Instead of going all the way back to my childhood, I’ve decided to start this story with more recent events.
I got married about a year ago. For as long as I can remember, I prayed for a man who would love God first and lead spiritually. After ending a long-term relationship of three years, I was actually excited to be on my own and grow in my relationship with Christ. But I was terrified to tell my family I had ended things. Little did I know, that fear was just the beginning.
Two months later, I met my now-husband. Definitely not my timing – but absolutely God’s. We connected immediately. Late-night conversations turned into early-morning send-offs, and I quickly fell in love. But I kept it from my parents.
Why?
Because he had earrings.
At the time, my husband was into basketball, and pierced ears were part of the culture. To him, they were just earrings. But I knew how my parents would see it – and I wasn’t wrong.
Though I had already been on rocky terms with my parents since moving away, things got much worse after I told them. My dad’s reaction was heartbreaking – he called my boyfriend every cruel name imaginable; queer, gay, a cross-dresser, you name it. My mom was quieter but just as hurtful, often judging silently and getting frustrated with me when I reacted to the pain.
For a while, I only told my sister and grandma, knowing they wouldn’t judge him. That was my mistake. When I finally told my parents, everything exploded.
Months later, it was Easter. I told my family I would only visit if my boyfriend could come, which led to another blow-up. My dad eventually agreed, and we visited. My mom, however, didn’t even acknowledge us. She stayed home deciding not to meet us at lunch, and when I went to the house, she walked right past me hardly saying a word. She later told me it was because she had had a headache and had just woken up from a nap. I knew better – she had told me the day before, “I want you, and only you.”
It took six months for my mom to finally “meet” my boyfriend – if you could even call it that. She shook his hand at my best friend’s wedding and didn’t say another word. All the while, she remained close with my ex, disregarding my boundaries and relationship entirely.
From there, things blurred. I skipped Thanksgiving and Christmas because I couldn’t bring myself to walk into that house alone again.
The next year, my husband and I decided to get married—even though he hadn’t officially proposed yet. We did things a little backwards, but it worked for us. I invited my mom, sister, and grandma to go wedding dress shopping, but they had other plans. They pushed for me to fly to Nashville or Salt Lake City instead, even though that would have excluded people I deeply wanted there—like my best friend, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law. So, I went without them.
A few months later, I cut contact. I had prayed about it endlessly and felt uneasy no matter what, but for the sake of my relationship and peace during my engagement, I had to let go. And honestly, I found a lot of peace in doing so.
The question of whether to invite them to the wedding weighed heavily on us. We prayed, sought wise counsel, and chose grace – even though they had done nothing to build up our relationship and everything to tear it down. We invited them anyway.
We were met with resistance. Some relatives refused to come because of what we had done, and my parents accusing us of inviting them “just for show.” Even now, after the wedding, my family barely acknowledges my husband.
As a daughter who’s always just wanted her parents’ love, I’ve had to accept the painful truth: I can’t change them. But I do have a husband who loves me without condition. It still hurts that my family doesn’t know him—but we’re okay. We really are.
What we’ve endured has made us stronger. My husband, who came from a loving, supportive family – the complete opposite of mine – has stuck by me. He’s forgiven my family time and again, even when they’ve been cruel. That speaks volumes.
God has worked in mysterious, often painful, but beautiful ways throughout this journey. I’m grateful – for the scars, for the victories, and for the growth. We’re still figuring things out, but through prayer and patience, we’ve found peace. We’ve chosen grace over bitterness – even when anger bubbles up – because grace is the only reason we’re still standing.
Thriving Through Grace 