The truth about joy in suffering: watching my wedding plans fall apart

"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.