Picking up the pieces

Bettie Gray

It was nearly midnight when my husband pulled away in his loaded pickup truck. He was moving out on his own into an apartment in the next town. How do you tell your kids the next morning where Daddy is? How do you explain why he didn't even say goodbye? Why did my life seem to be turning into a country-and-western song?

I cried. I prayed. I cried some more. In just a few days, though, I learned to save my tears till the children were in bed for the night so they wouldn't think sorrow was my only song. Once they were asleep, I'd head over to the couch and cry. It became a routine.

I kept praying, too, but that nightly date with tears went on for several months—until at last, one night, crying just suddenly seemed pointless. I did go over to the couch, but instead of grabbing the Kleenex box, I grabbed my Bible. It fell open to Isaiah 54. I had never spent much time reading that chapter before, but it became a close friend that night. And it has been ever since. Even that first night, I began to feel more loved, more valued, more capable, and more hopeful about what the future had for me and my kids. I began to see that God was still with us and that He cared. Piece by piece, my broken heart began to mend.

One thing you can say for those country-and-western songs, they do let you know you're not the only one in the world bumping down a rough road. This week's writers, too, know about heartache. And they're no strangers to hard times, low and slow comebacks. But what's even more helpful than empathy is the way their stories show how you can get closer to God even when the tears are falling and the darkness is deep.

Maybe you know someone whose world seems to be crumbling. Maybe that someone would welcome a copy of this Sentinel to curl up with on the couch tonight.

Bettie Gray
Staff Editor

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