Shattered // Chapter 1
What happens to the broken shards of a shattered life after the dust settles?
One day I was hand washing a beloved family heirloom—a fragile glass vase, nearly 100 years old. Paper thin and worn from years of passing from generation to generation. I remember admiring how it sparkled as the soap washed it clean. And then the unthinkable happened. The vase slipped from my wet hands and shattered into a million pieces on my tiled kitchen floor. I remember freezing in fear and dread as I looked down at something so valuable, a treasure that had been passed to me for safekeeping. Broken. Useless. Dust. The shards of glass were everywhere. There was no hope of gluing the pieces back together. The only step forward was to carefully clean up the mess and throw away my treasure.
On December 1st, 2016, my life—my treasured, valuable, beautiful life—crashed before my eyes, just like that heirloom vase. As the reality of infidelity, deceit, betrayal and rejection were spoken over me, my life shattered before me. You may find the use of the word shatter to be a bit dramatic. I get it. If I was on the outside looking in, I would probably think that too. In fact, I have thought that about others’ choice of that word. But as I sit, almost five years down this winding road, it is still the only word I can find to adequately describe what that moment felt like.
I had been restless all night. God was bringing to light the truth, putting pieces together in my mind, and as I began to grasp the weight of it, the crushing began. I knew. I just knew in my gut that my husband was being unfaithful. A few hours later, I sat in the living room of dear friends, surrounded by people who loved me. They had gotten my frantic phone calls and immediately left work, left children with friends, sped to be next to me. These precious souls held me together, literally held me as I heard the dreaded word being confirmed: “affair”. There were other words too. Specific, awful, gut-wrenching words. They lingered like poison in my pounding head. I don’t remember if I cried. I do remember my vision going all blurry, in and out. My body felt strange, like I had stepped outside of it and I was just floating. Calls were being made, my back was being rubbed, my hands being squeezed. Prayers were being desperately whispered. There was life happening, but I felt dead. Utterly dead. I remember looking out the window and seeing the barren, winter trees and being struck by how they seemed to mirror my soul.
A few minutes later I excused myself to the bathroom. It was my first moment to be alone. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and tried to steady my breathing. The anguish started to flood over me. I felt like I was drowning. My breathing was erratic and the room was spinning. I steadied myself and walked to the sink. My shaky hand reached for the tap and I turned on the water and just let it run. I lifted my eyes and was struck by my reflection in the mirror. The girl I was seeing wasn’t me. Surely, she wasn’t me. This wasn’t my story. I refused to believe it.
The water kept spewing from the tap and I diverted my eyes from the aching soul that stared back at me. I dried my hands and looked up one more time. And then everything became clear. The storm clouds within me parted and time stopped and I said out loud to that girl: Nothing will ever, ever be the same again. Everything is different now. Everything has changed.
And I was right, you know. Everything was different now. Everything did change. And nothing will ever, ever be the same again.
TO BE CONTINUED…
**Maybe you are also in a place where you feel completely hopeless? While the writing of my story is going chapter by chapter, I would like to fast forward you today to the most glorious ending. Hopelessness doesn’t have the final say when Jesus steps in to the story…
