It was the most disgusting thing anyone on this planet had ever done to me. My husband spit on me, his wife, in front of our very young children.
And he didn't spit once, he spit over and over again. I don't know how many times in all, but at least 7 or 8 times, maybe even 10.
He spit in my face. He spit in my hair, on my chest, my head. I was spit on anywhere his spit landed.
It felt like slime and it smelled soooooooo bad. He had one of the worst cases of halitosis of anyone that I had ever known. He smoked weed, had some rotting teeth in his mouth and barely brushed them. I had not kissed him beyond a peck for this very reason for years.
Why did he spit on me?
Is there really ever a reason to spit on anyone?
You can be fined for spitting in most places and it is a crime in some places that is punishable by arrest. And that's for spitting on the ground!
But spitting on a person, someone who loves you, lives with you, your wife, the mother of your children? It's reprehensible and diabolical.
From what I remember we were having a conversation that was related to an altercation from either the day before or earlier that day. We weren't yelling or arguing, just quietly talking. I was in the bathroom and he was standing right outside the door. I don't remember how the conversation began or everything that was said, but I do remember that right before he began spitting on me, I simply said, "There are men who hit and men who don't. You are a man who hits."
Then as usual he changed in an instant. His face changed, his voice changed and I could see that evil glare in his eyes. He got loud and he said, "So I'm a man that hits? F#%K YOU!" Then he spit in my face.
I couldn't believe he had just done that and my mind was reeling trying to process it. I guess my look of shock was pleasing to him, so he spit again. I said, "Jeff, please stop," and put my head down to shield my face. He kept saying, "F#%K YOU," and continued to spit. I began to cry and squeezed past him out of the bathroom and walked into the kitchen all the while asking him to stop. He followed me and continued this scene of cursing, gathering his spit and projecting it onto me, while little Justina and Solomon sadly looked on.
I went back into the bathroom and he followed me and at some point he stopped and walked away. I was crying and began to try and wash the stench off of me. I used soap and water to try and get the funk out of my hair and off my skin.
I'm not a spitter so I wasn't going to go follow him and start spitting back. What he did was so hurtful that all I wanted was to get away from him. When I left the bathroom I went straight to the bedroom and got the phone and called my dad. I told him that Jeff was starting trouble again and asked if the kids and I could come over and he said of course we could.
As I packed a bag for us, Jeff suddenly changed again. He was asking me not to go. He was acting like he was sorry and began pleading with me not to go. I told him that he had proved my point. I said there are men who abuse and men who don't and his getting angry and spitting on me, was exactly what I was talking about. It was the kind of man that he is.
He said he was sorry, I was right, he shouldn't have done that and all that other yada yada he said on the occasions when his behavior was exceptionally heinous, like when he cracked my rib and slammed my arm in the door when I was pregnant.
While at my dad's, he called several times to talk to me and tell me he was wrong and he was sorry. Words he didn't mean. They're included in the abuser's bag of tricks.
Well after 2 days, the kids and I returned. He was over his act of humility in about a day, and the abuse continued in its regular fashion of cursing, name calling, controlling, hitting and fighting.
I've wondered sometimes, how many people have ever been spit on? How many of them were spit on by someone they loved?
Then I'd think about Jesus. He was spit on too. He was spit on by people He loved. The sinners He came to die to save, spit on Him in addition to verbally and physically abusing Him.
I was loving my husband, forgiving him and staying with him, when he didn't deserve me, my forgiveness or my love. I'm not Jesus and not even close to being like Him, yet. But I'm doing my best to follow His example in my life.
Knowing that He went through something that I went through, helps me see it in a different light. I'm in the company of the Savior. Granted, we experienced the same thing for very different reasons, but I'm sure the way it felt was the same - it hurt.
I'm pretty sure no one will ever spit on me again in my life. But if it happened again, it surely wouldn't be done by someone who is supposed to love me.
If it did happen again one day, I would like to believe it will be because I am being persecuted for the King.
