"You need to write this down. Use your gift."
I've been hearing those words for weeks, from both friends and from the noise inside my head.
But I hadn't. Couldn't. Didn't want to.
Let me backtrack: the bullet that shot my life into a new country was fired by a marriage breakdown. I'm still navigating the murky waters of how to really share that story, but we'll summarize it by saying that I went from a comfortable world to a totally broken one. A world of ambition to a world of sleeping on air mattresses and moving from place to place. A world where trust was a foreign word. My heart began to show cracks.
Homelessness describes it best: not just because I lost my house but because my soul itself was footloose. I didn't belong to myself. Didn't know my own mind. But somehow, it was easy to allow God into my grief. And in doing that, a part of me stayed whole: the part that still believed in love– in marriage– despite it all.