I was almost too afraid to think it. I was afraid that if I simply thought the word, it would disappear into thin air. Surely I’ve heard him wrong? 

But that’s not right. I know His voice. 

His sheep know his voice. 

Please, say it again, Father? I heard you say it. I know I heard you say it. 

HOME. 

It’s time to go HOME. 

The words beat in my heart like a drum, louder and louder and louder. HOME. 

And He and I both know–there’s only one of those: SCOTLAND.

It’s time to go HOME. 

It was like a heartbeat in my chest started beating again. I felt it in my bones. It was time to go home. Clear as day, a word from the Lord: Rachel, it’s time to go home. 

Our journey towards heaven will see us walking long stretches where tears run down our faces as we walk. Just this month, I had a total teary breakdown (of the “I can’t do this anymore, this life is too hard, I can’t pull myself together to stop crying” variety).

So when we find ourselves in this place where tears are watering the ground beneath our feet, where should we look? 

Rachel, the unloved, hated him. So very, very much. 

Some days, I woke up plotting revenge. Other mornings, I was drowning in rage. The worst days of all were the ones where SELF-PITY poisoned my veins. It was all so ugly. I felt like blood in my veins had turned to venom. 

On the outside, I was getting by, moving on, working things out. But on the inside? My heart was slowly turning to stone. 

I had become a prisoner. 

I was buried in ache and shame and bitterness. Hatred was my garment, and I dressed myself in its filthy garments day after day. 

I WAS A BRIDE.

I wore white. I entered into a sacred covenant. I became part of a new family. I feasted and celebrated a bright future.

I WAS A BRIDE.

I’m no longer her, YET a Bride I still am.

I hated the walk downstairs to my empty bedroom. 

Those were the moments I felt the most alone. The house was dark and creaky in the wind. And my room was empty. I no longer shared my bed. All that waited for me was…nothing. My room felt like a tomb, and I hated being in it. Somehow, I was now the PROTECTOR—the one who would fight off the monsters and bad guys if they showed up. 

And one night, they did. 

Enough.

What a distant word from our generation.

We are a people who are hungry for more. More stuff, more control, more money, more stability, more convenience. 

And yet, Jesus taught us to pray for daily bread. 

Enough. For today only.

It’s wild when you’ve walked through an entire cycle of seasons, and you’re far enough forward that you start to see how all the pieces really did come together. You begin to see the bigger picture taking form and the fruit you longed to see when you were on your knees in the dirt, sowing seeds and watering them with tears. 

How did we get here? My heart was kicking and screaming within me—this is not what I want! My thoughts turned to prayers—God, I hate divorce, and I know you do too. I don’t want to sign my name to this. As I worked through the paperwork, tears streaming down my face, I wrote the date and all of a sudden realised that it was Good Friday.

Haven’t we suffered enough?

We beg You to look down at us- at the losses and broken places, the grief and the ache and say enough.

ENOUGH.

When life hurts, and I look around at all the sorrow and grief in my life, I often look up to God and ask, “Have You stopped loving me, too? Will you walk away, too?”

Our prayers seem to be bouncing off the ceiling, unacknowledged, unheard. We start to feel desperate and wonder if we are worth hearing. Maybe God has more important things to do than to listen to our cries. Maybe it’s best to just shrink back and stop speaking.

Oh Father, let us be a people who catch the tears of the hurting. Teach us to hold sacred the tears of the aching. Move us to draw near, to draw in. Pull our hearts towards the mess of grief and ache in others. Forgive us when we long for sterilized settings and tidy stories. Help us reflect you better in the realm of weeping…

Having a God who looks on us doesn’t make us more special; it makes him more worthy of worship! He is the one who should be exalted, not me. 

Seen, not invisible.
Known, not looked over.
Loved and brought near.

From the beginning of time, we have a God who is active in the face of loneliness. As we look back across the meta-narrative of Scripture, from creation, the tabernacle and temple, the incarnation of Jesus, and the indwelling of his Spirit at salvation, we have a God who is determined to draw near, pursue, and care for the lonely. 

And now, his Church is a forever family for the lonely and cast out.

My unwanted divorce ushered in deep loneliness. It leaves me feeling unwanted, bitter, unmotivated and hopeless. Dark thoughts threaten to take over my heart when I lean into isolation.

I don’t always get it right, but here are three places I’ve learned to turn when loneliness hovers…

It hurts to love with all your might and then be tossed aside. Loneliness is fierce. It is a pain that takes over the heart, like ivy in an unkempt garden. We begin to see the world through its lens. Every interaction is tainted by it. Will they leave me too? Will they deem me not enough? 

I was flipping through my Bible one day and stumbled upon these words. I’m sure I’d read them a thousand times before, but this time was different…

Every December, I feel my heart and body brace themselves for another blow. As twinkly lights sparkle in windows and the collective mood gets merrier, a sense of dread typically settles over my heart. I struggle to pull the Christmas decorations out of storage with my girls, and tears often fall. 

You see, the Christmas season dredges up a lot of grief in my heart. 

You could choose to start from scratch, but that doesn’t seem to be the way you work. My brokenness is the fertile ground in which you set to work. These ashes are the substance that you use to create beauty. You bring forth life where the world tosses aside, tosses out. Your vision extends into eternity. You hold the bigger picture. You hold my story. 

The Church is the very body of Christ–His hands, feet, arms, ears, eyes. And as that Body comes together under the Head, Jesus, the battle against despair and hopelessness is waged. What a high and sacred calling the Church has!