one year later: a reflection on how devastation builds character
One year ago, on November 8, 2014, my life changed forever.
I didn't graduate from college, get married, or have my first child. I didn't lose a loved one or gain a niece/nephew or move halfway across the world or find out that I have a life-threatening disease. One year ago today, a man was killed in front of my eyes. My hands were behind the wheel.
They say it was an accident. They say it wasn't my fault. They say there's nothing I could have done. While all of those things are true, none of that really matters, because what's gone is still gone. A person. A son, father, brother, uncle, friend.... I don't know which of these roles he played but I know he played a role. And now his role is gone and he can never be replaced.
(Go here to read about the accident and what I wrote about it a year ago.)
I'm not writing this to reminisce on the horror of that very real and tangible nightmare. I'm not writing this to tell you that everything's just fine now and I never really think about it and I've totally forgotten what it felt like to be hanging onto an emotional thread that could've snapped and brought me to insanity or worse, my grave.
I'm writing this to tell you that there is a foundation that I stand on. I built it many years ago. It has never cracked. It has never fallen through. Through the ugliest, most devastating earthquake of my life, where depression and destruction threatened to consume my life, not a single mark was made. Not a single scratch, dent, or hole. In fact, it's sturdier than before. Everything inside of me and everything in my life was flipped and spun and slung and beat up, especially my heart, but my foundation, my core, remained secure.
His name is Jesus.
A year ago on this very day, my world was ripped from underneath me and I literally couldn't breathe for what felt like hours, days, even weeks instead of just mere minutes. A year ago today, during this very hour of the night, I had no idea that in two short hours I would cause someone to die and that in that hour, I would lose a part of me too. The last filter of innocence I had seen the world through was ripped off of my eyes and left me standing there, temporarily blind, vulnerable to the light that was desperately fighting to keep me alive. A year ago today, I smiled what felt like the last smile I would ever give, as I said goodbye to my boyfriend-now-fiance and headed home, completely unprepared for the roadblock ahead that would cause a detour that would change the course of my life forever.
But I'm here to tell you that on this day, a year later, I look back and can count many smiles that I've given since that night. Today, I smiled because I woke up. I smiled because I realized it's Sunday, my favorite day of the week. I smiled because my fiance kissed me good morning. I smiled because I got to see my favorite faces smiling back at me––– the faces of my church family, singing along to "I Saw the Light"––– and I smiled because I get to worship the Smile-Giver, the source of my joy, the source of every good thing. I smiled because I got to spend time with my family, which is precious and rare, and I smiled because God answered a prayer that I have been praying for a year now. And then, I smiled because I remembered that it's been an entire year since the night that I thought I lost myself forever and though I was once lost, I now am found. I feel more in tune with myself than ever before because I feel more desperate for God than ever before.
Looking back, I would tell you that is the most important thing I learned from this heartbreak. The more desperate I am, the more free I am. Free to let go. Free to surrender control. Free to feel pain and not feel guilty about it. Free to feel JOY and not feel guilty about it. Free to worship through the hurt, the questioning, and the unknown. Free to be me. Free to live, because you see, it was only until I thought I no longer deserved to live that I realized what a precious gift it really is to live.
The more desperate I am, the more like Christ I become, because desperate people search until they find what they're looking for–– no matter the cost, no matter what the journey brings, no matter how many times they come to a dead end. Desperation leads to revelation. The moment of absolute desperation lead me to the river of joy that I now dance freely in. I've been washed and I'll have to be washed again, but I keep my feet wet because I'm desperate. I'm needy. I'm dirty. But I've got joy. Joy doesn't promise you that you won't fall down. Joy helps you scrape off your knees and get right back up.
Tonight, I'm sad because I'm mourning a life that was lost a year ago. Tonight, though, I'm thankful because for over 2,000 years now, He has never changed who He is: a good, good Father, a faithful Redeemer and Restorer, and a sure, sure foundation. I'm joyful, because a year ago, tomorrow looked dark, and a year later, I'm so grateful for the many "tomorrows" that lead me here and for the grace that never gives up on me.
I didn't graduate from college, get married, or have my first child. I didn't lose a loved one or gain a niece/nephew or move halfway across the world or find out that I have a life-threatening disease. One year ago today, a man was killed in front of my eyes. My hands were behind the wheel.
They say it was an accident. They say it wasn't my fault. They say there's nothing I could have done. While all of those things are true, none of that really matters, because what's gone is still gone. A person. A son, father, brother, uncle, friend.... I don't know which of these roles he played but I know he played a role. And now his role is gone and he can never be replaced.
(Go here to read about the accident and what I wrote about it a year ago.)
I'm not writing this to reminisce on the horror of that very real and tangible nightmare. I'm not writing this to tell you that everything's just fine now and I never really think about it and I've totally forgotten what it felt like to be hanging onto an emotional thread that could've snapped and brought me to insanity or worse, my grave.
I'm writing this to tell you that there is a foundation that I stand on. I built it many years ago. It has never cracked. It has never fallen through. Through the ugliest, most devastating earthquake of my life, where depression and destruction threatened to consume my life, not a single mark was made. Not a single scratch, dent, or hole. In fact, it's sturdier than before. Everything inside of me and everything in my life was flipped and spun and slung and beat up, especially my heart, but my foundation, my core, remained secure.
His name is Jesus.
A year ago on this very day, my world was ripped from underneath me and I literally couldn't breathe for what felt like hours, days, even weeks instead of just mere minutes. A year ago today, during this very hour of the night, I had no idea that in two short hours I would cause someone to die and that in that hour, I would lose a part of me too. The last filter of innocence I had seen the world through was ripped off of my eyes and left me standing there, temporarily blind, vulnerable to the light that was desperately fighting to keep me alive. A year ago today, I smiled what felt like the last smile I would ever give, as I said goodbye to my boyfriend-now-fiance and headed home, completely unprepared for the roadblock ahead that would cause a detour that would change the course of my life forever.
But I'm here to tell you that on this day, a year later, I look back and can count many smiles that I've given since that night. Today, I smiled because I woke up. I smiled because I realized it's Sunday, my favorite day of the week. I smiled because my fiance kissed me good morning. I smiled because I got to see my favorite faces smiling back at me––– the faces of my church family, singing along to "I Saw the Light"––– and I smiled because I get to worship the Smile-Giver, the source of my joy, the source of every good thing. I smiled because I got to spend time with my family, which is precious and rare, and I smiled because God answered a prayer that I have been praying for a year now. And then, I smiled because I remembered that it's been an entire year since the night that I thought I lost myself forever and though I was once lost, I now am found. I feel more in tune with myself than ever before because I feel more desperate for God than ever before.
Looking back, I would tell you that is the most important thing I learned from this heartbreak. The more desperate I am, the more free I am. Free to let go. Free to surrender control. Free to feel pain and not feel guilty about it. Free to feel JOY and not feel guilty about it. Free to worship through the hurt, the questioning, and the unknown. Free to be me. Free to live, because you see, it was only until I thought I no longer deserved to live that I realized what a precious gift it really is to live.
The more desperate I am, the more like Christ I become, because desperate people search until they find what they're looking for–– no matter the cost, no matter what the journey brings, no matter how many times they come to a dead end. Desperation leads to revelation. The moment of absolute desperation lead me to the river of joy that I now dance freely in. I've been washed and I'll have to be washed again, but I keep my feet wet because I'm desperate. I'm needy. I'm dirty. But I've got joy. Joy doesn't promise you that you won't fall down. Joy helps you scrape off your knees and get right back up.
Tonight, I'm sad because I'm mourning a life that was lost a year ago. Tonight, though, I'm thankful because for over 2,000 years now, He has never changed who He is: a good, good Father, a faithful Redeemer and Restorer, and a sure, sure foundation. I'm joyful, because a year ago, tomorrow looked dark, and a year later, I'm so grateful for the many "tomorrows" that lead me here and for the grace that never gives up on me.
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