It Starts Small

It’s been almost a year since things were shattered. The event was nothing new in my life. It was a pattern, a cycle, that seemed to continually repeat its self. The only difference this time is knowing it was coming and there was nothing I could do to stop it. In the months before, I sat in dark quiet places and cried and begged and pleaded with God to stop what was coming.

When it came, it seemed different this time. Over the course of four days that still seem like a distance blur I found myself sitting on the side of I-80 hysterically crying. I was alone. I didn’t really know where I was going or what I was even doing. All hope was lost. I felt so empty. I had to pull over because I couldn’t see to drive as the tears just spilled down my cheeks. I laid my head on the steering wheel and all I could muster was the name Jesus. I was exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually. If I tried to sleep all I had were horrible nightmares. If I tried to eat, I just got sick.

My dad, sister, and brother in law, had a drag racing team. They called it Boneyard Racing. Truthfully I didn’t know why they called it boneyard. It finally dawned on me that a boneyard was a junkyard. My heart was a junkyard. It was full of decades old broken vehicles and the very ground they rested upon was stained with all sorts of thick black oil and poisons. It was imprisoned by the thickest walls I could build. I hoarded the items in my junkyard. I didn’t let people in. You would’ve thought nothing could grow in that junk yard but a vine grew. It covered everything. It choked the light out and twisted itself in everything.

Psychology is a great tool. They can tell you what you feel and why you feel, but they won’t tell you the root cause. They can explain the processes of the brain and even help you retrain your brain, but they can’t truly fill the loneliness, emptiness, and security your soul longs for. I had spend the previous two years understanding why I felt the way I did. Understanding my emotions and why my brain worked the way it did, but there I sat on the side of the road feeling completely empty and all alone. I was scared.

I worked through therapy, to basically reorganize my junk yard. Some of the junk was removed. I could see my own pain and suffering but they couldn’t tell me really what to do with it. I heard the cliche: time heals all wounds. Well isn’t that a lie! I heard the cliche over and over again to just let things go and your life would magically be great. How about the same old positive thinking? Just think positive thoughts. I’m not poking at psychology. It’s a great tool to understand emotions and behavior, but it misses the mark that only Jesus can reveal.

Yes, my heart was a junk yard. I had reorganized the junk into piles: suffering, pain, fear, shame and guilt. In the middle of my junkyard was a small little shack. A shack I hid myself from the world in. In that shack was a little shoe box of treasures. What I treasured most was now a bunch of broken glass shards that reflected the image of me. I had shattered the pieces. My choices, my actions, my decisions, my depravity had left a trail of suffering and tears. I had allowed people to use me, manipulate me, deceive me, and hurt me. I didn’t know how to stand up for what was right. Even in trying my best to “be good and do right,” still ended in ruin. I sat in that shack on the side of the road. It’s the darkest night I’ve even seen.

My junkyard also happen to be on the tiniest rowboat possible. That little rowboat was lost in the middle of a vast ocean with a forever category 5 hurricane. There was never a moment of peace in my heart. Never a moment of true joy that wasn’t shattered by the waves and wind of this world. My rowboat was tossed about like a leaf in the wind. I didn’t care anymore. No matter how strong I tried to be I couldn’t muster the strength to fill buckets of ick and pour it over the side. I didn’t care if my boat sank and dragged me down to the bottom of whatever ocean I was in. I just couldn’t go on. The last 50 miles of my drive to that night’s destination felt like the distance to the moon.

Somewhere in the middle of the sobs, the wind, the raging waves I heard a voice speak my name. Thee was light in that voice. I knew the voice. I can’t tell you all how many times I had been in this very place. Standing on the deck of my tiny boat I looked into the face of my savior. All I could do was whisper, “Help me.” With his arms extended I didn’t hesitate this time. In times before I made the mistake of looking back. I was reaching for him but pulled back. I’d always look behind me, and fear that taking His hand meant letting go. Letting go of my shoe box of treasures. I was scared that if I let go of my junkyard I’d loose everything. (Yes, this all sounds irrational, because it was. Fear is a dirty thing) I was scared to let that junkyard sink to the depths of the ocean. Scared to let go.

I looked upon my Savior’s face and his extended hands. In my Savior’s hand was my shoe box. His other hand was extended to me. I took his other hand and he pulled me off the bow of that boat. He wrapped me in his arms and told me it’s all going to be ok. If you’ve ever been Holy Spirit hugged you know what I’m talking about. Jesus held me in his arms and spoke it’s going to be ok. My sobbing slowed and as I lifted my head the storm was gone. I turned to look and the boat was sucked away in the hurricane, and tho it wasn’t gone, I stood on calm waters.

Jesus, opened my box and took something out of it. It was a reddish looking piece of junk. I’ll write later on what it was. He asked me if I was ready to try things his way. All I could do is fall at his feet and confess myself to him. I didn’t deserve his love, grace or mercy. I begged him to forgive the years of my own selfish ambition and depravity. In his quiet whisper, he told me to stand and pick my Father’s banner up. I’ll explain that in another writing.

My eyes were immediately opened at the knock on my window. I picked my head up off the steering wheel in a jolt. A highway patrolman had pulled behind me to make sure everything was ok. I looked at him, wiping my tears away, and told him God is so good! I quickly explained I need a cry and pulled over to have a moment with my Savior. Everything was going to be ok. I’m glad he came. My wallet was in the center console. When I opened it I saw a bunch of quarters sitting there. I had been wearing the same clothes for three days. I had a bucket of dirty laundry I managed to grab.

The rest of the 50 miles my mind was quiet for the first time in years. More like the first time in decades. I finally knew what peace was. Sure, everything was in great ruin, but it was ok. I heard a song on the radio: Let Your Heart Beat Again by Danny Gokey. I knew for the first time in a long time my heart was finally beating again. I still had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or what was going to happen the next day. I only knew the WHO. That night was the first night I slept through the night. No nightmares. I woke up and finally understood what it meant when God said, “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” (2 Corinthians 4:16)

This was not the beginning of the story, it was the turning point of my story. The journey over the last year of my life has been wonderfully blessed with God’s truth, grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. Three years ago I began to share with the world our journey to where I am now. God took me on an incredible journey and brought me back to where I had left off. I write now because I have a testimony to share. A real story to share of discovering a Real God who transformed me, a real person.

I break my silence and share with the world a message of real hope!