Metaphorical Physical Therapy

 Dear Kate,

You've suffered a number of blows one closely after another. Expecting recovery so soon is like getting back into the knockout ring with a broken rib, dislocated shoulder, a bleeding nose, and a half-working lung. Healing takes time. You aren't just healing from one event, or one thought, or one battle. You're healing from ----, ----, ----, ----, ----, ----, hating yourself, dealing with --- and breaches of trust and betrayal , all the while still healing from ---- and ----, and ----, and ----, and ----. It's like expecting your bloody nose to stop bleeding without putting pressure on it, or expecting that since your nose now stopped bleeding everything else is healed. That's just not how it works. You still have a broken rib, a half-working lung, a dislocated shoulder. And you still need to heal those things ONE at a time.

They aren't all going to heal at the same time nor at the same speed. So getting back into the ring and expecting not to fail, not to lose the fight, is a little foolish if you ask me. You hate yourself because you keep losing, you keep getting hurt, your gifts and talents are suppressed. You feel trapped on the inside, wanting to scream because you KNOW you can do better. You KNOW how strong you actually are, how gifted you actually are, how much impact you can actually make, but you can't seem to perform in the ring. You go a few good rounds but it always ends the same. 

You feeling broken not victorious.

So, my dearest friend, with all the love I have for you, please stop the fruitless effort of getting back into the ring right now. Please stop expecting all your bones and muscles to heal the same way and speed as your bloody nose. Please wait. Train someone else to go in the ring and throw the punches. 

So my practical advice in this season is sabbatical. Six months of metaphorical physical therapy. Rebuild the muscles, recover the strength, and restore those broken bones. YOU are NOT broken. But you HAVE broken bones. 

Love,

The Great Advocate (Holy Spirit)

 

Splintered Glass

 Journal entry about trust: 

"I am not Eve, thought my tendencies of her are strong. I am the daughter of the Redeemed human race, daughter of Mary. Daughter of Faith. Daughter of the Yes. Daughter of obedience. Mother of Trust. I do not need “to know.” I rebuke the snake and repel the temptation to want to know. Abba, Father, I am Yours. Redeem my broken heart and splintered glass of trust."

Splintered Trust

Like a pebble hitting glass,

The impact, not big enough

To shatter the whole

Window shield

But precise enough in position,

Size, and weight to hit its exact mark

Cracks the surface,

Sending ripples of splintered glass

Like a spider web of lies

Spreading across the center

Windshield

 

What is supposed to shield and protect,

Now distorted

My vision confused

 

Yes, he hit his mark

Once a friend, but it was only a mask

Now making me his enemy

Wanting to take me down with him

As he falls

 

He plants suspicion,

Deafening whispers

Behind closed doors

Hiding traps for me in dark corners

He attacks my character

Even as testimony after testimony

Is written against him

Court is knocking on his door

So he attempts to blow mine down

By persuading some of my own

To follow him

 

He laughs that he has

“access from within”

And taunts me with

Pointing out that I am

Running with those whom I can’t trust

His friend, my trusted Judas

 

And the splintered glass tempts me

To pull over and empty out my car.

If I can’t trust anyone,

I’ll do it alone.

But I look at those beside me,

And I don’t see Judas.

I see Jesus.

He is with me.

Emmanuel.

And He smiles at the ones

At my side

“I will deal with Judas,” He tells me

“Don’t stop the car.”

“Don’t look at the windshield, look beyond it.

Do you see? Do you see it, Kate?”

 

I look through the splintered glass

And see a waterfall ahead,

Dazzling rainbows and prisms of color

I have never seen before

The splintered glass no longer

A distortion of reality,

No longer a distraction,

But a vision of glory!

A gift I get to share

With all those

Sitting in the seats

He Came for Me

I always saw the Parable of the Good Samaritan through the lens of the good Samaritan, the good we should do for others. I never saw it through the eyes of the victim until now:

“A men fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.” (Luke 10:30)

My counselor earlier this year said to me, “This kind of betrayal is life-altering. Give yourself some time.” Especially for a painstakingly tender heart of mine. So many times I’ve mumbled in exasperation, God, you got the wrong girl. I am so not fit for this. Please, please pick someone stronger. My heart is weak, it’s too soft, it feels everything and feels for everyone. I forgive often because I understand, I feel what they battled with, where they came from, why they made the decisions they’ve made. I am deeply empathetic. Which makes it extremely difficult when I don’t receive the empathy or grace I often give. It makes it extremely difficult when people don’t understand me. I understand them, how can they not put themselves in my shoes and understand me?

And that’s the cry of the victim, too, right? To not just be seen, but understood. Trauma can isolate but the real issue is the validation beneath the surface. Sometimes we just need someone to want to carry the suffering with us. We feel understood, held, validated for our brokenness, and free to not pretend or not feel rushed to fix it. When someone understands and holds that moment with us, ah, it changes everything. Just like the Good Samaritan. The victim was left half-dead, and still the passerby’s “saw” but found reasons to not validate, not to understand, not to empathize, and therefore not to engage. They justified their own actions instead.

“A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise, a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.” (vs 31-32)

Some people that I expected to understand, expected to stop at my cries for help, people who perhaps “should” be the ones to stop and help, instead pass me by and pass me off. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” they say. “She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.” “She signed up for this.” 

“It’s not the worst that could happen.” “We all go through it.” “Why is she complaining so much, she’s not dead.” “Well, I’m burned out like her, too.” And off they go.  I am seen but not validated. Acknowledged but not understood. Noticed but not enough to engage.

People who should care, who should know what to do, who should provide and comfort and plan – pass me by on the opposite side, in a hurry to the real mission site, in a hurry to deliver the real provisions they have, to give their support to the real service that is needed. I am just collateral damage, taking care of me will cost far more than their normal acts of service.

And yet, I lay there still, waiting, dying

Flies and gnats buzzing in anticipation of what flesh they can soon feast on

And suddenly, He comes for me

Half-dead (hope, trust, compassion crushed) and half-alive (only faint senses)

And carries me, my broken body, Limbs hanging, 

half-unconscious, bruised and bleeding

My Good Samaritan, God Himself coming to rescue me, to carry me to safety when no one else would

Jesus

He came for me.

 

“But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight.

He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took two silver coins and gave them to the inn keeper with the instruction, “Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.” “Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” The man answered Jesus, “The one who treated him with mercy.”  (Luke 10:33-37)

*As always with journals and emotions, especially anger which is often irrational, the feelings aren't necessarily the truth. For example, feeling abandoned doesn't mean I am. Sometimes victim mentality isolates us from the real truth, that there are many Good Samaritans, for example. And yet, emotions have a need to simply express themselves, like the Psalms, like Lamentations. So this series of blogs are insights into my own lamentations, and hopefully it encourages you to create space for yours. And meet Jesus along the way. 

The Problem with the Valley

To survive the valley, 

you have to be real comfortable in your own skin.

You’ll find many companions on the path to the mountaintop,

but very few will journey with you to the valley.

Those who do are unlikely to stay.

The closest companion you’re left with: you.

Your thoughts.

Your physical weakness.

Your limits.

Your sins.

Unmasked.

You become keenly aware of your scars, blemishes, incapabilities,

and if you’re not comfortable coming face to face with yourself,

you may not survive.

 

Self-hatred, self-loathing, self-condemnation

The valley is quiet; your thoughts, loud

The voice of the accuser in your own head, so close you can taste its poison.

 

In the mountaintops, your weaknesses don’t bother you

because you’re overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding you,

    the view from the top – breathtaking

    this moment – significant

    you – small

 

In the cities, your weakness don’t bother you because they are drown out by the noise

Or sometimes even the suffering of others

    Opportunities – everywhere

    This moment – insignificant

    You – the center

 

But in the valley?

Your weaknesses are on full display, weighing you down

Stuck in the marsh by your limits

Lost in the forest – your thoughts – going in circles

No noise, no distraction, no beauty

Just you and your ashes

 

To survive the valley

Is to have the fortitude to love yourself

Exposed, bare, raw, dirty

The Garden of Eden deep in the valley

The place to face your Maker as you are

Without even a fig leaf

To admit you took a bit of the poisoned apple

And to discover that the serpent’s lies

Are more about you

Than they are about Him.

Where Does It Hurt?

I met a woman today with heartbreak blue eyes

She captivated me despite the sadness I felt in her presence

 

I stared, holding her eyes, holding her pain

As if she knew I felt her sadness too and wanted to explain why,

she asked me, “If you had a daughter and she ran away on your birthday,

where would it hurt?”

I touched my heart.

 

“If your own daughter turned on you, deceived into believing she had to earn satan’s favor by cursing you and planning harm for you, where would it hurt?”

I arched my back, as if feeling the arrow between the shoulder blades.

 

“If your daughter was raped and you were called to the crime scene,

And you held a body that was alive but dead inside, eyes of a robot, a heart you love, murdered

And you, holding her – skin hot to the touch but heart cold as ice – helpless,

Where would it hurt?”

I touched my stomach as if I might vomit.

 

“If you had a daughter who believed the lies spoken about you by the betrayal of a friend, and she betrayed you, too, where would it hurt in your body?”

I felt my forehead, skin getting hot like a fever.

 

“If you had another daughter who ran away in the dark cover of night, and you waited for her, but she did not return, where would it hurt in your body?”

My lungs constricted and my shoulders drooped with invisible weight.

 

“If some of your children were out on the street, even by their own choices of running away and refusing to come home, would you be able to eat without thinking of them?

Sleep without wondering if they are safe?

Look at family photos and not feel your stomach sink?

Ask God why over and over again?

If your own children rejected you like this, where would it hurt in your body?”

Everywhere. I ached everywhere.

 

And suddenly, I understood her pain, fully, wholly, and I ached for the woman I saw behind the heartbreak eyes, a light that seemed smothered, tattered, losing hope

I reached to touch her

But my fingers touched glass

and I wept for her

The woman in the mirror

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lord, it hurts all over. My lungs hurt. My heart hurts. My shoulders hurt. My upper arms hurt. My head hurts. My knees hurt. My stomach hurts.

 

Daughter,

My Hands hurt

My Feet hurt

My Side hurts

My Head hurts

My Back hurts

My Wrists hurt

 

But nothing hurts more than the love that’s in my Sacred Heart for you. By My wounds, yours are healed.

It’s Time to Talk about the Valleys

“You led me to the mountain top just to watch me get knocked off – bumps and bruises, paralyzing, numbing.

I hit rock bottom. No transition. No journey down from the valley. Why am I here in this pit? Hurting, numb, in a haze? I know You’ll come for me. But why. Why am I here? Why the drastic drop from consolation to desolation?

 Anger rising, darkness pressing…” (6-15-25)

Our spiritual journeys are a combination of seasons, of ups and downs, periods of consolation and desolation, the mountains and the valleys. Usually, my seasons can be marked by external events that launch me into joyous peaks or depleting troughs. This trough has been the hardest one yet. Mostly because the external events have passed, but my interior life is still shaken. I’ve been rereading my journal entries for this year and wow…yikes…hallelujah…and ouch. So many cool pieces of writing that have come out of my valleys and so much wisdom God has shared in sealing me in His hope. (I’ll be sharing these for my next written series about God in the valleys.) Sometimes, because I “know” all the right answers when it comes to our spiritual life, like, I know I am never alone, I know He will come for me, I know without a shadow of a doubt that He is a Good, Good Father. I know Love wins. But I also feel. I feel deeply, and because I feel deeply, I’ve been learning to allow my feelings to speak, too, because only then can Truth truly cover it.

 So, it’s time. It’s time to talk about the valleys. That it’s okay to trust God but also feel abandonment. It’s okay to love Him and also be angry at Him. It’s okay to break, to fail, and to need a Savior. If my valleys had a voice, this is what they’d say…

 “Good morning, Jesus, my heart is really hurting. I’m constantly put in this position of questioning the intentions of those closest to me or those surrounding me. Lord, please expose my enemies. My chest hurts. All the love and hope and trust I’ve poured into the staff and girls. Last year it was betrayals from the girls, this year it’s the staff. The fear of allowing others to get too close to me is resurfacing. I want to crawl back into my wall. I want to push them away. “I can do it myself, then. I’ll just do it myself.” Comes flooding in.” -3-18-25

 “O rock of Ages, I need you. I feel so defeated and overwhelmed by his nastiness and lies, even to the police officer about me and the police seemed to believe him! Lord, speak! Pierce through the dark. I am hurt and sad at his relentless bullying.” -3-20-25

 “Wow, God, fasting has transformed me into your vessel, allowing Heaven to use me and not the other way around. Today was hard but beautiful. My body was physically battling, shaking with anger and hurt, feelings of disappointment and confusion, yet knowing with a deep clarity what I had to do – Trust you.” -3-19-25

 “Another one left. The girls are surprised at how calm I’ve been through this. That’s all You, not me. I feel a bit lost, though. Like I’m floating, not grounded. Please anchor me, and help me sleep in Jesus’ Name.” -5-30-25

 “It’s been over a week after she ran away, my body yet to shed a tear. The color of this moment – ocean-floor blue – dark and dangerous.”  -6-1-25

 “I don’t know what you expect me to do? How can I keep showing up in a place where it feels like people don’t show up for me? You expect me to come with a smile, to show up even when I’m crushed because that’s what I do – I show up even when it’s hard. The moment I fail, the moment I show weakness, the moment I make a mistake, I’m written off… Am I expected to be perfect? To not flinch? To not break?

-6-8-15   To be fake?

“I am a porcelain doll

Chosen for hope of perfection

But at first sign of blemish

...rejection

...they tire of me

...Still, I bleed”

 

“What is this madness, this storm, this chaos, this Judas?” -6-15-25

 

“Jesus, come and get me. The darkness is closing in. Mocking, beckoning, sardonic. Hitting the mark.”

Sometimes I wish my internal season of temporary darkness was external. Because I feel like those are more easily solved. Like, if I were on crutches and had to see a physical therapist to recover, I wouldn’t have to explain why I can’t walk – people would just see the cast and the crutches and know. Maybe they would see and help. Maybe they’d send Get Well Soon cards and recovery gestures. Not that anyone wants sympathy in a season of valley, but at least when it’s physical, there are measured goals of growth and recovery. There is somewhat of a timeline and a context. Not so with the interior life. How do you explain to someone two months later, you’re still not okay? How do you explain it to yourself? How do you measure growth in the valleys? The ebbs and flows are so inconsistent in these places and often times it is dark and lonely even though you’re not alone. What God has been showing me in this season is to stop trying to manipulate my external circumstances, aka my healing, and just allow Him to work even in the haze. After all, my Best Friend glows in the dark. Darkness is not dark to Him. And that’s what I cling to in the valleys. And I hope this encourages you if you’re in a season of valleys, too.

 What better companion to have in the valley than the One who can see through it all. He may not tell you everything, but He sees, He knows the way out, so just keep holding His hand.  

Even When

I love you, not only because You're Good

I love You when you're distant

and when it feels like You've abandoned me.

I love You when you're silent

and when you're hard to understand.

I love You when dreams break 

and healing seems hard to reach.

I love You when I'm angry and empty

and darkness settles in, and I'm still alone.

I love You when You bless those arounds me

even if I am without.

I love You when I see miracles performed for others

even if my prayers are left unanswered. 

I will love You anyway.

You see, I love You not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

I love You because you are my Savior, 

You left the 99 for me.

I love You because you are my Good, Good Father,

and You have set me free. 

I love You because You are my Best Friend

and You have never forsaken me. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

I love you, child, not only because you're good

I love you when you're distant

and when it feels like you don't want Me.

I love You when you're silent

or when you demand "to know" instead of understand.

I love You when My Heart breaks 

because you become hard to reach.

I love You when you're angry and dark

and you forget I am your Light.

I love You when you praise others around you

even if you've forgotten to thank Me.

I love You when you are loyal and faithful to others

even if my calls to you are unanswered. 

I will love you anyway.

You see, I love you not for what you do,

but for Who You Are.

You are my beloved, 

I will leave the 99 for you.

You are my child,

and I delight in you. 

You are my Trusted Friend

and I will never leave you.

-Love, Papa

A couple months ago, a reading from the "Imitation of Christ" really pierced me, especially in this season of particular internal valleys. "Jesus has many loves of His heavenly kingdom, but few cross-bearers. Many desire consolation, but few tribulation. Many will sit down with Him at table, but few will suffer for Him."

"Many will follow Him to the breaking of the bread, but few will drink the bitter cup of His Passion. Many revere His miracles, but few follow the shame of His cross. Many love Jesus when all goes well with them, and praise him when he does them a favor; but if Jesus conceals Himself and leaves them for a little while, they fall to complaining and become depressed."

Ugh. Right to the heart on that one. I've been complaining and depressed. Wanting Him to take me out of this inner turmoil and into a different season. A better season. Consolation, comfort. I say I love Him, but I didn't want the cross. I've been going to an adoration chapel almost every morning, trying to shake myself from this darker place I'm not used to. And it has been SO healing. There is no match for joy than the actual presence of Jesus Himself. And finally, my complaining has turned to whispers of adoration and praise and promises. This very morning, poetry started coming back again. I grabbed the small devotion book, the only paper I had handy, and the bright orange pen in my pocket, and scribbled my promises onto this book. (The picture above) Then I started writing a reply from the Savior. Oh how powerful is His love for me and us! And I revisited this passage from the book I couldn't keep reading a couple months ago. I opened to the very page I left, because two months ago, I didn't want the sufferings or the cross. I wanted His banquet not his poverty. I wanted a return for my labor and a return for my love. Oh how I found myself a lover of majesty and despiser of the manager. Lord, forgive me.  

If I'm Being Honest

If I’m being honest

I’m seeking to be seen

Because You’ve forgotten

about meeting all my needs.

I know You once parted the Red Sea

But where’s the manna for me?

I struck the rock once to take care of Your sheep

So why do I find myself alone in the dark valley

Aren’t you supposed to lead?

If I’m being honest

It feels like You lied to me

 

You said “Harvest”

But all I see is desert

You said “Joy”

But what I got is jaded.

You said “Rest”

But what You gave was chaos

You promised Healing

But all I feel is broken.

 ---------------------------------

You brought me to the mountain top, and the view was worth the climb. 

Springtime Blossoms in their fullest.

After chest pain and lung issues, I got to rest on top of the world with stars as companions.

I could breathe the freshest air, my lungs filled with untainted satisfaction

My burdens below my feet, my baggage lifted

Peace

I fell asleep that night on top of the mountain, on top of the world, thinking You led me through the miserable climb to show me greater things.

I closed my eyes with my lips curling into a smile, knowing I could finally rest and wake up with joy in the morning.

But I woke up dazed and confused

I couldn’t see properly, everything was hazy, I felt dizzy and heavy, labored and sore

So sore, something was broken

Like I had been hit by a bus

When I looked up, I realized my fate was worse

I had fallen off the mountaintop

No, not fallen

I had been pushed.

No, not pushed.

Shoved, launched, dumped off the mountaintop

And woke up in the valley – dark, blinding, and cold

False springtime

With my Savior nowhere in sight

 

I know my enemy pushed me off, cruel and evil, attacking me at my moment of rest

But what about You, God? I know my enemy is evil, but You? You’re supposed to be good.

How could you allow the thief to come and steal this joy, this rest from me?

 

Yet, I pressed on.

Trudging through the valley of the shadow of death

Knowing You were somewhere close

I reached a clearing and my heart leaped for joy

But it sank quickly to my toes when I realized it was just a break in the trees

We were still in the valley

I trudged on

And reached another clearing, again my heart leapt for joy

To get smashed down to my feet

Upon realizing it was the same disillusioned clearing

I had simply walked in circles

A third time, a clearing appeared and joy danced around me

Quickly muted by the devastation of realizing I had walked in circles – again

I’m never going to get it right.

It’s not going to change.

I fell asleep that night with dark shadows as companions

No miracles left for me

But as sunlight came, so did my resolve

But there was no more anticipation, no more excitement

The joy had been jaded, misled, misused

Only myself to blame, anger burned

Finally, the trees of the valley thinned

And the dark forest ended

The real clearing lies up ahead

Joy surged, but I caught it in my fist, keeping it on a leash this time lest it disappoint me again

Good thing

Because my feet reached the clearing and all I saw from horizon to horizon

Was desert.

Devasting.

But I walked on. Now numb. Why should I care when You don’t?

A well full of water.

I’m unmoved.

A sandstorm.

I’m unmoved.

A basket of bread.

I’m unmoved.

A thief in the night.

I’m unmoved.

Good, bad, pretty, or ugly.

It all looks the same to me now.

 

Sand in my eyes, blurred vision

Parched heart, Torched hope,

What exactly do You expect from me?

 ------------------------------------------------

They expect me to hold the weight without breaking

Walk through fire without burning

Take the punches without bruising

Still, I bleed.

Where are Your promises for me?

 

Becoming Unwintered: The Beauty of Springtime Blossoms

How did I forget that Spring had blossoms? 

The sound of mowers in the background, the smell of freshly cut grass, the feeling of wind rippling through your shirt on a bike ride, the neighborhood garage sales. This is spring.

I snuck home for a friend’s wedding and some family functions which just so happened to all be in one month! And I have been captivated by the trees here (ironic because I wrote a blog about the beauty of death [Fall]) But oh! What blossoms! What beauty there is in new life!

How did I forget that spring had blossoms?

The purple with a tint of pink, the white with a hint of purple. Royal, pure delight. How did I forget?

This spring, how timely, how wonderful, how symbolic. My winter season (2024) had numbed me to my bones. A previous spiritual director had told me that I seemed “bone-tired.”

A frost-bitten heart.

They say, “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” I must be the fool of them all, because over and over, I think the best and see the best in others, only to be betrayed, blamed, rejected, lied to, manipulated. Lies. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. A sudden turn of character from someone I’ve known for over a decade. Confusion, aggression, threats. Case opened. Other disappointments by colleagues or peers, trust challenged. And then of course the heartbreak of losing my own to poor decisions or just plain rebellion, but being a constant revolving door – people coming into my heart, and people going out.

A frost-bitten heart.

Bitten by betrayal, frosted by the repetition of it. For the first time in my ministry life, last year my heart went cold. “I don’t want to be someone’s leftovers, their fallback plan. I don’t want to be the bandaid or the rotating door, people coming in and out,” I wrote in my journal.

Painted on smiles and pretend hugs, when behind my back, my heart is spit on, my work mocked, like a beautiful painting I spent years mastering, just to get a blob of paint thrown on it. That’s the feeling of failure. Beauty turned to trash. Once a visionary, now a stained vision. I didn’t know who to trust. Not even myself.

At the end of last year, I was home for three months, but I didn’t call and check on the girls or anyone back home. I didn’t want to. I was numb, cold. Like my toes after having fallen through the ice when I was younger. I don’t remember how old I was, maybe 10, but we were ice skating and there was a tiny patch of thin ice. The crackle was too quick to be an alarm, and the ice broke beneath my skates. I only fell through to my chest, catching myself on the strong edge of ice with my arms. My family had to pull me up, and while my mom roasted my toes over the fire for the next hour, to this day, they still freeze up at early signs of cold. I never thought my heart would ever feel like my stone-cold toes.

Journal Entries:

Dec 3^rd: I’m worried I won’t be ready to leave. I’m not ready now. What is this unsettling feeling? It terrifies me. I’ve never felt it before. What if it doesn’t go away? What if things don’t change? Why am I not aching to get back and see everyone like I used to do? What’s wrong with my heart?”

Dec 14: “I feel like I’m stuck in this darkness, waiting to be taken to the light. But it’s like You’re waiting for me instead. Me, sitting in my anger and pity because I’m afraid even in the light, I won’t be happy. I’m afraid nothing will change.”

I was on the plane flying back to Swazi on Dec 30th and writing in my journal; I begged God to change something – anything, because I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t excited to return for the first time in all my 16 years of traveling (since 2008). I was simply numb. Like a stubborn layer of snow, the fear refused to melt even when the sun came out. I felt like a failure – I couldn’t heal the way I planned to.

I wrote: “I am so deeply wounded. I wanted to be healed before I returned. I wanted to be fixed, strong, whole…I am none of it. I am broken, weak, fractured. Sad. Bracing myself for impact.”

Fear. So much fear.

In God’s goodness, amid my innumerable what-ifs and fear, the Holy Spirit stopped me in my tracks with, “What if it’s better than you’ve ever had before?”

That alone restored some hope. Not because I was good, whole, strong, or happy. But because I knew God was all I couldn’t be. I wanted to go home strong and healed and whole, so I didn’t have to feel like a failure. He wanted me just as I am. So He could remind me, He is the hero in this story, and His love never fails.

Dec 30^th: "I’m sitting in Dubai and feeling a sudden rush of uncertainty and fear. But I declare I am because You Are. You are strong enough, wise enough, trustworthy enough. You are a miracle-working God, a Transformer, a Deliverer, a Redeemer. Come and redeem my heart to be on fire like Yours again. Jesus, transform my fear and anxiety into courage and peace.  I want to love well even when I’m wounded and weak.

Even if my stomach doesn’t settle, even if my mind still races, my heart is secure in You.”

Nothing extraordinary happened when I arrived. Nothing notable. I didn’t feel strong but I knew His love for me. Peace. And I knew He wanted to heal me His way, on the very grounds in which my deepest wounds had been afflicted.

Jan 3^rd: "I feel like a twist cone, or twizler candies wrapped together as one…a side of joy, energy, contentment but mixed with blood red color tinged with layers of sadness, heaviness, apathy, avoidance. But I am here. I came back. Not to run or hide or avoid it. I came back to do something extraordinary. To love anyway.”

Looking back, no big moments marked my healing, but winter indeed had ended.

I simply showed up each day, took each day as it was, one day at a time. And soon, I was laughing like I couldn’t stop. Giggling at things that I couldn’t remember laughing at before. Enjoying and playing like a kid again. There was a deep, unspeakable joy. A forgiveness that seeped from under the once snow-covered branch, now a sprout of new life.

The transition from winter to spring is not sudden. It’s painfully long. Day after day, it seems like nothing changes, and then one day everyone is out in their shorts and tank tops, as if winter never happened. That’s how healing came for me. Not suddenly, not in an extraordinary moment, but in the simple graces of every day life, warming up my heart just one degree at a time. One degree. Small changes that don’t seem to matter until the “one degree” changes everything. One degree difference and a water droplet freezes. One degree difference and water boils. Oh, the power of one.

One little hand holding mine. 

One kiss on the cheek. 

One prayer from a friend. 

One hand-written Valentine’s Day card. 

One hour of cleaning my house. 

One apology. 

One night of cooking dinner for me. 

One by one by one. Love came daily. 

Only this time, I was unwintered enough to see it.

Fall used to be my favorite season for as long as I can remember. But oh, the Springtime! How did I ever forget about Springtime blossoms? They have captivated me this year. The delicacy of their scent, the delicacy of their colors, the delicacy of their petals but the power it represents! Behold it. Breathe it in. Spring, the season of hope! It changes everything.

Oh, how my cup runneth over with springtime blossoms.