These many years later, I look up and see what the Lord has done. I see how in moments of overwhelm He stepped in and moved my life forward. I see how when I couldn’t walk, he carried me. I’m finally learning to trust in the journey.
Hey everyone! In my last post, I wrote how when I stumbled into my new career, I’d had to leave the oars alone and let the boat drift downstream. I talked about trying to run away from the pain of loss and, and how when I looked up one day, I had a spanking new career and my heart was quietened. Today I wanted to share with you similar experiences I’ve had in my life where God carried me.
When my younger sister Beatrice passed away, I was numb. I was sure the world would stop. Should stop. How dare it not stop. Someone I know personally and deeply well had died and the world had dared go on! The anguish. I cried to the point of being disrespectful as one neighbour calmly pointed out, instructing me to get a hold of my grief. The months turned into a year. I busied myself with travel plans, finding a home, setting up camp -that was my gift of distraction. I looked up one day, and I had a new home and the pain had dulled.
I remember the pain of my first heartache and how for weeks I couldn’t move, laying down on my sofa intermittently weeping and sleeping. An opportunity to go back to school and better myself, earn my degree, was my gift of distraction. I got up every morning and attended lectures, and years later I looked up one day; I had earned my degree, and the ache had subsided.
I remember how in the midst of my first heartbreak, the burning scorn. I crossed borders to England to the comfort of my friend Merab’s home where I lay on the sofa for days and cried. An offer for a dream job that I had coveted for as long as I can remember was my gift of distraction this time. I abandoned Merab’s couch and flew back to Belgium to take on my new position. Every day I sobbed all the way to work, worked when I got there, then sobbed all the way back home. Fast forward six months -I looked up one day; I had launched a corporate career, and my heart had mended.
I remember the year I was planning to relocated from Belgium to the US, how overwhelmed I was, The sheer exhaustion from the logistics of wrapping up two lives and shipping off to the US. Looking back I have no clear recollection of how I did it. My gift from the panic of wondering if I was making the right move was the busyness of packing up everything, tying up lose ends. Next thing I knew my husband was waiting to pick us up at JFK in New York City. Once I got home I slept for three days straight from sheer fatigue. I had taken the risk, I had jumped. Time passed and I looked up one day; I had a loving husband and a father to my Jantje, my anxiety had subsided -I was in good hands.
Looking back, it’s clear as day that someone carried me over the threshold of all these moments. In all these examples, the turmoil of the moment was masked by another offering, a distraction, the busyness of doing. Keeping busy and working truly is the balm of Gilead. I cannot claim to have been in charge or in control of the unfoldings in my life. In a sense, I was carried. At the very least, distracted from whatever conundrum I was faced with. A higher power took over and ordered my steps. My part consisted of putting one foot in front of the other and going, doing, becoming, despite the pain or the desire to lie down and sleep on. Healing has always come on the wings of doing. I take no credit, for I have no doubt I was carried. Thanks for reading. Have a happy Sunday -Cheers, ღ Grey xoxo