Last Friday marked one year since I moved my life down to Georgia. When I made the move I had no idea what this year would bring. It’s been a strange season. One where I get to live out so many of my dreams, but also one where my heart has been broken and everything I know has been flipped upside down.
In the span of an incredibly hell-ish month, I lost almost everyone I knew. Details don't need to be posted here, but it was awful. I lost the friends I grew up with. I lost the men and women that had helped raise me. I lost the church that had been my home. Out of over a hundred people, only nine have asked me so much as how I’ve been doing.
Nine.
This year has been one characterized by feelings of abandonment, hatred of the church, crying until I’m sick to my stomach, angry never-sent letters, and deep loneliness and despair. It’s been a season of finding a job I love and working entirely too hard at it to leave me no time to feel pain.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
Three years ago, as I browsed pictures of the African plains and read blogs about seeing healing all over the world, I pictured life after the World Race as perfect. That these 11 months would fix everything. That the year would magically transform me into the perfect Christian – one who trusts God in every moment. One who never doubts, always forgives, and has the word “brave” tattooed on her heart.
But you know what? I’m not all that brave.
And you know what else? The World Race didn’t “fix” me.
I came home and within a few months life as I knew it went up in flames. And to be honest, I’ve been barely hanging on since.
It’s been the hardest year of my life, but God hasn’t let go. In fact, he’s had me under the shadow of his wing the entire time. Last fall, I literally felt as if I was a little baby duckling, scared and shivering in a thunderstorm, hidden under the mama’s wing. Shielded from the lightning strikes as I began life in Georgia.
But the little duckling’s feet were wet. The claps of thunder made her shake in terror. And she curled up in a ball under the wing, plugged her ears, and rocked back and forth. But the shelter of the wing remained.
God has blessed me with a job I love. He’s made sure all the fundraising money has always come through. I’ve never gone without a meal. He’s given me incredible friends. He’s given me a new church family that is more than I could have asked, dreamed, or imagined. And he’s not done yet.
I don’t have a pretty little Christian answer. Maybe I’m a bad missionary, but I’m done with those.
What happened last year was not okay. Satan wreaked havoc. The thought still gives me that burning, choking feeling in the back of my throat. But he doesn’t get to win.
He just doesn’t.
A few weeks ago at church, my pastor reminded us of a God who specializes in bringing dead things back to life. And that’s what I’ve been this year. Dead. The joy and life was sucked out of me. And I daily tried to fight to get them back – to see the beauty in my life. But my own efforts came up empty.
In the valley of the dry bones, scattered human remains are brought together in a cloud of clinking and snapping. Tendons and muscles are attached and skin envelops them.
But that’s not the miracle. It’s just a valley of corpses. It’s actually kind of creepy.
Because you see, when we just try to have it all together, it does us no good.
The miracle happens when God breathes life into the dead and they rise up and form an army. It’s his spirit that does the miracle. That makes dead things alive.
Our pastor went on to tell a story of our worship leader (Chris Tomlin) from this year’s tour. They were performing one particularly lively song at Red Rocks Amphitheatre outside Denver, which is over a mile high in altitude. Not only did he give his all during the song, but he did an encore and an encore of an encore. At the end, he collapsed.
And not dramatically. He actually collapsed. He ended up needing an oxygen tank.
And he slapped the mask on and gasped for air.
And gasped.
And gasped.
And breathed a little deeper. A little slower. A little calmer.
Sometimes I think God lets us get to Red Rocks. He lets us collapse on stage, desperate for oxygen. Desperate for his spirit to breathe life back into our dry bones.
The Lord did not scheme what happened a year ago – he doesn’t inflict horrendous pain and suffering on those he loves. But he does turn things around and let us become desperate for him – desperate for his spirit that breathes life.
And I am.
When I returned home from the World Race, I expected life to look a lot different than it does today. I didn’t expect to feel so alone. I didn’t expect a job I love. I didn’t expect to lose so many friends. I didn’t expect to gain so many new ones. But while this has absolutely been the hardest year of my life, it’s a new year.
God is a God of redemption. He hides us under the shadow of his wings. He breathes life back into dead things. He rejuvenates us with his Spirit – even when we’re at Red Rocks.
So, if this year has been hard for you too, will you join me in celebrating a new year? A new start? Cause despite how it may seem at times, our God is good and he redeems all the broken places.
All of them.
I can see the turning of the tides.
I can see sons and daughters rise.
And we're gonna take back what the enemy has stolen.
