At the height of my burnout I emailed a dear writing colleague and confided in her, “I’m burnt out on Christianity. I don’t want to write anything that has to deal with faith anymore.”
When it comes to marriage, we expect to begin only once. So much so that many brides plan the commencement event for months, carefully selecting flowers, dresses, and really good cake.
Just like this hillside, my soul has been scorched by fiery trials. For many years, I waded through the thick black smoke as my soul was left desolate, dry, and gasping for air. All signs of life were stripped away, leaving only a remnant of skeletal remains. I felt forsaken and forgotten. It was hard to imagine my soul flourishing again.
I heard God whispering to my heart when I read that story. You like to bake…what is his favorite dessert? I remembered how much he liked cheesecake. Working up my nerve, I invited him over for supper on a Sunday night. He agreed, and I prepared our home, a special meal, and my heart for his arrival.
Husband and I lay, backs on the bed staring at the ceiling, no kids at home. Finally, time alone. How would we spend this time? Would it be as all the times before? Pretending we weren’t hurt? Hovering surface level?
When I imagined this series, I wanted it to touch people in a way that offered hope in the treacherous terrain we’re navigating right now.
It will require an insurmountable amount of renegade faith. To begin again.