In March 2020, an EF-3 tornado with winds up to 165 miles per hour touched down in Nashville. In the middle of that path of destruction? My church. A place I know and love that holds so much of my heart and history.
Think of natural disasters or the not-so-natural disasters you’ve experienced. The day they happen, right when you are in the middle of the crumbling, there is no way to know how you’ll ever survive such a thing.
Like a tornado’s aftermath, other forms of destruction in my life make it feel like there are too many piles and too much shrapnel. The idea of building anything new or moving forward in any way feels almost impossible.
Destruction holds us back because it’s confusing and chaotic. It’s scary to think about building again, and if you ask me, it’s lonely.
Even when a church, family, or company falls apart, the rubble at your feet is unique to you. Even today, when I talk with church friends about what we’ve been through as a congregation over the last few years — staff turnover, a devastating tornado, lives falling apart — we've all experienced it so differently. We all have significant pain points, but all the pain points are different. That makes destruction feel so lonely.
“But no one knows what he said to me.”
“But no one knows how much money I invested in that.”
“But no one knows what I hoped would happen if that all went the way I wanted it to.”
“But no one knows why this hurts for me as much as it does.”
You’re right. No one knows. Just as Proverbs 14:10 says, "Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.” No one has felt what you have felt or experienced the destruction the way you have. When you feel misunderstood, of course you are. When you feel like no one understands, of course they don’t.
Can I encourage you to release the need for people to fully understand where you’ve been and what you’ve felt? Healing happens more quickly when you tell yourself the truth: No one has experienced what you’ve experienced.
So of course this is lonely.
I recently decided that loneliness doesn’t get the same kind of power that it used to. Instead of telling me a lot about myself, my future, and my life, loneliness now only has access to advise me on decision-making. It has a vote, but it isn’t a dictator anymore.
Put loneliness in its proper place. You don’t have to ignore it, but ask it some questions and learn what you need to know from it.
Destruction can hold you back. But it doesn’t have to.
God, I trust You even when I don’t understand the rubble around me. I know You are right here with me. Will You bring restoration to what’s been destroyed in my life? Will You bring healing to what’s been broken? I know You create beauty out of ashes, and I’m believing You will do it again. In Jesus’ name, amen.
