The glass is alway half full to me, no matter the circumstance, turmoil or besiege. Until it cracks and spills the captive juice all over the place. Then, it is nothing but a fallen hot mess. Who is there to pick it up, the broken glass and shards of ice that pierce my skin?
Alone, I tried so hard to figure this out. Sinking deeper into despair I realized that I alone cannot figure out how to keep all of the tiny broken pieces together. The ones that exist inside of us all.
I isolated myself. I left the land of the living. I clung to my writing, husband, and kids. For that’s all I really need, right?
A cold February night one year ago told me that it is indeed not true. For in my isolation, I found a darkness that was unparalleled to most. For humans are simply not meant to be alone, God deemed it so in the Garden of Eden. In fact, He gave man woman and woman man to comfort, lift up, and encourage one another. And that great man and woman grew into an empire of humans that would co-exist until…well…now.
In my darkroom of aloneness, I realized that I was suffering because I encased myself in a world that was existing without community. I was lost, angry, and hurting with no one to wash my tears away. For the first time in my life, the glass half full looked dull and empty. I no longer cared if it broke, because in my isolation everything was shattered to the core.
Two years ago plus some, I did this very imprisoning act to myself. Thinking that becoming a full-time author on the brinks of greatness was enough. Flowing toward dreams of grandeur I locked myself into a cave of creativity only to fall to my knees without communion. For in my words, I was tormented by my own demons. Words came, but that was all, as I was found bleakly alone.
A stark winter’s eve almost a year ago, I was called home. Out of isolation and into a tribe of people who I’ve come to love and adore deeper than I could have ever imagined in my backlash of anger on a life that I didn’t choose. For we truly don’t know what we don’t know. Through the depths of the grand moment of finding my true purpose as an author, God called me back to an even greater calling to serve a true purpose as a child of His once again. The pastor, Kevin spoke of a prodigal son. Pastor Jordan sang the lights dimmed so I could cry freely. In that moment on a still frozen night, I answered the calling. That no matter how far away I had been, how much damage I thought I had done with my hot mess of broken glass of half full liquid, God was greater, a Healer, anticipating my return.
You see, I had left God, for longer than I’d like to admit. A decade plus some, which was enough time for two of my four children to be influenced by a life far from God. Plenty of time for me to have seen the light again after many life experiences had left me listless. The loss of my two infant baby boys, back to back. Yet, I still remained cold. Angry, held off by the idea of letting go of control. For in surrender bad things can happen to us, right? A lack of a tight grip on our lives can lead to the most ungodly persuasions imaginable. A road I wasn’t willing to travel again because my life had dictated to me that when I gave up my stronghold I was left with pain and invasion. There was NO WAY I wanted to go back to the place of a small child who had no say in the turmoil that surrounded her.
Then the ice crackled and time warped into one giant explosion of love. The sun came up through the clouds and color shunned darkness and I had no other choice but to see what was in front of me, a beautiful Love that I once saw as a trap. God called me home almost a year ago, through a story of a boy who left home under the most despicable of circumstances; yet he came home. In the midst of prayers, fasting, love and fortitude I found my way back. Having no idea the magnitude coming back to God would have on my life, I plunged in head first. The healing that would take place, the justice it would serve to the open cunning wounds of my past has been an explosion in the sky, a beauty foretold in the pre-destined book of my life.
The people I was called to meet, them serving me, and somehow, me making them smile from time to time, has served as a deep testimony in my life. As the anniversary of my one-year reunion with Jesus approaches all I have to say is thank you. Thank you, God, thank you, to my family that never gave up on me, thank you church, and thank you to my new friends who have lifted me up more than you know.
Mostly, this half full girl deeply states a year later, I am 100% completely filled up after a year in your embrace of love. Here’s to the next explosion of grace and far past the desire and predestination of God’s goodness on all of our lives. The ride has just begun, for in the eyes of God, our glass is nothing but a great reflection of Him far into eternity if we let it be so. No matter how many times He has to put all of our pieces back together again.