We had twelve days.

Twelve days to close a chapter.

A chapter I loved, cherished and had poured my life out for. Twelve days to sell our things. Twelve days to say goodbye. Twelve days to pack suitcases. Twelve days to visit favorite spots for one last time.

Twelve days to lay my beautiful life in the grave of broken dreams and walk away.

And then came what might have been, the very worst part of all. When I look back on those days, my skin crawls and I feel physical ache.

I entered a season my counselor labeled: THE SLOW DRIBBLE.

The initial story of unfaithfulness I heard was being tweaked. Expanded.

What had originally been exposed was only the beginning. It was simply the Truth Door being cracked…

"JESUS"

That's the only word that I could force out. There was no time to think about how I felt about God in that moment. I’m sure I wasn’t feeling very loved by Him as those tears ravaged my body—how could I when my life had shattered only hours before. I did not preface that cry with praise or adoration. I didn’t clean up my heart before Him first. I just cried out—like a child lost in the waves, tumbling, smashing against the sea floor—completely and utterly desperate: