broken

It was a Friday. Brian had been on TDY (military term for: your husband is gone)  all week. Managing two kids day in and day out with no help is exhausting.  The sister missionaries were coming over for dinner. The Sunday before I felt prompted to have the sister missionaries over for dinner.  I chose Friday hoping Brian would get home a little early to help out.  He didn't.  I managed to make the downstairs look decent for company.  I attempted to cook a mediocre dinner, in and out several times due to a crying baby or a very active 3 year old needing my attention.  Dinner wasn't done. I was still in my yoga pants and a t-shirt. The missionaries showed up. Beckham needed to eat. I continued to frantically finish dinner while telling them to set the table.  Porter started having a melt down, probably because I couldn't give him my undivided attention. Beckham still needed to eat. Brian walked in the door. I was happy to see him but too stressed to give him a full "welcome home" love.  He diverted Porter so I could finish dinner.  The sisters, I'm sure, thought we were crazy. 

We finally sat down to eat.  Beckham still needed to eat.  So I took a few bites of my dinner and went to make a bottle.  Then it happened.  I could feel it.  I tried to push it away.  As I have tried for months but failed to do so. I disconnected from the room. As if the world kept spinning and I was stuck in slow motion. I just wanted to crawl into my closet and stay there for a while. I didn't want to be noticed.  I sat down to feed Beckham.  Porter was being his charming self and making everyone laugh.  They were laughing.  Brian was smiling.  He was home. I missed him. And yet I couldn't feel.  Why couldn't I feel?  I thrive on being around people.  I'm an extrovert. This wasn't normal. I wasn't normal. I knew it.  I'd known it for a few months. I felt defeated. I felt broken . . .

"Kim, God loves broken things."  

They were talking.  The sisters were talking.  I didn't even notice.  But I swear they just said . . ."Kim, God loves broken things."  There it was again.  They were talking.  They were talking to me.  "We have a message for you that the Lord wants you to hear . . ."   They began talking about diamonds, and pearls, and butterflies.  I've heard it time and time and time again how they are made.  Through time, pressure, and refinement beautiful things are made from essentially ashes.  What caught my attention were stars.  From the star's perspective it's a big ball of matter.  Dust.  From our perspective it shines.  It's a beautiful piece of night that glimmers with such brightness and glory.  The distance is incomprehensible between us and the star.  But we see it, we know it's power.  We know it's potential.  It shines.

How could they know? Only Brian knew of my struggles. How could they speak the exact words that would let me know God was aware of my struggle, it wasn't my fault, and that He didn't want me fighting it alone.  How could they speak such sacred words, so deep that in a normal setting it would have been very awkward to just bring it up?  Those words were not words you just give at a family night lesson.  And yet the sisters spoke them.  With mighty courage, faith, and an understanding that this is what I needed to hear.  In that moment a love overcame me.  A feeling of peace that is indescribable.  God loved broken me.  

"Reason to Sing" by All Sons & Daughters"
When the pieces seem too shattered
To gather off the floor
And all that seems to matter
Is that I don't feel you anymore
No I don't feel you anymore
I need a reason to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole world in Your hands
I need a reason to sing
When I'm overcome by fear
And I hate everything I know
If this waiting lasts forever
I'm afraid I might let go
I need a reasong to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole world in Your hands
I need a reason to sing
Will there be a victory
Will You sing it over me now
Your peace is the melody
You sing it over me now
I need a reason to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole World in Your hands
That is a reason to sing

This post has been a long time coming.  I keep putting it off.  I know I'm supposed to write it.  The words are all there.  It hurts.  It's hard.  I don't want to share it.  Often people struggle silently.  It's what I've been doing.  It's not exactly something you just announce as if you broke your foot or that you have cancer.   I'm a very open person. I choose to share personal experiences for the world to see.  Some may think I'm crazy and too personal and some may wish they had the courage or words to speak about their own personal experiences too.  Some experiences are too personal.  Those I don't share.  Those are for me, my journal, and God.  But some, like this one,  I choose to share.  I choose to share because I have been asked to share by the one who gave me strength to bare it.  It would be selfish of me not to share what I've learned.  It's not really mine to not share anyway. 

I never understood the threat of postpartum depression/anxiety until I found my self stuck right in the middle of it. Me. Someone who has never struggled finding happiness.  Something I never thought in a million years I would have to face.   At times it has shaken me to my very core.  At times it seemed the harder I fought the more its darkness whirled around me.  I was forced to halt.  I was forced to simplify.  Normal daily tasks became the battle for the day.  When did it happen?  How did it happen? Why did it happen? Questions I've asked myself over and over.  Surely there are several "factors" as to why it could find room to consume me.  But I don't like blame.  I feel like those "factors" were blame.  Living far away from family support, high risk pregnancy, surgery after.  Blame.  Blame wasn't getting me anywhere.  It wasn't fixing the ultimate problem.  So I turned to the one source I knew was supposed to find me solutions.  The one source I have found peace in all other past times of hardship.  For some reason this one felt different.  I almost felt ashamed.  Like I had done something wrong.  Wasn't I strong enough to not let this happen?  Isn't this something I could control? Haven't I gone through hard things before and not ended up here? Broken. 

And then the thought came to me:  "Kim, I need you to be broken. Broken is the only way."

Broken clouds give rain
Broken soil grows grain
Broken bread feeds man for one more day
Broken storms yield light
The break of day heals night
Broken pride turns blindness into sight

Broken souls that need His mending
Broken hearts for offering
Could it be that God loves broken things?

Broken chains set free
Broken swords bring peace
Broken walls make friends of you and me
To break the ranks of sin
To break the news of Him
To put on Christ till His name feels broken in

Broken souls that need His mending
Broken hearts for offering
I believe that God loves broken things

And yet our broken faith, our broken promises
Sent love to the cross
And still, that broken flesh, that broken heart of His
Offers us such grace and mercy
Covers us with love undeserving

This broken soul that cries for mending
This broken heart for offering
I'm convinced that God loves broken me

Praise His name, my God loves broken things.

Broken by Kenneth Cope

"The spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; . . . To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified."

(Isaiah 61: 1,3)

As I continue to give God my ashes I am comforted and find peace in knowing He is giving me beauty in return.

"Praise His name, my God loves broken things."