It took place in one second. The sound of wood splitting and metal breaking filled the air as a huge oak tree crashed through our roof. Dust and drywall fragments were scattered all over. Our home, our safe place, was broken wide open.
This day was much more than a simple natural catastrophe. It was also the start of a year that I can only describe as an uprooting. The house was destroyed; however, that wasn’t the only thing we lost. Our ministry, which we had poured our heart into for more than 2 decades, was unravelling. Friendships changed. A sense of direction began to grow dim. It felt as if everything I’d carefully constructed brick by brick was now in disarray.
What I didn’t know was that this rubble was not the final chapter but the starting point of something new.
When the Storm Breaks More Than Your Roof
If you’ve been caught off guard by life, you’re aware of the sensation. One phone call, an appointment, a diagnosis, one incident, and the ground beneath you appears to be unstable. For me, the tree was the most visible element that was affected by the storm. The true damage was in what it symbolized: the fragility of life, the loss of control, and the fearful uncertainty of the next day. I was grieving that I had lost stability. I was grieving the interruption of regular routines and the breakdown of plans I believed to be safe.
Perhaps it’s been your experience. Maybe you’re going through an uprooting right now.
Pain Has a Voice, But So Does Hope
The most significant lesson I’ve learned is the fact that pain isn’t a thing you can silence. You only have the option of deciding what you can do with it. For a long time, I attempted to block mine through busyness, ministries, and the belief that it was “fine.” But pain is capable of finding its way out.
Hope, as I’ve discovered, doesn’t arrive with the confidence that everything will be fixed. It’s when you let yourself be convinced that even broken areas are able to be rebuilt….finding beauty amidst the ashes.
This became the basis of what I refer to as “the reframe.” Instead of asking “Why did this happen to me?” I started to ask, “What might I learn through this?” This shift did not eliminate the grief, the loss, the suffering. My home and place of work and identity were still in ruins, my heart was heavy, and my future was unknown. However, it redefined the rubble as the beginning of a process of transformation.
This is the essence of what the book Resilient Hearts is all about. It’s not a collection of quick or easy solutions but rather a manual for turning around the discomfort and gaining perspective when things don’t go according to expectations.
From Renewal to Resilience
As the days grew into months, my family and I slowly rebuilt not just the house, but also our lives as well. It wasn’t an easy process. There were nights of despair and mornings filled with doubt, and many times hope seemed thin or overshadowed by the loud voice of the unknown. However, somewhere along the way, resilience began to increase.
I’m not talking about fake toughness that we often show to impress others. It was real resilience, the kind that doesn’t break, that is honest about grieving yet believes that today is the day the Lord has made.
Final Thought
Renewal doesn’t happen in a snap. It’s rarely instant. It’s usually one prayer whispered in the dark, one small but courageous step forward, or one fresh shift in perspective at a time.
When I look back on this last season, I don’t just see a fallen tree or the wreckage of my home. I see the beginning of a new adventure—one that stretched my faith, shaped my character, and pulled me into a story I never would’ve scripted for myself. Was it difficult? Absolutely!
So, if you find yourself standing in the rubble, take heart, you’re not the only one. Even in the ashes, God is still at work. That’s why I wrote Resilient Hearts. If you’re searching for hope in the middle of your storm, I’d love for you to grab a copy and walk this journey with me.