Where I found God when my heart was breaking

Those things we thought we were holding so lightly, they’re so fragile, aren’t they?

And then if it comes to your worst fears, if your hopes are dashed and your heart is broken, you realize how you’d loved the dream of it all. Maybe you loved a person now gone. Maybe you’d imagined a life not yet there, but it was real to you.

Have you had a dream die, too? Have you seen it crumble and fall through your fingers? Have you wondered
Where are you, God?
How could you?
How can I trust you again? 

If you have had to admit and own failure, you know. If you are adopting and you’re forced to change course, you know. If you’ve had a marriage fall apart before your eyes, you know. If your heart is longing for a child and you hope against better judgment month after month, you know. If someone so close, someone who feels like they’re in every part of you, is taken away, suddenly or even if you knew it was coming, you know.

I know.

God knows. He saw his dream fall apart, too, his design diminished, his perfect plan spoiled when his first babies turned their backs on him, lied, hid. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God, the God who’d sustained him, the God who had spoken to him, the God who had felt closer than his own skin. Jesus knows exactly how loud silence can be when all you want is the smallest whisper.

But in your pain, it’s hard to believe that God knows. In your bludgeoned heart, you most desperately want to be held by a God you can’t feel, a God you don’t understand anymore.

I know.

My heart was shot through last week, too. A dream died, and I think God could have done better with this one. I don’t believe that “it’s all for the best” necessarily, because sometimes it just isn’t. I’m still wrestling with him, swearing at him, beating my hands on his chest, asking him the hard things, the questions that will follow me for years. I’m asking even though I know they won’t all be answered. I’m asking to find peace in the not-knowing. I’m asking and crying because I know he grieves with me. I know he’ll hold me and weep with me. He’s sad for the brokenness that broke my heart, too.

Do you know how I know? Because he showed me. Over and over again.

He was in the hug of a friend I just happened to run into. He was in the messages from people I’ve never met, who have been through it, who are holding part of my sorrow, who are praying for me constantly. He was in the texts and encouragement of friends after I showed them my broken heart.

He was in it when I felt loved, and when their hearts were heavy with me, I knew His heart was heavy, too.

He was hugging me.

He was encouraging me with his Word.

He was making plans to give me something to look forward to.

He was texting me.

Because when they loved me, I could see how desperately He loves me.

I can see how their love — His love — is carrying me even now. I can see how His love will eventually, piece by piece, start to heal me.


I haven’t really talked about it here, but we’re in the process of adopting again, and last week we lost a referral. Pray with us that this sweet child’s future holds more than we could imagine or give.

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4 comments on “Where I found God when my heart was breaking

  1. Anna says:

    Nothing said can fix it. I am sorry for that. I do know that wayyyy down the road, the pain isn’t so bad. It stops hurting so badly that you can’t breathe, it’s all grace.

  2. Amber says:

    Friend… how your words shot me through the heart, too. I have no.clue what a lost adoption feels like – but I know the pain of loss you’ve described – and my heart is pained for you. I’m so sorry. I lift up prayers for you and your family and this precious child tonight. I pray God continues to surround you on all sides with love in unexpected places as you walk through this. You are so right… he understands better than any one the agony that weighs so heavy. And he is preparing, I know, something beautiful. But in the meantime, he is the unfailing presence holding you as you wrestle hard.

  3. I just found your blog and am so happy I did. None of us are immune to this kind of hurt, yet so few of us are willing to talk about it honestly. Thank you for being vulnerable. It gives me the boldness needed to do the same. My husband and I are considering adoption as a first choice (we do not know if we can have our own children and are considering forgoing a biological family and pursuing only adoption instead). It helps me to hear people speak honestly about the beauty and the pain involved in the process. I would much rather go in prepared–and knowing there are others who have walked this road before us–then alone and ignorant.

  4. Anne says:

    Kimmie, thinking of you, your family, and this sweet little child tonight. May God hold you all especially tight tonight.