Category: Healing

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19: 11, 12).

We were doing great. I threw in the bloody towel and hung up my tattered boxing gloves. My fighting days are over. God touched and healed my heart. I’ve been reformed. I am no longer the same.

Then one daunting day, the earth rumbled and shook, like a violent earthquake. The birds stopped singing. The sun stopped shining. And the rain burst through the heavens like a gushing river.

Words, as hot as fire, spewed from our mouths like molten lava, destroying a lifetime of hopes and dreams we had built together. Now our mangled hearts lie dead in the smoldering ashes of doom.

We messed up. We broke our promises. We held each other’s hearts in our hands and crushed them like broken glass. Now they are slowly bleeding to death. Our love for each other suddenly turned to hate, anger, and frustration. And like a roaring lion trapped in a foreboding cage, I broke loose and fled out the door.

The woods were peaceful and quiet. The stump on which I sat was damp and draped with moss. Beneath my feet lay a grungy blanket of withered leaves and broken twigs, and tree limbs. The earth smelled pungent, like a dank, musty cellar. But like a kindly, old grandfather, it comforted me. It held me safely in its strong, rugged arms, as it always has throughout my tumultuous life.

Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun filters through the rustling leaves, as if attempting to warm my shivering heart. Tiny bugs crawl up and down the brittle, peeling bark on the tree beside me, as birds flutter from limb to limb, singing happy songs. If only I could be as free as the trees. As free as the sky above and the gentle breeze caressing my tear-drenched face. If only I could sprout wings and fly a trillion miles away.

The few hours I spent crying and meditating in the shelter of the woods were not long enough. I wanted to pitch a tent and stay there forever. But, I whispered my goodbyes to the tranquil, captivating haven and, like a weary old pack mule, plodded back home, wishing I could wake up from this gut-wrenching nightmare.

The house was dark and quiet, like a morgue. Everything felt dead; I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to turn back the clock to that Sunday a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in church, wiping tears of conviction from my eyes. I wanted to feel the joy and happiness, and to hear the music and message again. I wanted to feel God’s presence and the safety of his strong arms again.

Just when I thought the worst of the storm was over, it started back up again, and my husband packed his bags and stormed out the door. Just like that, our fifty-three-year marriage was stuffed in a suitcase and thrown in the car like a piece of worthless trash.

Betrayal! Abandonment! Devastation! Two hearts once joined together by love and faithfulness are now shattered to smithereens by hatred and rage, never to be the same again. They are crushed and broken beyond repair.

What happened? Where did these two monsters come from? Who let them in our house to rape, plunder, and destroy our hearts, minds, and souls? Who gave them permission to rip apart our happy home?

I should have seen it coming, or at least been on guard. Satan is always ready and eager to mess things up. But I thought I had it together now. My husband and I were back in church. God was restoring my rebellious heart. I could feel his healing touch rippling through my wounded soul like a soothing balm.

For days and weeks, my heart and mind were finally at peace with each other. No more depression. No more monsters kicking and screaming inside me. No more anger. No more rage. I’m all better now. I’ve surrendered my life to God; he has everything under control. Then suddenly, the current changed, and once again, I was drenched by the flood of failure, shame, and remorse.

A sobbing, pleading hour later, my husband came back home. I put on a pot of coffee, and we sat and talked things out. Our marriage is solid, like a tree planted by the water. It’s battled the storms of sickness, pain, and grief, arguments and disagreements, and will continue doing so till death do us part. But the chaotic events of that dreadful day nearly destroyed us both.

Spiritually and emotionally, I am still sorting through the aftermath of disbelief and confusion. Where is God? Is he so disgusted with me that he abandoned me? Have I let him down one too many times? Is my faith too watered down with doubt and grief? Has my love and trust in him drowned in my tears of anger and frustration? Will we ever be on speaking terms again?

Sitting here writing the ending of my story, tears roll down my face as his love washes over me. Tenderly, he opens my eyes, and I see that I am the one to blame. I am the one who ran away, too ashamed and broken to face him. Too afraid to trust him again. I am the one hiding and shivering in a cold, dark cave of hopelessness and despair. I am the one who left him; he never left me for a second.

He stands there, whispering my name and telling me to get out of the cave. To stop running from him. To stop trying to fix myself. In his hands, he formed my soul, and in his hands, he restores it again and again. In his hands, I am safe. If only I could learn to stop jumping out, to get it through my fearful, rebellious heart that running from the shelter of his love and protection always leads me to the depths of despair.

Conclusion:
I spent weeks writing this article and agonized over whether to publish it. I came close to deleting it, because it’s too personal to share. But I kept coming back to it, rewriting it as the fog began to lift, lending a better perspective and understanding. And yes, it is personal, but it’s real. Life is real. Suffering is real. Failure is real. We can all relate to the harsh reality of living in a world consumed by evil forces. We can deny it, but we can’t hide from it. And when we take a stand against evil, we can expect the devil to slither through the smallest cracks of our relationship with God and everyone around us. If you get anything at all from this article, I hope you can identify with the emotional and spiritual struggle between good and evil, and know that no matter where you are at this moment, there is hope in God. There is deliverance. There is salvation. There is peace and joy. Life on Earth will never be perfect. But just as God molded and breathed life into a clump of clay, he can also fix it when it breaks. There is nothing God can’t do for us when we invite him into our hearts. Life is tough. Don’t live another minute without God leading you through it.