Yesterday I woke up alone in my big farmhouse, surrounded by messes I didn’t make, really missing the people who made them. 

The kids were at their dad’s house. Sometimes the grief of them having two houses to bounce between smothers me first thing on my mornings solo.

This was one of those days. 

Sunday was Resurrection Sunday, and holidays after divorce seem to carry a special kind of sting.

Disappointment, fear and an ache of loneliness draped themselves around me and refused to be tossed aside. 

It’s hard to get past the fact that this is not what I signed up for. The injustice of that irritates me like a splinter stuck between two fingers. I didn’t get married at 22, have four babies by the time I was 29, survive the betrayal of an affair when my youngest was only two, spend the next several years trying to feel safe again alongside someone who looked me in the eyes one day—in what felt like a final death blow— and said “I know what to do (to rebuild safety and trust with you) but I just don’t want to do it.”

And that was the most sincere I’d ever seen him. 

I certainly didn’t sign up for this, but here I am. Rebuilding my life at 39 with four traumatized kids in tow, trying desperately to believe my best days aren’t behind me. 

I’ve heard it said “Your new life will cost you your old one.” I’ve paid the price but it’s like the delivery date on the new life has been delayed. I’ve been left surviving—tracking my new life’s delivery progress, hoping it’s just a few stops away. 

I often hold the tension of knowing I was delivered from a toxic, broken marriage and the pain of seeing that my deliverance has sliced my children’s worlds in two. God helped me to understand that I am not my children’s savior— He is. When I challenged Him on this after seeing the intensity of the battle raging around my kids, He said “not only am I their savior, I’m the redeemer of their story.” So I’ve had to step back and trust that no matter what they go through, He sees them and He’s working all things together for their good and His glory— regardless of whether or not I approve of His methods. I can’t manage their pain for them, I can only sit with them in it and promise I won’t leave them there alone. 

Much like the Lord has done for me in this season. 

When the Israelites were delivered from slavery in Egypt, a straight shot to the Promised Land would have taken them about an 11 days’ journey. However, they spent 40 years following the Lord’s presence around the wilderness until He finally released them to possess what was theirs. They learned things in the wilderness they could have never learned in a land flowing with milk and honey. 

That’s where I’ve been: Experiencing the presence of God and the beauty of His provision like never before, alongside the frustration life in the desert produces. I’d never trade who He has become to me here and the tools He’s teaching me to use when days like yesterday leave me aching. 

I may not have signed up for this, but when I gave my “yes” to Jesus, it came with zero stipulations and total surrender. This is where He has me now, and I intend to walk out of this season loaded down with the fruit of faithfulness. 

I also intend to wrap words around my experiences so they become a beacon of light to others. 

One tool that has been a lifeline in this season is leaning into community. 

Yesterday when I was in the middle of my funk, I felt the Lord stop me from trying to be productive and lead me to sit down and watch the show Call the Midwife. I haven’t watched that show in years, but I know that familiar nudge too well to blow past it.

I pressed play halfway through an episode I left off on who-knows-when. At the end of the episode, the narrator said “Invisible wounds are the hardest to heal, for their closure depends upon the love of others, patience and understanding, and the gift of time.” 

That got me so good. 

The invisible wounds of my heart have been bleeding for a long time. They’re slowly healing, thanks to the faithful friends the Lord has surrounded me with. 

Just recently we did a corporate fast at our church. Near the end of the fast, I wanted to press in and do three straight days with no food. I mentioned it in passing to a group of friends. Two of those friends jumped in on the fast with me and I didn’t even know it until we finished the first day. One friend told me the only reason she did it was to support me. It touched me so deeply that this friend would sacrifice like that, contending for and with me when it had no personal benefit to her. Not only did we fast together, we broke our fast together over communion, meatball subs and French fries in what I hope becomes a core memory for all of us. 

Additionally, I can’t count the amount of times I’ve sent an SOS to my prayer partner or my prayer community and I felt their intercession or words of wisdom lift my load. 

Often, the loneliness of this season has been utterly swallowed by worship nights, game nights, weekend trips, pickleball, Bible studies and invitations to dinner—all reminding me that I’m seen and known. 

Yesterday when I reached out to some of my prayer community and told them how I was feeling, one friend replied reminding me of the truth. She recounted recent, detailed ways the Lord has come through for me. I was blown away by how carefully she remembered my situation and so touched by how she helped me to see God’s goodness when disappointment clouded my view. 

Shortly after this, I went to pick up my son from the golf course and was met by a beautiful, unexpected rainbow— just another reminder of God’s presence and promises. 

I may feel stuck inside a shade of blue, between what once was and what isn’t yet… but there is a rainbow of colors on the horizon and the presence of God and His faithful ones will see me through. 

If you relate to anything I’ve shared, I can’t encourage you enough to not neglect the gift of community. To know and be known is one of life’s greatest gifts. Breaking self-sufficiency and leaning into others is the best thing you can do for your soul—even on the hardest days. 

Has having a safe community around you helped pull you through a hard time? I’d love to hear from you. Leave a comment below!