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I remember the patch of road where I took the phone call.  I’d received a text the night before asking to talk because a friend had “yucky medical news.”  As she shared what was happening in her life, my heart sunk.  Her diagnosis was still unknown, but she asked me to pray.

One week later I sat in her hospital room, knowing her diagnosis and that God had said “no” to my prayers.

A few days later while listening to an audible version of Annie F. Downs book “Remember God” I wept at the words “I’m afraid this story is going to break my heart. And you’re going to see it.”  I looked at the year ahead and envisioned challenge after challenge for my friend and I questioned how a good God could prescribe this path.   I was afraid that God was going to break my heart through my friend’s illness.

All of that happened one year ago.

In that year my friend suffered horrible medical treatments to beat a terrible disease.  She had awful days…and she came out the other side.  By all accounts, she has won.  That part of the story is thrilling!

Yet I’ve been blindsided by my actual broken heart at seemingly trivial events.  In the midst of walking my friend through the awful disease, I began to unravel. Not because of what was happening in her life but because of what was happening in my own.  Things I thought I wanted turned into out different than I’d expected.  A place where I’d hoped to find solid ground brought insecurity and anxiety and self-doubt.

Where I am today is not where I thought I would be. My heart has been broken in this last year…just not for the reasons that I imagined it could be.

I explained this feeling to a friend recently…that I felt broken.  That I can’t seem to fix myself; to will away the insecurities and anxiety.  My friend corrected me.  Reminded me that words matter and that I’m not broken.  I nodded with her because I agree that words do matter.  And yet…

I do feel broken.

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The parts of me that I thought would always be present are no longer there.  God has pulled back layer upon layer of hurt and nudged it into the light.  The exposure is painful.

I have fought this broken feeling every single step of the way.  I’ve read books, listened to podcasts, tried supplements and acupuncture.  I’ve seen a doctor.  It appears that God has brought me to a place where I am faced with my brokenness and my toolkit is inadequate. I’m finally forced to admit my need.

Maybe this is what God intended all the while.  Is it possible that this pain means something?  That my broken feeling is intended for my good?  I’m beginning to think so.

Now I’m trying to engage in the pain instead of boxing it up and pretending it isn’t happening.  I’m finally ready to say that I’m struggling.  And I know that there isn’t a simple answer to fix what’s happening.  There is no quick fix here.

I do know that it’s going to take hard work on my part.  Time examining my habits and behaviors and understanding why I react the way that I do.  Unlearning patterns that have served me over time and then learning new habits to fill the void.

There is also something healing in the midst of what is broken.  I’m unable to piece myself back together but I am also unbelievably sure that God is near to me in the midst of it.  I can feel his presence.  He isn’t removing my hurt, but he is whispering his love for me in the middle of it. I’m finally seeing that I have no choice but to unfurl my fingers from their grip on my life and turn my palms upward once again.  To trust God for the outcome.  And I do trust him.  More than anyone else in my life, he has ALWAYS been faithful.

And I feel hope that in this broken, I can be stronger.

It was still and hot as we packed up.  It took four of us to lift and push our camping box into the back of the Pilot.  My daughter and I counted together as we hoisted the car top carrier onto the roof. Sweat dripped down my back as I stuffed one more sleeping bag into the carrier .  I was excited about the potential for cooler air.  In fact we were all excited for the weekend ahead: time away, together and outside.  Sunshine, stillness, s’mores and our regular camping treats highly anticipated. The kids and I were leaving on a Thursday and my husband would join us the following afternoon.

The drive was perfect, winding along a creek for miles on end. The kids and I arrived at the campsite while it was still daylight, which gave me plenty of time to start a fire.  Which is GREAT because it actually took me over an hour (in my defense damp firewood didn’t help.) What now know is that it was a perfect precursor for an IMperfect weekend.

Missing tent stakes, shivering dogs AND people, and so.much.rain. meant that our planned long weekend away turned into a two night trip. We finally called it when the hubby opened the tent door to see that all of our shoes had been drenched and so had his entire bag of clothes.  We swiftly packed up as the rain poured down, stuffing the tent into the back of the car.  As we drove away from the site, the smell of wet dog permeated the backseat.  Which about summed up the weekend.

Later that night as I sat on our covered porch I couldn’t help but think that our camping trip reflected the current state of my life.

This last year, one that I anticipated would be sweet and fulfilling has felt more challenging and difficult than I ever imagined.  What I’d envisioned in my future was not reality at all. My confidence has been tested.  I have felt less like myself.  All of the good that I had dreamed has turned into muddy water with an uncertain future.

My life today is NOTHING like I thought it would be a year ago.  I’ve had more bumps, more bruises and more rainstorms than I’d like.  I have never felt less like myself or more confused about my reactions that I have this past year.  I second guess myself more, my confidence has been tested.  So I question if this is what Jesus designed for my life.

But like my camping trip, I have a choice.  I can think of only the expectations that I’ve lost OR I can relish the pieces of good.  On our camping trip I can remember the multitude of stars on our first night and the laughter around the fire; the moments of laughter in the tent and a shared goal of keeping the dog warm; quiet conversations in the car; the adventure of tracking down a moose to capture the perfect photo (little did we know he’d find us the next morning and be camera ready.)

Photo credit: Brian Boonstra

There ARE pieces of good in my work that I can see when I stop and allow myself to be still.   I rely more on God’s voice than I have in a very long while.  God has used challenges to help me shed some unhealthy habits.  I practice sabbath more because I so desperately need it.  God has also given me some amazing chances to connect with new people, to share what God has done in my life and reflect the things I see that He’s doing in theirs.

God keeps asking me to trust him in the midst of the hard.  I can choose to focus only on the things that were unexpected or that make me uncomfortable or I can let go of my expectations and trust him. I can listen for his voice and lean in to what he’s doing.

Clearly I’m having trouble letting go of my expectation of happily-ever-after.  God is asking me to live out the things I’ve already said about him.  I hate it when he does this.  I know that he is good and that I can trust him…but some days that’s harder to remember.  Obviously I’m a work still in progress.

Tonight I see the clouds.  Not only the darkness of the clouds but see the beauty in their formation.  Perhaps I’ve seen this before…the shades of grey, the shapes, the contrast between the clouds and the fading orange sky.  But tonight I noticed and appreciated it.

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Maybe life is less about the big lessons and the “aha” moments and more about daily practicing the things we say we know.

I’m in a season of things that feel hard.  Can I daily practice actively looking to God in the midst of the struggle?  Can I choose to look at my struggles through his lens?  Can I trust him?

Stay tuned.