A Stupid Crazy Miracle


Forest fires are awful and destructive. But not all bad.

It was a season of plucking up, uprooting, cutting ties, and rejection. The most painful, most confusing, most tumultuous season of my life. A season of being moved or rather thrown into a new path, new perspective, to be overwhelmed, not knowing what direction to go or what decision to make and where to turn. To wishing for the comforts of stability and grounding and decision, but knowing that not to be an option. To a season I would have before thought to be new and exciting but after investing so deeply in what is now to be left, more pain often wells up inside me than I thought possible.

I hate death of any sort—separation, loss, rejection, ending—the many different ways it shows up. It is an emptiness and grief that you wake up to every morning. It is the absence so strong at first, now only with every new turn in the road. It is being afraid of quiet nights now and it is clinging to the once tender whisper “I’ve been praying for someone like you”   even though it cuts like a knife, it is the same stab of the thought of his hands on your waist and the gush of tears that is somehow a comfort now.  Go ahead. Cry, remember, hurt, scream and grieve. The pain is beautiful and to be cherished and completely unable to be ignored—sometimes shut up but never gone.


And when you, sobbing, can look up through swollen wet eyes, even for a second, just close them again and listen to wisdom:

God’s stupid crazy miracle is that with Him, life is ALWAYS reborn. No matter how beautiful the life was before, or what kind of horrible death you have faced, or what kind of stupid deep hole is in your heart,  the life and abundance that WILL BE reborn is far greater than any life you thought you had before the death. It’s called resurrection, friend. And hope. That pain won’t leave, the scars will remain, just like the nailprints on His hand, but the yield from it will be so ridiculously greater that you will say it was worth it. And I can’t tell you how it’ll look, but I can tell you that with God it is a promise that on the blood of His Son, will not fail.

Amy SibertComment