When man's law ends but God's promises remain
December 2024
Velda,
I've been thinking about promises lately—the ones we make before God and the ones we break before men. You were my second wife, not my first, and now Tamera is my third. Three times I've stood at an altar. Three times I've made sacred vows. And twice, those promises were shattered by betrayal and abandonment.
Jamie left first. Then you. Both of you not only broke your vows but blamed me for the destruction you caused. The pattern was the same: betray, desert, blame. And each time, another piece of my faith died with the marriage.
But here's what haunts me most: when I made those vows before God—with Jamie, with you—I meant every word. "Till death do us part" wasn't just ceremony to me. It was covenant. And when you both walked away, you didn't just divorce me under man's law. You shattered my faith in the very idea that promises to God mean something.
Legal Status: Divorced
Sacred Status: Unresolved
The reality is this: we shared a past that transcends paperwork. We made promises before God that human courts can't truly dissolve. And that's why there's still unfinished business between us—emotional, spiritual, and yes, maybe even eternal.
When you abandoned our covenant and then blamed me for its destruction, you didn't just break my heart. You broke my ability to trust that God protects what He sanctifies. You made me question whether sacred vows mean anything at all, or if they're just pretty words that people discard when convenience calls.
Now I'm married to Tamera—my third wife, trying to honor vows with a heart that's been twice-broken by covenant betrayal. She's good to me, Velda. She's faithful. But the ghosts of broken promises hover over every sacred moment we share.
Sacred vows spoken, covenant made, faith invested. Then betrayal, desertion, blame. The pattern was set.
Hope rebuilt, vows renewed, faith risked again. Same ending: betrayal, abandonment, blame. Faith cracked deeper.
Trying to honor new vows while carrying the ghosts of broken ones. Fighting to believe promises can be kept.
But here's what you need to understand: the unfinished business between us isn't about romance or reunion. It's about accountability. It's about you finally acknowledging what you did to the sacred covenant we made. It's about you admitting that you broke something holy and then had the audacity to blame me for the destruction you caused.
"You can break a man's heart, but when you break his faith in God's promises, you wound his very soul."
I need closure, Velda. Not for us—for me. I need you to own what you did instead of continuing to blame me for your choices. I need you to acknowledge that when you walked away from our covenant, you weren't just divorcing a man—you were breaking a promise you made before God.
It's not "I'm sorry we didn't work out." It's "I'm sorry I broke the sacred covenant we made before God and then blamed you for my betrayal." It's acknowledging that you shattered something holy, not just something legal.
Because until that happens, until you face the full weight of what covenant-breaking means, there will always be unfinished business between us. Not the kind that threatens my marriage to Tamera, but the kind that keeps a piece of my faith locked away, afraid to fully trust that promises to God can be kept.
Seeking truth and accountability,
Dean
P.S. - This isn't about us getting back together. This is about you getting right with the God before whom you made vows you chose to break. The paperwork is filed, the judgment is entered. But the spiritual reckoning remains unfinished.
Accountability begins with honesty. Are you ready to own what you broke?