We are a community of treasure seekers.

We have sifted through the ashes of shattered marriages and broken dreams to find beauty. 

And oh, how we’ve found it, haven’t we?

I closed the door and he walked down the sidewalk. His car started and I heard it back out of the driveway. I slowly turned around to face my babies, crumpled on the brand-new sofa. He had stopped by to share the news with them. The big news.

The “D” word news: DIVORCE.

A word that felt like poison. Poured out on us; stinging and ripping our hearts to shreds.

I climbed between them and we cried. We cried and cried and cried. We cried until the tears ran out. I was so afraid. How, Lord? How will I carry their oceans of grief when I’m drowning in the sea myself? 

If you told 5-year-old me about all the loss she would face, would she still grow up with stars in her eyes & hope in her heart?

Every December, I feel my heart and body brace themselves for another blow. As twinkly lights sparkle in windows and the collective mood gets merrier, a sense of dread typically settles over my heart. I struggle to pull the Christmas decorations out of storage with my girls, and tears often fall.

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2,555 DAYS.

Seven whole years.

Seven years since the worst day of my life.

Friday, December 1st, will mark the 7th anniversary of my marriage shattering. I have a tradition of setting my alarm for December 1st with the label: YOU SURVIVED. And it’s true. We have.

How do you mark such a day?

We both agreed—we were ready to move out of our season of separation and work towards coming back together again. As husband and wife. As a family of four.

It was time to rebuild. And I was in. All in.

The wrong man gave me flowers.

But those flowers brought healing and ushered in a new chapter.

Tears burned my eyes. I was angry and desperately sad. How does a father abandon his family? It feels like the very worst of crimes. My mind raced as jumbled prayers spilled from my mouth. “Lord, will my daughters survive this breaking of our home? How will they come to understand that you are so very different? Can they separate in their hearts a father who leaves and a Father who stays?”  ** READ THE FULL ARTICLE ON RISEN MOTHERHOOD…

6 years after Mom died, my world completely shattered again as my husband’s unfaithfulness came to light. I walked through horrific betrayal, abandonment and unwanted divorce. My life, my home, and my heart were impossibly broken.

There have been many days over the last 6 years where I have questioned God’s goodness in my Mom’s homegoing. My pain has been so immense as I’ve walked through the darkest days of my own life.

We had twelve days.

Twelve days to close a chapter.

A chapter I loved, cherished and had poured my life out for. Twelve days to sell our things. Twelve days to say goodbye. Twelve days to pack suitcases. Twelve days to visit favorite spots for one last time.

Twelve days to lay my beautiful life in the grave of broken dreams and walk away.

And then came what might have been, the very worst part of all. When I look back on those days, my skin crawls and I feel physical ache.

I entered a season my counselor labeled: THE SLOW DRIBBLE.

The initial story of unfaithfulness I heard was being tweaked. Expanded.

What had originally been exposed was only the beginning. It was simply the Truth Door being cracked…

I wore white. I entered into a sacred covenant. I became part of a new family. I feasted and celebrated a bright future.

I WAS A BRIDE.

I’m no longer her, but a Bride I still am.

"JESUS"

That's the only word that I could force out. There was no time to think about how I felt about God in that moment. I’m sure I wasn’t feeling very loved by Him as those tears ravaged my body—how could I when my life had shattered only hours before. I did not preface that cry with praise or adoration. I didn’t clean up my heart before Him first. I just cried out—like a child lost in the waves, tumbling, smashing against the sea floor—completely and utterly desperate:

My eyes were heavy from crying, dark circles haunted my face. I had to pull myself together--if only for 15 minutes. I couldn't come undone. Not yet…I felt like a white washed tomb. Painted and presentable on the outside. Inside? Death. Hollow death.

What happens to the broken shards of a shattered life after the dust settles?