The long path to solid ground
I stood at the gap between earth and heaven, and dreamed of the other side. I was never in the place of wanting to end my life, but I longed for the pain and the loss and the loneliness to end. I was thankful for the days when tears would come, because that meant I could still feel something. I had experienced the loss of so many things I loved, that my heart began to protect itself.
It was a slow realization that a numb heart is not a heart that can love or care for anything but itself.
There were many days I lived on autopilot. I would wake up far too early, drink the coffee, eat the breakfast, wake the kids, and send them off to school. The next day I would do it again. And again. The hours in between would find me in bed or mindlessly engaged in activities that allowed me to escape from the reality of my new life.
I was me, and I was not. I lived in the shadow of my life before Nicaragua, where the people, and the places, and the things looked the same. But they were not. The tears came each time I realized life will never be the way it was, and I mourned.
Then the day came that broke me. I held witness to deep pain and a fierce struggle in the life of one of my children, and I fell apart completely. I was okay with not being okay, but I could not bear to see my children suffer. Sleep would only come in small increments of time, while my thoughts were unfocused and wandering. The smallest hint of stress or conflict would unglue me, and I had no energy to control my reaction.
I knew I needed help. Those close to me knew it too, but I hated the thought of admitting it. I'm not sure if my hesitation was because of pride, or if it was because I didn't want to believe that life's circumstances had buried me so deep that I could not get out alone.
I began to meet with a Christian counselor over the course of several months, who walked through the past two and a half years with me. It was exhausting to relive it all again; to feel it full and fresh and loud, but it was a necessary action for me to find acceptance, healing, and closure. She was the unbiased, confidential ear to my story; the mirror to my words and actions. She carefully, lovingly pointed to Truth, and I gratefully received her wisdom. The week after Christmas, I felt that I was finally ready to embrace my life.
A few hours after the new year is born, Tim and I step away from our lives and into the company of amazing friends who we'd met in Nicaragua. They had walked alongside us during our year there, and will always be to me a representation of the deep, abiding love of Christ.
As the four of us wind our way along the south rim of the Grand Canyon, my friend points towards the flow of the deep caverns and the snake of the Colorado River. We are specks of dust among the high walls displaying their purples, reds, and browns. And she says after a pause how she can imagine the finger of God carving out the detail of the earth. We both feel small and silent in a world that feels loud and overwhelming, but we do not feel it alone.
I am in awe of the moment. My minuscule life is seen and cherished in the eyes of a creative and powerful and holy God. He orchestrated friendships, called forth counselors, and gave sight and compassion to those who witnessed my struggle. He showed me that I have not fallen so far that I cannot be rescued. I am not so broken that I cannot be made beautiful again. I am seen. I am known. I am loved.
The gray cliffs reach up to the descending blue sky as they intersect at the far horizon. I shade my eyes from the brilliance of the sun, but find no end to what stretches before me. A crisp breeze blows past, but my footing is firm. I have been led to this high and solid ground.
It was a slow realization that a numb heart is not a heart that can love or care for anything but itself.
There were many days I lived on autopilot. I would wake up far too early, drink the coffee, eat the breakfast, wake the kids, and send them off to school. The next day I would do it again. And again. The hours in between would find me in bed or mindlessly engaged in activities that allowed me to escape from the reality of my new life.
I was me, and I was not. I lived in the shadow of my life before Nicaragua, where the people, and the places, and the things looked the same. But they were not. The tears came each time I realized life will never be the way it was, and I mourned.
Then the day came that broke me. I held witness to deep pain and a fierce struggle in the life of one of my children, and I fell apart completely. I was okay with not being okay, but I could not bear to see my children suffer. Sleep would only come in small increments of time, while my thoughts were unfocused and wandering. The smallest hint of stress or conflict would unglue me, and I had no energy to control my reaction.
I knew I needed help. Those close to me knew it too, but I hated the thought of admitting it. I'm not sure if my hesitation was because of pride, or if it was because I didn't want to believe that life's circumstances had buried me so deep that I could not get out alone.
I began to meet with a Christian counselor over the course of several months, who walked through the past two and a half years with me. It was exhausting to relive it all again; to feel it full and fresh and loud, but it was a necessary action for me to find acceptance, healing, and closure. She was the unbiased, confidential ear to my story; the mirror to my words and actions. She carefully, lovingly pointed to Truth, and I gratefully received her wisdom. The week after Christmas, I felt that I was finally ready to embrace my life.
A few hours after the new year is born, Tim and I step away from our lives and into the company of amazing friends who we'd met in Nicaragua. They had walked alongside us during our year there, and will always be to me a representation of the deep, abiding love of Christ.
As the four of us wind our way along the south rim of the Grand Canyon, my friend points towards the flow of the deep caverns and the snake of the Colorado River. We are specks of dust among the high walls displaying their purples, reds, and browns. And she says after a pause how she can imagine the finger of God carving out the detail of the earth. We both feel small and silent in a world that feels loud and overwhelming, but we do not feel it alone.
I am in awe of the moment. My minuscule life is seen and cherished in the eyes of a creative and powerful and holy God. He orchestrated friendships, called forth counselors, and gave sight and compassion to those who witnessed my struggle. He showed me that I have not fallen so far that I cannot be rescued. I am not so broken that I cannot be made beautiful again. I am seen. I am known. I am loved.
The gray cliffs reach up to the descending blue sky as they intersect at the far horizon. I shade my eyes from the brilliance of the sun, but find no end to what stretches before me. A crisp breeze blows past, but my footing is firm. I have been led to this high and solid ground.
Comments
Post a Comment