i.

This is where the walls gave way
This is demolition day
All the debris, and all this dust
What is left of what once was
Sorting through what goes and what should stay

ii.

This is the hard work of breaking and also of braking.

This is the hard work of sifting and sorting and shedding, of pausing and praying and maybe even a little wondering.

Wandering, too. Yes, some of that mixed in.

It’s the tearing down and stepping back and looking at what once was with one hundred questions bubbling up but unable to break the surface. For some it’s glassy eyes filled to the brim with tears and for others it’s eyes of glass, hardened and numb.

It’s the unmaking, the broken beautiful mess of a tumble.

iii.

What happens now
When all I’ve made is torn down
What happens next
When all of You, is all that’s left

iv.

The whispers have been quiet and unassuming but I hear what’s behind the words. At first I didn’t want to read into anything but it kept coming and coming and then I just didn’t know what to say.

My gosh, I haven’t got this figured out.

I guess, maybe, if you squint your eyes just right, it could look a little bit like I’m doing “big things” or “accomplishing so much at a young age” or something to that effect.

I keep hearing it, and every word is said with the very best of intentions. Maybe it’s true? To a degree, I can see it. When someone else accomplishes what is our dream before we reach that dream, it might look like they’re taking big strides long before we get up to stretch our legs. And yet I’ll quickly tell you I’m just taking the next step, figuring it out as I go, and struggling just as much as the next person. I’ll so very quickly tell you that your story matters just as much, and what feels so ordinary to you seems brave to me.

A handful of weeks ago we started a new bible study and with several new faces, we each gave an introduction as we went around the makeshift circle. You know how it goes. Apparently that “first day of class” game stretches into the rest of life.

“Hey, I’m Kaitlyn. I’m 23 and I moved here 4 years ago from Florida.  I graduated college last May. Umm, hmm… well, I started my own business and I’m a Virtual Assistant. That can mean a lot of things, but for me it’s a bunch of graphic design, writing, social media creation, and book launch management. That’s about it.”

“Uh, no. You wrote a book!”

“Oh. Yeah. Yes, I wrote a book and it will come out in February. Okay, next person.”

*Shaking heads.* *Oohs and ahhs* *Murmurs of “you’re so young!”*

This is just my life and I’ll easily admit it’s crazy and unexpected and so very much not the plan, but it’s also my normal. In its own crazy way, it’s ordinary. Because see, I’ve had a front-row seat to the backend. I know what every day looks like and I know that although you see a start-up business and a book within 9 months of graduation, I see so much more.

I see the breaking. I feel it, too.

It can’t be summarized in one hundred and forty characters or less.

v.

This is the unmaking
The beauty in the breaking
Had to lose myself
To find out who You are
Before each beginning
There must be an ending
Sitting in the rubble
I can see the stars
This is the unmaking

vi.

There are things that can’t be written. There are words that would be true and yet not beneficial. And yet I know He sees, He knows, and He hurts for justice. That is more than enough. Tomorrow He’ll ask again and I hope I’ll answer the same.

Sometimes love doesn’t live out biblical truth. And yet… there in the rubble, we can see the stars.

It’s still dark, the crickets still chirping, the wind still rustling in the trees and blowing through my hair. It isn’t comfortable in the least and while you’re watching the fireworks, you could miss the barn burning down.

The sparks come from flames and it’s hot here, pressure building and tears stinging from the smoke. There are things that can’t be written. But they burn.

vii.

I’ll gather the same stones where
Everything came crashing down
I’ll build You an altar there
On the same ground*

viii.

Don’t be fooled, dear.

I’m still sorting. I’m making hard choices and staying quiet, speaking when led, turning the other cheek, yelling at the sky. I am grateful, unbelievably grateful, and yet I am simply taking the next step. Just like you, I only see one at a time.

I’ve said a handful of dangerous yeses, some difficult no’s, and most of these ordinary days that look somewhat extraordinary from the outside have held a mix of both joy and sorrow. It’s life in all of its beautiful broken.

Maybe I’ve done some “big” things, I don’t know. I just know I’ve simply done the next thing and it hasn’t felt very big in the moment. I wrote thousands of words but He gave them to me and so really, He’s the one getting the oohs and aahs and as you murmur heartfelt words with the very best of intentions, know that I hear them and I appreciate them and I count every single one as a gift. But I’m also counting rocks, sitting here in the rubble, making an alter. I am counting and sorting and making and finding Him to be more than good.

Enjoy the fireworks. I will too, I promise. But don’t miss the alter in the rubble right below. It is both, it is and, it is an in between.

ix.

Barn’s burnt down —
now
I can see the moon.
-Mizuta Masahide

x.

This is the in between. I see Him here, too.

 

{Because someone will worry in the comments and my email inbox if I don’t include this: all is well. But in between hard decisions and good conversations and life changes, let’s write and tell and live the full stories — as much as it is beneficial to do so. I am celebrating and breaking and sorting and counting and trusting. God is loving and making and strengthening and beautifying and truly, all is well.}

 

*Lyrics to The Unmaking by Nichole Nordeman

The print in the second image is available to you free .