Last night I had a dream about my dad. I was visiting him in prison, which was pretty familiar because he was in there for most of my life. I woke up wondering why I would dream that, why my mind would wander there again. He had a heart attack a few years ago and died before being released, crushing my little girl dreams and I have been working through the pain of that ever since.
The conclusion I have come to is this - I had the dream and woke up- and there wasn't pain. I didn't wake up in tears. I woke up in thought and remembrance. That is progress.
I am getting better at telling my story and embracing my story and loving my story. Because every part of our story is a piece to our puzzle. And there is purpose locked inside every part when we learn to embrace it.
Have I "arrived"? No way. Is it never going to bring me to tears again? No regrets or sadness? Of course there will be times of that. I am human and a void was left. But God is the one doing the mending, not me. And His timing is perfect. He is a gentle Healer.
We can sit back and pretend it didn't happen, or we can give Jesus the pieces and let Him make something beautiful. Because He loves broken things.
Christa ⚓
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