You may have noticed that I took a little break last week and this Monday. Writing posts can be emotionally taxing or can feel like self-care. It can be hard to know what topic will strike which way. I was feeling a little tired and decided to take time to rest in gratefulness of how far I’ve come and what God is doing in my life. I haven’t quite articulated this respite yet, but I wanted to share another poignant moment that I had fresh out of divorce.
I always talk about healing being hard work. It is. And I like to set realistic expectations. But today, I wanted to talk about the rewarding moments. The moments that give you breath (this isn’t a rom-com). The days when the world melts and joy is all that’s left. Choosing healing is much more than work, it’s freedom. It’s a burden lifted and a head held high. When you invest in your journey, you reap great rewards.
Climbing a mountain means conquering a mountain.
I want to share a story from a trip that I took to Northern Ireland right after my divorce. I originally posted it on my personal Instagram, with the picture that you see here, and I decided to fill in some details for this blog post. It is about a moment when I felt like everything around me, everything within me, and everything God was speaking to me clicked together in a visual way to show me that choosing healing was worth all the strength that I was pouring into it.
Meditation at the arch stacks (the gorgeous formation in the water behind me)
I have seen so many beautiful rocks this trip. That might sound silly but it’s true. You can see a rock in every single picture. Big ones and little ones. With ocean waves crashing over them. Forming the mountains, caves, and cliffs. Building the castles and the roads. Allowing water to cascade. Some smooth and others sharp.
I went back to counseling just after separating from my ex. My therapist and I loved rock analogies because in my first session I said that I felt like I was being crushed under a giant pile of boulders that had been growing for years. They were all far too heavy to push even just one off. Light couldn’t squeeze through anymore. I was trapped and felt completely incapacitated. I had no idea what to do.
As healing continued, the boulders became cobble, and the cobble became pebbles, and I was flooded with light. Now, I can pluck a pebble out, examine it, hold it in my palm, and throw it as far as I can. A few pebbles will certainly make their way back in, maybe even some cobbles, but I can keep removing them one by one, to lighten the load. I am no longer entombed under them but am making my way to stand atop them.
It is beautiful when hope is restored.
How poignant that the walk to see this majestically carved archway, ruggedly formed by the water flowing through it was a bit complicated and uneven with rocks below my feet; forced me to stop a few times because I was terrified of how close to the edge of rocks creating the cliffside that it brought me; didn’t seem to have footing ahead when the trail disappeared; but was well worth every step I took in faith, believing the reward would blow me away.
My physical journey to the arch stacks was rigid but the incredible awe, wonder, peace, and rest that I felt when I reached it was so consuming that the trek seemed to disappear. I could catch my breath and stand in pure gratefulness that I had made it there. I suddenly realized that was exactly how my emotional journey had felt thus far, and I truly felt deep joy that I had pressed into breakthrough.
On that trip, smiling started to feel natural again. It had been forced for so long. As I began to let go of the way that I thought people would think of me or respond to me, choosing honesty and openness instead, so much weight lifted. I decided to set my eyes ahead, looking towards forgiveness, even though it seemed far away. I was intentional in finding joy and laughing as much as I could. I grieved my unmet expectations, the desires unfulfilled, my idea of what should’ve been, a life shattered, and a deep hurt.
Possibly the most important was that I was still and quiet often (and still am). It gave Jesus the opportunity to comfort me more than I knew possible. It allowed me to rest in gratitude for what He had already done and what He is going to do.
There is a spectacular view awaiting you.
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