I have had a devilish year with my family. I can’t believe how many brewhahas there have been and how many of those brewhahas have left me bloody. I have wondered if I could possibly pick myself up and keep going. Here I was again, in the middle of another mess, and I was filled with the shame—deep, paralyzing shame.
I
have never felt driven to look for a purpose for why bad things that happen to
us. I’ve been okay with the idea that
bad things happen at times and there is no reason and not a blessed good thing
comes from it. But I do tend to look
back to see if something miserable has borne a blessing. It was about a month following this last
family mess that I found an incredible blessing, maybe even an actual purpose,
in the past two years of misery.
