What Feels Like the End

I don’t think I could have found a better picture to more accurately portray what I feel like as I start this next chapter of my life.

Look at this scene.
I have mud and sand and ocean water all over me. My dress is ripped in multiple spots. I clearly lost my shoes. My hair has gone wild and I think I’m holding socks. I’m leaning up against a rock for support, drinking straight out the bottle like a savage. What a hot mess.

But I’m with the love of my life and best friend. We just got done with a day of hiking, climbing over cliffs and rocks, running along the beach, and oh, yeah, getting married.

So really, this isn’t a hot mess.
This isn’t disaster.
It’s a straight out celebration.

Life today looks like mud and sand and filth all over the place.
Torn and broken.
Undone.
Void of all direction and certainty.

I’m looking at a road I would have never in a million years thought I’d be traveling. At least, not at this young age.
The road of walking through cancer with the love of my life. The road that ended in death and widowhood and far more questions and doubts than answers.
I’m covered in the mud and filth of despair and hopelessness, drowning in violent ocean waves of grief and sadness.
My lack of shoes symbolizing the lack of vision and purpose I’m faced with, having no idea where the next step is.
I can’t stand on my own, and suddenly can’t find the Rock that was always so ready to hold me up.

But God is the master Artist, and makes beauty from ashes. He wastes nothing, and leaves things better than they were before. He hides priceless treasures in darkness, and invaluable riches in the secret places.

As I write those words, my heart doesn’t quite believe them right now. But my spirit knows it’s true. Experience confirms this is true. The landmarks and altars and memorials that still stand to speak of what God has done in the past are reminders that He is faithful to His promises, the He causes all things to ultimately work to good for those who love Him, and that the God of hope and peace and miracles is the same God of today, tomorrow, and forever. I wish I could say I’m full of anticipation – and even excitement – to see how He will turn this mess into a masterpiece. But I’m not.

Nevertheless, I make the decision to cling to truth. While the heavens seem shut and God appears to be too busy tending to someone else’s miracle, I’ll make the decision to keep my eyes fixed on the One who walks on water and commands these violent ocean waves with just a word. Although I’m confused, gasping for air, and floundering around with a trillion uncertainties, I know without a doubt who and what He has been to me up until this point.

I choose to believe He is that still.

This feels like my end, but with God, I know it’s only a beginning.