I know you’ve heard this said before, but that’s because it’s true: no one gets married thinking they are going to get divorced. I mean, you wait – in my case, 36 years – and pick this person you’re willing to risk your future with, and you exchange vows promising to do so.

I knew it would be hard. I knew there would be days when I wouldn’t like him, or feel like loving him. But I believed in us. That we could make it – weather any storm, figure out any messiness together. After all, we were bound by a covenant we made before God and our parents.

What I realize now is that a person can have the best intentions and entirely – with all their being – intend to keep a promise, and then not be able to for one reason or another.

When it all came crashing down, I felt an inexplicable peace. The supernatural kind. You have to experience it yourself to understand, but imagine being in the middle of an earthquake where the ground beneath you is shaking, and things are falling from above you, threatening to injure you, or worse, crush you. Imagine you’re standing there and getting hit, and bruised and a little bloodied, but you don’t scream. You don’t panic because you see that you are being protected somehow with some kind of invisible shield from the things that could do permanent damage. The really big, heavy, sharp objects. You realize today won’t be your last day. And then the quake stops, and even though there is a wave of aftershocks that lasts weeks and months and maybe even years, you see people running towards you, with splints, and bandages, and salves that look a lot like hugs and calls and prayers.

So I kept on going. Putting one foot in front of the other. Pouring myself into work that I love and am so thankful for, and clinging to community that would rival the most loyal of familial bonds. I prayed to the Jesus I had professed as Savior. For saving me. For increasing my faith. For compassion. For healing. For all the things I needed, and all the things I didn’t yet know I would need.

And he faithfully came, like he always does, and fought for my mind, and my heart, and my soul. He rescued me from what could have been a pit of despair. He gave voice to my pain, and reason for my brokenness. He washed my pride away with the soothing rags of his grace. He kept whispering, “I work all things out for the good of those who believe.” (Romans 8:28)

So time has passed, and here I am – divorced. An adjective I never dreamed of using for myself, while at the same time, feeling like the married version of me was someone I read about in alternative universe. That me was different. A little less wise. A little weaker. But no less hopeful. Because the foundation of faith and identity in Jesus that I had been building for years leading up to 2015 turned out to be my saving force – some might say an invisible shield – against fear and hopelessness.

I heard Pastor Andy Stanley once say, “ Preparation is more important than the promise.” He was talking about relationships and marriage, but I now believe this concept also applies to all areas of life. Our ability to be resilient is directly related to our preparation.

After all, we ready ourselves and our lives for earthquakes, fires, and even the zombie apocalypse, but we often don’t prepare ourselves for emotional trauma. And while it’s impossible to predict when hard things are going to happen, you can prepare by knowing who you are and what you stand for. You can prepare by having a firm sense of your identity and self worth. You can prepare by looking at your past and realizing that the God who put the stars in the sky has yet to fail you.

And he hasn’t failed me yet.