By Kathleen Taylor

You know how some dates just stick in your mind? How some experiences become etched into you—impossible to forget?

October 19, 2019 is one of those days for me.

Things had been rocky between my husband and me for about a year. Before that? A lot of apathy.

The night before, we had a conversation that gave me hope. To me, it looked like we were finally pulling out of the ebb and flow of married life. I woke up that morning with a full heart, believing the clouds had parted and better days were ahead.

It was a Saturday morning in the middle of football season. The college pregame show was on, and I asked him how he’d slept. We chatted casually about the games ahead. Then I asked if we could carve out time later that day for a real heart-to-heart—to set some goals and talk about moving our relationship and our family forward.

He responded:
“I’ve been thinking about that and I’m done. I don’t want to be married to you anymore. I won’t leave today but we need to get things in order for me to be able to leave.”

Umm… what?

It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. Like the wind had been knocked out of my chest and I was flat on my back. I didn’t handle it well. I cried. I begged. And then, I insisted he tell the kids immediately.

He did.

He left that evening.

Hindsight is 20/20.

Those first few days were incredibly dark. I was shattered. The weeks that followed were full of questions, suspicions, and overwhelming feelings of failure. I wavered between sobbing and quiet whimpering as I tried to come to terms with the end of our 18-year marriage.

As the new year approached, a phrase from my mentor, Leslie Householder, came to mind:
“When I have a choice, I choose to believe.”

I realized I did have a choice. So I chose to believe.

I believed in God.
I believed in promises that had been made.
I believed that as painful as this was, there was a seed of good inside it—equal to or greater than the pain itself.
I believed that if I aligned myself with the natural laws, my husband would come home.

I returned to my study of the Laws. I found comfort in the Law of Polarity:
“Every adversity, every failure, and every heartache carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit.”
The worse it felt, the greater the potential blessing.

That gave me hope. And I clung to it.

I added the Law of Relativity to help me reframe the situation. I could see how this break might be giving both of us time to work through past experiences—to clear our heads and come back stronger. I began to truly believe this could be for our good.

While holding onto those two laws, I chose to be proactive. I raised my vibration. I began visualizing “the end that I intend,” believing it would help me be in the best possible place when he returned home.

I immersed myself in learning. I listened to talks and podcasts. I read. I journaled. I prayed. I fasted. I sat in holy places. I studied grace and mercy, repentance and forgiveness. I studied what God says about marriage and family.

And I imagined myself as the father in the story of the Prodigal Son—watching, waiting, preparing to run out and meet him… ready to kill the fatted calf.

Eighteen months later, our divorce was finalized.

But I didn’t give up hope.

I kept doing the work. I held onto the ground I had gained and focused on becoming better each day. I had a renewed sense that this experience was for both of our good.

Another eighteen months passed. But it became harder to hold the vision. Little offenses began to pile up. I started to feel foolish for holding this space so long—especially when there was no sign he would ever choose me again.

And finally… I snapped.

I realized it was over.
He wasn’t coming back.
I let him go.

It’s been a year now. And I can honestly say: I’m so thankful for this journey.

I see how I was led to true principles before I needed them—so that when the storm hit, they were already inside me, ready to rise.

I see how all the effort did matter. It helped both of us grow in powerful ways.

We’re great friends now. We co-parent better than we ever did when we were married.

The Laws helped me stay focused on becoming. They helped me stay committed to creating a happy family—even if the picture looked different than I’d hoped.

My story isn’t over yet. These last four years have been tough. Truly tough.

But by Law—my upswing is coming.

And it is going to be magnificent.

Truly magnificent.

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