Life is hard right now. I let out a "Heh" (with an eye-roll) as I write that, because "right now" has spanned the past two years. No, make that four years. But my immediate right now is still just... really hard.
It's dark. Dry. Barren. Cold. Unrelenting.
I've endured more transition in these few years than I could ever imagine facing in a lifetime. An unfaithful spouse. A divorce (which still isn't final). The forced-closing of the ministry I pioneered. The loss of my home. Moving back to America after 13 years in Africa.
And those are just the big things. Each one brings with it a myriad of "small" losses and griefs and heartaches. Even now, I feel a thousand aches from the thousand small things that happened this week alone.
I've been through the ringer.
The trouble is? There's still no end in sight.
My days remain filled with the details of closing Thrive. Thirteen years, sixty staff members, thousands of supporters, and a ministry that spanned two continents doesn't wrap up easily.
And as each loose end gets tied, I have yet another breakdown. I feel like I should be grateful for the bit of relief and closure that comes with each segment of finality, but instead... they just rip open the raw wound of my broken heart.
I have lost everything.
And in some moments I feel like "everything" includes my head. And my heart.
I've lost me.
And I'm not quite sure how to find me again. I'm not even sure I have enough fight left in me for the search.
So it was with agonizing tears that I committed to look this year. To look for hope. For light. For Him. For me.
To look for life.
It hurts just to open my eyes. The sting of grief and the brace for more disappointment makes me wince. But I told Him I'd look. Though it hurts. Though I may not like what I see. Though I may be scared... I will look.
And He assures me I will find.
I'd settle for feeling found.