If you look closely at the cracks in our sidewalk, you will see three things: bugs, weeds, and teeny tiny shards of shattered glass. Glass that couldn’t be gathered by professional emergency clean-up crews. Glass that still stands as a reminder of our broken lives and the fire that destroyed so much.
Recently I attended a baby shower. I saw a few good friends and many acquaintances. Somehow the topic of our house fire two years ago breached the conversation. One particular acquaintance from college suddenly wanted to play twenty questions. I immediately became uncomfortable, but answered the woman’s questions with the most grace I could muster, and as fast as I could, changed the subject back to the beautiful mommy-to-be.
When the party was over, unexpected tears came rushing. All the images came flooding back, both the judgmental and sympathetic looks from neighbors, the stench of smoke. What?! This happened two years ago; I thought I was over this!
Apparently the conversation had bothered me more than I realized. Each time I think the novelty of our disaster wears off, someone new asks questions, bringing the memories straight to the surface of my soul.
But in that tearful moment in the car, God gently reminded me of how far we’d come.
The next day, I started writing again.
God has such a sense of humor. Over a year ago, when first discussing my mental health, my doctor asked me if I liked to journal or write.
My response was, “I used to.”
As a child, I filled diary after diary with my thoughts, wishes and stories. My journal acted as a full-time therapist during my teen years, and even in college, I cherished the quiet moments during the crazy when I could sit and scribble my thoughts.
During the time Hubby and I call “post-fire,” writing took a significant back seat.
I thought my penchant for writing was simply a hobby. That’s partially true. But now it’s even more.
The pages of my journals, the notepad in my iPhone, the hundreds of saved documents on this laptop represent broken pieces of my soul that God has been carefully and lovingly glued back together.
I never realized those words, sentences and paragraphs would turn into a blog. I never knew those words could help me crack open the door of my heart for the Lord to come back in.
And wow, did He come rushing back in.
He makes all things whole. No truth for me has been more clear or harder to learn than this.
Through the brokenness and the joy, I cannot wait to see how God continues to refine us, rush into our lives and flood our souls with love.
Want to come along?
❤
a fresh brewed faith 
One thought on “My Story: Part 5 — Refined by the Fire”