I grew up going to church every Sunday with my parents. It was routine. A normal thing we did as a family. As I got older, I eventually stopped going. Since moving out of my parents' house, I've gone to church off and on. Rod and I used to go on occasion and had even tried to find a church to attend once we moved to our new home. We struggled to find a place where we belonged, and when he passed away, we weren't attending a church.
The night Rod passed, I don't remember much; my brain has shut that nightmare off finally. I do know that as the days passed by, lots of prayers were said and my parents' church family stepped in and were there for us through the process; always willing to help, pray or just check in. Amazing people they are.
But I personally don't remember praying. Nor do I remember being angry with God for taking Rod. I never stopped believing in God, but I did lose a lot of the little bit of faith I had left. I didn't understand why God's plan was to make me suffer so much; to have to live through a wife's worst nightmare. My faith, my spirituality didn't really exist after I started settling back into a life without Rod.
Fast forward to present day, it's been almost 19 months since Rod has passed. And I'm searching ... searching for something. I live a life I'm proud of and have fought so hard to become the person I am now. To overcome all the obstacles and heartache thrown in my path. I love the person I'm becoming; however, something is still missing from my life. There is a piece of my puzzle that's missing. And sorry, mom, but I don't think it's just a man!
I've been feeling extremely stressed out lately, constantly worried, and lonely. Working from home, I don't always get enough human contact daily. But I also think it's something more. I was feeling very discontent with my life even while loving so many parts of it. The best way for me to describe it, is that I feel stuck, not knowing where or how to go from here.
On Sunday, I tackled my longest run yet as I'm preparing for my half marathon. I got to a point in my run where I was sick of the music Pandora was playing and I unplugged. Just listened to my breathing, the sound of my feet hitting the ground. And then something else happened, I talked to God. Talked to Him about running and how thankful I am that I found something I'm passionate about and helps me find joy. Along the way, I felt His presence. I felt Him supporting me, telling me to just breathe and that I could finish this long run.
It might not have been the conversation I need to have with God, but it's a start. It's a start to finding my faith again. A start to a path of worrying less and praying more. Knowing that I'm not alone as I often feel. All this time I've been searching for something. Worrying and stressing about everything, and feeling unworthy and incomplete. I'm now starting to believe that I found my missing puzzle piece - faith in God.
Until next time~