I recall a time when I was a different sort of woman, sitting alongside an abandoned part of a rocky beach, watching the quiet scene; a broken sort. Angry and confused and hurt. It was one of those moments where you know He exists but the weariness in your soul pulls you away from belief. I did not know what to do with Him. I refused to speak. It was hard to listen. I remember digging my toes under the sand and dust and gravel and dirt, feeling myself fall beneath the surface, immersing myself into pain, watching the chaos of the scene envelop my own. The rippling waves crashing into rocks, bathing the coastline, splattering on shells. The only distractions were the occasional small stones I would flick out into the great expanse. Yet it was here in the quiet moments, in the darkness and brokenness, that I was able to once again hear God speak. I wouldn't open my Bible but He would penetrate through with words I had buried deep from our initial relationship. From the books of the Bible that displayed stories of broken relationships and of darkness, of healing and forgiveness. Words about the heavy hurts and insecurities I was carrying and how God was longing for me to allow Him to carry them for me. Truths about who He is, about my being someone He made and about the why and about how I was somehow special to Him. Loved even. About what He did to show me. Despite all the crazy I have seen and done, can one even imagine? It was there that hope began to sprout, where it glimmered and glowed in the darkness, where something inside became new. Sometimes I look back on that time in my life with mixed feelings; although it was truly low and difficult, it was still a turning point in my life. It was a change that I could not have done without. We must experience those moments of humility and I am eternally grateful for it. It was there that I met God.
