Years ago, when I discovered that my ‘steady’ boyfriend, the father of my youngest son, was having an ongoing affair, I felt shattered. With little family support, my in-home daycare business shut down, and the belief that he wanted the best for us as a family, I was blindsided. I quickly realized how wrong I was. Instead of stability, I faced declining health and nowhere to turn. Moving out brought me two precious years of freedom, a chance to reclaim a sense of peace away from him.
A couple of years later, however, our son and I moved back into his house. Balancing a job and my health challenges became a constant struggle. It took years of tests and lab work before I finally learned the cause: chronic kidney disease—on top of a lifelong journey with diabetes. New diagnoses soon followed: Charcot foot, neuropathy in my legs, feet, and hands, frozen shoulder, and trigger finger in both arms. Fatigue became my constant companion, worsened by iron deficiency and kidney disease.
Today, I’m on a path of healing, learning to live a healthier life despite these challenges. Most importantly, I have turned my life over to serving God and His will, finding strength in my faith as I rebuild.
These days, I keep hearing my ex say, “This isn’t your home. You should leave.” He often speaks in a disgruntled tone, ready to debate, rarely smiling or laughing. He’s quick to tell me I’m a “jerk.” It baffles me that standing up for myself, living selflessly, and striving to be a better person could warrant that label. I wonder sometimes, If this isn’t my house, why do I clean it? Why do I care for it, even in small ways? I put food in the kitchen, clean the floors, and buy things for the house, making it a place that feels a little more like home. Yet, today after church, I was reminded again—this house, he says, isn’t mine.
The words were the opposite of what I’d just learned in church. Our pastor spoke about the believers in the Book of Acts, who were of one heart and soul, not claiming any possessions as solely their own but sharing everything. I love to give and to help where I can, even if it’s with what little I have. I understand deeply that we take nothing with us from this life, yet we are judged by how we live. Though I can’t afford the mortgage, new tires, or fancy dinners, I offer what I can—sometimes just my time or attention.
I remember months ago hearing him promise that I would always have a home with him and that he would never turn me away.
I’ve heard so many of those empty promises and lies before. But I look forward to my true home, the room waiting for me in my Father’s mansion. He has a place prepared for me, and until then, I want to live this life with my son and be at peace with him by my side and our Father watching over us. This is my Sunday as a Christian in a modern-day Babylon.
