A year ago, I put all my hopes and all my dreams and every damn burden I could carry into that borrowed house.
3 weeks after I unpacked all our baggage, I came home on a Thursday night, sat down at the kitchen table, and gave him choices.
Stay and get help, I said. Or pack a bag and leave, I said.
We know what he chose. For better or worse, we know the story ended.
My heart aches for the choice he didn’t choose. My heart aches for the dreams that evaporated into the thin air on that Thursday night right before baseball practice.
That borrowed house was never meant to carry our burdens, our hopes, my dreams. It wasn’t big enough to contain our baggage, our dirty laundry…
Exaclty a year after that God-forsaken Thursday night, God showed up-
It was the evening before Easter, and I was standing with a childhood friend as she promised to build a life of dreams with the man she loved.
God was there, He was always there. As the significance of the weekend sunk in, my heart healed a tiny bit more… He started to mend my broken heart with a weekend of resurrection and wholeness.
“I will not tell you our love story, because- like all real love stories- it will die with us, as it should.” –The Fault in our Stars