It is often difficult to identify the exact moment that your life falls apart. In most cases, it is not a one-shot deal. If you ask most people who have had the experience of losing everything they love or believe in, they will probably say it was not one telephone call or one letter, one revelation or realization that caused the collapse of life as they knew it. I now understand that my life fell apart one piece at a time. Piece by piece; one experience, one situation, and one circumstance at a time, until I found myself standing in the midst of a heap of broken promises, splintered relationships, and shattered dreams. It is not a place I ever imagined I would find myself again, after I had gotten through it the first and second times.
The breaking down into pieces of a life is a painful thing to watch and even more painful to endure. Even more devastating is that as your life begins to unravel, day by day, piece by piece, there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. You see what is happening. You know what is happening. And you want anything other than what is happening to happen. You see, somewhere deep inside, we all know that lives are not built to fall apart. That is just not what lives are meant to do. The lives we are given by god are meant by God to grow, to blossom and flourish. The reality is, however lives do crumble.
I now realize that lives fall apart when they need to rbe rebuilt. Lives fall apart when the foundation upon which they were built needs to be relaid. Lives fall apart, not because God is punishing us for what we have or have not done. Lives fall apart because they need to. They need to because they weren't built the right way in the first place. I came to this realization one day, after many days, weeks, months, and years of trying to fix the cracks in my foundation. One day, one moment of time, as I sat helplessly surveying the broken pieces of my mind, heart, and life, I recognized that a broken life is a test of faith of the highest order.
In that testing moment, I thought I had only a few choices. I could take the handful of pills I was holding in my left hand, or I could take the gun in my right hand, raise it to my temple, and pull the trigger. I just wanted the pain of the brokenness to stop. I had another choice, but it was the last thing I thought I could do. The other choice was to give my self permission to feel the pain, fear, and devastation of all that confronted me, hoping that something miraculous would occur.
Obviously, I didn't take the pills or pull the trigger. And somewhere amid my broken mental and emotional pieces, I knew that any attempt to manage my misery would be futile. That moment of helplessness led me into a moment of surrender.
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