Not going to lie. This past half-year had been hard.
I was literally a ticking time bomb. With the stress of school, of family, of work, of the future, and of expectations, I wasn’t questioning if I would break–but rather when. So when 2 suicides–each one month apart from each other–hit me, my family, and my friends, the timer ended.
It was like I was a vase, being knocked to the ground. I fell. I crumbled. I smashed. And in the process, I gave up any hope of being fixed. Repaired. I constantly asked God the question of “Why?” Why did my life have to cross that final inch of the edge? Why did it have to knock me down? Why did my life have to lose it’s wholesome beauty? Why did the world just shatter in front of my eyes?
I refused to see anything beyond the millions of pieces I had broken into. I kept my pain–my hurt–inside of myself, selfishly not wanting others to clean up after me. While at the same time, selfishly wanting to show of the aftermath of the crash. To show the degree of my hurting, and to pull other’s vases onto the ground with me. For those who I pulled in, I’m sorry.
I was on the ground, completely covered in despair. Until I took a breath, and took a step back. I looked at the mess my life had made, and I wondered why the pieces of broken glass still caught the sun and shone like stars. Then I realized–asking God to fix me wasn’t the solution to my problems, since God had already used my shattering to make me into something new. Something that shines once again. A mess, yes–but a sparkling one.
I could never be a vase again. But I could still shine as much as I did before.
Now don’t misunderstand. God wasn’t the cause of the fall–the shatter. But, He was present. He was there, unknowingly comforting me. Crying with me. Being patient with me. He was just waiting until I was ready to take that step back, and then He was the one who showed me the shine of the aftermath. The new perspective. The good after the bad.
Maybe that’s why they call the sunrise the “Break of Dawn,” because the sun penetrates the darkness of night. Because to rise, it first needs to break the horizon. Because to experience the light, we need to first experience the darkness.
It hurts the eyes. And it’s beautiful.