At the beginning of January 2012, one of my dearest friends disappeared into the frigid winter air. “Jane” was in the midst of a terrible crisis. She had begun to break away from her abusive husband, and he retaliated by filing a false police report. He accused her of abusing their children, and used the report to obtain a temporary court order removing her from their home and forbidding all contact with her children. In one head-spinning moment, she was handcuffed in front of her children and escorted from her meticulous home on Como Lake. When the police left her on the edge of the lake, she had the clothes on her back, a few dollars in her purse, and a network of shocked and horrified friends who immediately started to weave a net around her.
Together, we gave her a safe place to stay and money to get through the next few days. We helped her navigate Child Protection Services and found a lawyer to prepare her for the court hearing that would surely set this all straight and restore Jane to her children before the week was over.
It wasn’t enough. On the morning of her appointment with the attorney, I repeated my offer to go with her. “I’ll be okay,” she said. She never showed up for the meeting. By the afternoon it was clear she had gone missing. Dozens of frantic phone calls and searches proved fruitless. Hours, then days, ticked by with no contact. By the time 48 hours had passed, we began to face the reality that she was gone. A few months before Jane had made a half-hearted suicide attempt, mostly an act of retaliation when she couldn’t see any other escape from her marriage. By day three, it was impossible to deny that this time she had meant it, and succeeded. “There is a new, good life for you and the kids on the other side of all this pain,” I texted her one last time, but I had little hope it would reach her alive.
After three days (a number that is not lost on me), Jane came back from the dead. For three days she had lain in her car in a hidden corner of a busy parking ramp. She had lain near death, poisoned by homemade hydrogen sulfide gas and freezing in the January temperatures. In the middle of the third night, a passerby noticed her. He opened her car, braved the lethal fumes to pull her out, covered her with his coat, and called 911. Jane is alive because that stranger did not pass her by.
Jane’s resurrection life began that day. I wish I could tell you that it was all Easter from there on out, but there was much more pain and struggle ahead. Jane’s story has more plot twists than a dime store novel, and it took years for her new life to fully unfold. But God was at work through it all.
God was at work through a broken justice system. It took months for the courts to get to the truth about Jane’s situation. In a system that strives for impartiality, it can be surprisingly difficult for the truth to surface. A diligent guardian ad litem finally listened to Jane’s children, believed them, and reported her findings to the court. The case turned around in an instant and Jane’s children were restored to her that day.
God was at work through a broken police system. Jane’s husband repeatedly manipulated police officers and they became an instrument of his abuse, until one officer realized the truth and devoted himself to protecting Jane and her children. In the end, he and his fellow officers were there to intercept her ex-husband on the way to her apartment with multiple weapons. Her ex was convicted of plotting to murder Jane and a number of her supporters, including her pastor, her friends, and the judge who oversaw their divorce case. The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they turn.
God was at work through a broken economic system. Have you ever tried to rent an apartment with no rental history and no current employment record? We were able to gather enough money to cover a deposit and pre-pay nearly a year’s worth of rent, and even with glowing references we found only one property manager among dozens who would agree to rent to Jane. But one was all it took. With a roof over her head, she was able to care for her children and work a rewarding full-time job that restored her sense of self-worth.
God was at work through broken people. Jane’s most unlikely allies were a string of mistresses her husband had lied to, and angry real estate investors he had defrauded. They helped the FBI prosecute him for wire and bankruptcy fraud -- crimes which, ironically, brought him a stiffer prison sentence than his stalking and murder plot convictions.
Most of all, God was at work through the relationships Jane had built throughout her life. She had nurtured friendships through her church, her moms’ group, and volunteer work. Her friends were determined not to let her fall into a social services system that too often dehumanizes victims and perpetuates poverty. Most survivors are not so lucky. We were able to pool resources to get her back on her feet. One friend paid for her nursing assistant training. Another friend gave her a vehicle. Another friend’s dad used his retirement funds to buy a condo for Jane and her children to live in, with the agreement that if she pays modest rent each month, the home will be hers after 15 years. It’s the only piece of financial security she has, but it has given her hope, and a future.
Jane’s future is full of hope. She and her daughter graduated from college at the same time with degrees in social work, and Jane is now completing her master’s in social work. She’s specializing in helping abuse victims. Her resilient children are grown up and thriving, and she even has a grandchild now. On the other side of pain, a good life was waiting for Jane and her children.
Jane’s ongoing story has taught me much about what resurrection means. Resurrection life rarely happens overnight. It unfolds over time. It might work in us slowly and even painfully. We might fall and rise again and again, but never alone. Most of all, God’s resurrection life does not restore us to the way things used to be. As his followers soon found, Jesus did not rise to return things to normal. God had something much bigger in mind.
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