15% of people with injuries such as mine escape life as a paraplegic.

Yet, I knew God was with me. Friends and family reminded me constantly of all the prayers being said on my behalf. Worship and praise songs kept me company especially through bandage changes and painful procedures. During rehab, I said a Bible verse over and over: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Phil. 4:13, NKJV). And always, I prayed and talked with God. I prayed especially for Rusty. He needed a miracle to survive.

I did not want to live without Rusty, but I realized the odds were not in his favor. He was in my heart and prayers throughout each day, but I could not bring myself to see him. The thought of beholding my beloved husband swollen, bandaged and hooked to machines was overwhelming. Instead, I taped messages for him each day, hoping my voice would break through his coma. While I spoke messages of love into the microphone, I imagined looking into the face of the Rusty of our youth.

On October 3, 1993, six weeks after the accident, my niece, Vikki, brought me home from the hospital. She had moved into our house to care for me around the clock for the next five months. Many friends and family visited Rusty regularly in the hospital, but I had left without seeing him. I just couldn’t.

Twelve days after I left the hospital, Rusty almost died. When he pulled through later that day, doctors became confident that he was going to make it. It was time for me to see him. Our friend, Don, wheeled me beside Rusty's bed while he slept. I looked at my beloved and longed to hold his broken body. His face was fractured and swollen beyond recognition with his left ear partially burned away and his left eye destroyed. Since Rusty was still only semiconscious, no one was sure if he suffered any brain damage. . Don anointed him with oil and we prayed together. Although it pained me to see Rusty in such terrible condition, I felt peace surrounding him. God was with us.

Rusty returned home three days before Christmas in 1993. We slept in separate bedrooms because of the pain, and the need to concentrate on our own rehabilitation and recoveries. I missed the closeness we had enjoyed before the accident. Since my injuries were less severe and I was more advanced in my recovery, when Rusty struggled to find the will to go on, I was able to help him. By the grace of God, I found the words to help him make the transition from victim to survivor.

It was the Calvary of our lives. The struggles were monumental and the pain intense. Weariness nipped at our heels at every turn. But just as God had healed us spiritually and renewed our marriage, He was now healing us physically and emotionally. We prayed continuously and daily felt the healing power of God.

It has been eleven years since the accident. My physical abilities are near what they were before, although I do have some limitations due to the back injury. Rusty has had many operations and plastic surgeries. He recently obtained a lens which helps his vision enough that he can read and work again--something he was unable to do for years. Even with amputated fingers on his left hand and a prosthesis eye he lives a productive life each day. Nikki has had both physical and emotional struggles but healing is a lifelong process.

There is a type of pinecone that only opens and sheds it’s seeds when it encounters the intense heat of a forest fire. It is God’s amazing way of insuring that after the fire, there will be new life. For Rusty and I, the fire allowed the seeds of our renewed love to take root and grow stronger than the biggest tree in the forest. We were tested by fire and strengthened through Christ. Our love for each other has never been deeper. Even our once-broken family has come together in new life. We live together now on a farm with our adult children and their families. The young lives of our five grandchildren fill us with a love of life, a love for each other and a deep love for God.

I have discovered that our dramatic experience is not just for us. So many people have told me that our story has given them strength to overcome their struggles. I now work with burn survivors and their families to help them through the long recovery of healing. Through the power of God, I write and speak of overcoming many different obstacles of life.

My ministry is called “RAYS’D UP”. Look beneath the surface; rise up in dignity and value, burst through to new life. Goodness will shine on you like the sun, with healing in its rays. Mal.4: 2 (NCV)

God truly can use all things for good.

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