Finding Faith at the End of the Line

It was a Sunday morning on a crisp spring day in 1995, and I was standing waist-deep in the cold currents a river in southwestern Virginia. How I got there is the thing.

At the time, I was on cusp of major life transitions. At 25, I had just completed my masters degree in English and was in the midst of determining whether to pursue a Ph.D. As I was deciding whether to turn left or right at the fork in the road, I was rammed from behind. I learned my girlfriend had cheated on me. Not once, but for months.

As the shock gave way, the pain set in like realizing you’ve broken your arm several minutes after a violent collision. The next morning, the muscles in my face hurt from continuous crying. During the first few weeks, I felt paralyzed while waves of questions and doubt pounded me. I could focus only on the small and immediate: do the laundry, wash the dishes, buy milk, take the dog for a walk. Other questions stomped around in my head and demanded attention. Why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t she have just ended it? Why? But I could only look away and sweep the kitchen floor. Just do what’s next on the list.

//

You can read the rest of the story over at The Mudroom. I’d love to know where you have found faith and renewal.

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