It all started that fateful November day, when a beautiful dream was shattered into a million pieces and spread all over the floor! A life full of dreams and hopes was left in an unsettled mess, and a heart beating with purpose was left bleeding and agonizing. They had plans, they had dreams, they were young, and nothing could stop them. That is, until that fateful November day, when even the youngest, strongest of hearts were trampled and crushed, left to bleed to death- alone.
Or so I though. This is my story. A story of how my world came crashing in around me, and left me gasping for breath. Sometimes pain is thrust into our lives; sometimes, it comes gradually. I thought I was strong, invincible really. I thought that I could handle anything life would ever throw my way. I thought I could stand up after any blow and go right on dancing as though nothing had ever happened. So I tried. I ignored the pain and kept my life filled to the max with activity, people, and work! I was fine, doing great, really!
Or so I thought. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, losing sight of the strength I thought I possessed. I cried. I withdrew. I shuttered at the pain I had to stand up under. He called me to be okay with feeling pain, with cracking under the weight of it all, because He knew that I would run to Him. So I walked, stumbled, cried, and kept walking some more. I wondered if I would ever smile again, if I would ever laugh and feel like my normal self again. It hurt, and sometimes I felt like I was alone in my little bubble of pain. I was left reeling at the sight of couples that surrounded me, the notes, the pictures, the reminders that seemed to come out of nowhere just to haunt me. Again. My angel of a friend told me that it was like having surgery, and that healing would take awhile. She said it would make me a stronger person in the end. I wanted to believe, but felt incapable.
Then, the panic started. I didn't realize it immediately, but this ugly monster called panic-attacks-clinical-depression was beginning to rear its ugly head amidst, and because of, the pain. It began slowly, this strange combination of emotional fatigue and physical attacks. So elusive, so strange, it began eating away at what I considered to be my vibrant personality. The constricted breathing and the moments of intense pain and suffocation came as a surprise, as a mystery. How was I to deal with even more than I had been drowning under already? What was happening to me mystified me, and paralized me with fear. I was strong, a weathered Christian that should never be surrounded by fear like this, right? I believed that I was a failure.
That's when I began filling my life with truth. His declaration of my worth became my declaration, replacing the lies of the devil. Surrender came slowly, and not without a struggle. The attacks continued, driving me to tears and to His arms. I felt abandoned through it all, because I expected answers that fit my agenda. Clearly I would be a better person, a stronger Christian, if He would heal me. I had visions for my future, dreams of making a difference in this world. It's hard to be productive and chase dreams when your "life zest" is gone. Completely.
If there is anything I have learned in my short life, it's that He will never leave me alone out on a limb. No matter how abandoned I feel, no matter how much pain is present in my life, He is there. Period. In my moment of ultimate surrender, I found Him waiting: waiting with His dreams, His purpose, His grace.
New life began to peep through the dry, cracked earth. New purpose washed over me and gave me eyes of faith. Healing came slowly, painfully.
This week marked a year of growth since that "fateful November day", but I realize that fate had nothing to do with it. My life has been carefully designed, and every moment of pain is there for a reason. I have scars, but I am stronger because of my pain. I live and love more deeply than ever before, and I am held in a death grip of grace.
All is grace. He is grace. He is my Shepherd; I have everything I need.
