Until You Decide: When Holding On Was No Longer Faith

The marriage had been difficult almost from the beginning.

But I was young, in love, and full of faith. I believed God would give us victory. Surely these were just the growing pains every married couple experienced.

But one year turned to two, to three, to four.

Well, maybe the first five are the challenge.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Maybe the first ten.

Eleven. Twelve.

You get the idea.

There were beautiful moments. God blessed us with three incredible children, and like so many mothers, I was determined to fight for my family. There wasn't a sacrifice I wasn't willing to make if it meant my children could grow up in a two-parent home.

That was God's design for marriage, wasn't it?

Still, something didn't sit right.

I had delivered all three of my children without an epidural. I knew pain.

But physical pain had nothing on the ache of living in a marriage that repeatedly broke my heart.

After every painful episode came repentance. Hope would return. For a little while, I believed this time would be different.

Then the cycle would begin again.

Those who have lived it know these aren't the normal ups and downs of marriage. They are confusing, traumatic, and often abusive. Yet many of us stay because we believe we're protecting our children.

We tried everything: marriage counseling, pastoral counseling, books, Christian broadcasts, prayer. I still believe those things can help, but only when both people are willing to do the work.

Counseling cannot change someone who refuses to change.

The listener has to be the doer.

I offered grace upon grace.

That's what empaths often do.

In our desire to love like Jesus and see the good in people, we sometimes end up enabling what should never be tolerated.

I didn't want to surrender.

But after years of living the same story, reality became impossible to ignore.

The children were becoming more aware.

Did I want to normalize this? Absolutely not.

I never wanted them to believe these behaviors were acceptable or someday repeat them, whether as the one inflicting the hurt or the one receiving it.

Fear, however, kept me frozen.

I convinced myself that leaving might expose them to even greater dangers. Staying seemed like the lesser of two evils.

So I kept praying.

One phrase surfaced over and over in my journal:

Standalone Christian.

"What does that even mean, Lord?"

The picture that came to mind was a building standing firmly on its own foundation. Not isolated from community, but secure enough that it wouldn't collapse if everything around it did.

For someone who had battled deep codependency, this felt impossible.

I loved my husband. I loved our covenant before God. I loved being a wife and homemaker.

I wasn't looking for independence.

I wanted my marriage.

But I loved my children, too. And I loved the Lord enough to know that little eyes notice when what we teach doesn't match what we live.

After thirteen years, we still couldn't have a simple disagreement without it becoming something much bigger. Every conversation ended the same way. If I spoke up, the conflict escalated into verbal abuse followed by weeks of silence. If I stayed quiet, nothing changed except the growing conviction inside me that something was terribly wrong.

The silent treatment didn't just affect me. It became my children's punishment too.

How long could this continue?

For the first time, I stopped seeking counseling to save my marriage and started seeking counseling to understand what God wanted for me. My counselor and I studied Scripture through the lens of a loving Father.

We prayed one simple prayer:

"Lord, make the truth abundantly clear."

He did.

About a year later, my husband crossed another boundary.

With tears streaming down my face, I followed him through our living room asking how much longer he intended to treat me this way.

He turned around, looked directly at me, and said he hoped I would be gone by the time he came home from work.

Then he walked out the door.

I cried in the bathroom so my sleeping children wouldn't hear me. He had told me to leave many times before, but today was different.

A few minutes later I washed my face, smiled, and woke my babies up for school.

Backpacks.

Car seats.

Prayer on the drive.

Kisses and I love yous.

They had no idea their world was about to change.

As I watched them walk away, my heart broke.

The oldest attended a STEM elementary; my smart fifth grader always ready to tackle the day. The one who brought me back stories of his friends and the class pet. The other two were so beautiful with the second grader taking her role seriously, walking the new kindergartener through the hallways.  Still showing her the ropes.

They were so innocent.

Could I really be the one to change everything?

On paper, our life looked beautiful: a quiet cul-de-sac, bike rides after dinner, wonderful neighbors, children's laughter filling the streets.

They even had a dad who played with them.

As long as I apologized, brought a “gift” and did whatever it took to draw him back into the family after each withdrawal.

I drove home in silence.

It was the first year all three children were in school together.

Without thinking, I started a load of laundry.

Standing in that laundry room after thirteen years of fighting for my marriage, I whispered,

"Until when, Lord?"

The answer came immediately.

Until you decide.

I collapsed onto the floor and sobbed.

Would today really be the day?

When I could finally stand, I called my women's ministry leader.

Within minutes she was at my house, holding my hand while my heart shattered.

Together we rented a U-Haul and began packing.

Where the courage came from, I can only attribute to God.

Before leaving to pick up my children, I knelt beside my bed one last time.

"Lord, if this is really what You want, please make it abundantly clear."

Then I left for the schools.

The children climbed into the car laughing about their day, completely unaware that there was a moving truck waiting in our driveway.

As we pulled in, a neighbor asked if she could speak with me privately.

She confessed that she and my husband had spent time together over Labor Day weekend, the very weekend he had canceled our family trip to the lake because he got angry and left to work instead.

She showed me messages and photographs.

My heart dropped. But my prayer had just been answered.

"Make it clear."

I hugged her, thanked her for her honesty, and knew what I had to do.

I wish I could tell you that surrender happened once.

It didn't.

A few months later, I returned to the relationship.

It would take another six years before I finally signed the divorce papers.

Sometimes surrender isn't a single decision.

Sometimes it's a journey of learning to trust God more than our fear.

Today my children laugh in a different home.

We're building new memories, and our biggest disagreements are whose turn it is to do the dishes and why isn’t that on the calendar?

For a long time, I wondered why it took me so many years to surrender.

Now I know.

Fear.

If fear has a grip on you, don't carry it alone. Ask for help.

God is still in the rescue business. He is close to the brokenhearted, faithful in the unknown, and gentle with those whose courage comes one trembling step at a time.

Surrender is not the absence of faith.

Sometimes, surrender is faith itself.

---

Marta Garcia

Marta has been journaling to God since she was old enough to write, and she’s passionate about helping women experience the deep, unconditional love of a Father. As she learns to navigate a new chapter of her own, she shares reflections on faith, growth, and finding hope in the journey.