Today in counseling I was stunned by a concept I’ve heard most my life. Similar to the old quilt that covers our bed, I became so familiar with it I no longer saw the depth of beauty in it.

My counselor asked me how I felt I was doing at “feeling my husband’s pain”. He has a way of asking a simple question and patiently waits for me to take as long as I need to respond. Having been a counselor for over 40 years, he sees right through me and my crap most days.

How am I doing with handling my husband’s pain? You mean the pain I created with MY infidelity?

In the silence of that moment I found myself wanting. I wanted to say that I’ve tried to feel it. I wanted to justify all of the ways I’ve tried to be sensitive and aware of him. I wanted to defend the times I’ve spent the past year trying to be safe for him in his pain. But none of those words came out. Instead I sat and squirmed. More silence. An awkward, heavy, deep-in-my-chest feeling came over me. The former me would have avoided the question all together and hung my head in shame. But as I sat there, the most honest answer I could muster was “probably not well at all.” The reality in that overwhelming and empty moment was a painful and sad truth; I had not felt my husband’s pain at all.

I mean how could I really know my husband’s pain? Although I try to imagine what it would be like to be him, to realize the person you were married to was nothing more than a stranger who kept secrets, I still can’t truly understand. I can try to feel it. I can practice listening really well. I can reflect back to him when he shares. I can be safe. I can give him passwords and whereabouts. On our better days I can even offer some perspective and insight. But the reality is I will never feel the depth of how much I hurt him.

As my therapist and I sat in uncomfortable, tender silence, he graciously allowed me to feel the unfairness of my infidelity.

Have you heard Jesus’ parable of the talents? If you’re familiar with this story, I think you’d agree that it is one of gross unfairness. This parable is about one guy who works really hard to earn his day’s wage. He works ALL day, outside in a vineyard. Then for the last hour of the day some lazy, irresponsible loser comes in and puts the finishing touches on the work. At the end of the day, the owner pays both of them the exact same amount. Huh?

How is it that God can offer both of us the same grace, the same forgiveness and the same chance at life when I was the one who chose to break our vows? Why is it that my husband has to bear so much of the pain when he didn’t do anything to deserve it?

Today was a difficult day. I think I finally realized how deep our need for grace really is. And while I certainly hope my husband can heal from all of the pain I caused him, I cannot earn his mercy.

If there was a way I could earn grace or mercy, I would. I think any repentant unfaithful spouse would tell you it would almost be easier if there was a way we could earn, work, buy or barter some kind of mercy. But there’s not. We have to live in the great but painful space of humility.

Not much farther, the Bible tells us what deeply moves Jesus: people who want to see.

Jesus doesn’t need anything from me. He just loves me. He always has. He always will – even when I am unlovable. He just wants me to be willing.

My hope is that we all become willing to find something more. That we never be unwilling to learn nor be afraid of humility the way I was and sometimes still am.

If you haven’t been to an EMS weekend, go! Or if you haven’t taken one of the Affair Recovery online classes, believe me when I say they are life changing. Start for free with the 7 Day Bootcamp. At the very least, get your butt into counseling. While it can’t change the unfairness of the past or the pain, it may be able to help your spouse heal.