I’ve lived much of my life in compartments. Writing about difficult subjects made me tear down walls and rebuild foundational dreams. I could see hope in the spaces between the healing and the hurt. They were not in vain. An invitation to just be and to be whole drew me in. There was room, spacious room, for my heart to live a better story even among the ashes.
Living through the uncomfortable places forced me to see the coals of my life, only they were no longer coals. Glimmers of diamonds burst from crushed and bent places. Losses were no longer dead weights around my neck. Losses were no longer shameful or points of contention to be avoided. The compression, the intense pressure, and pain no longer frighten me. Instead, they remind me God makes beautiful things from the dust of my life.