It's Quiet

The whole house.. everyone is asleep. Even the cats aren't moving.

When Matt and I broke up, (I know, I know, everyone's heard this story several times now, but it was a HUGE learning experience for me) I left town. I couldn't stay in the house, I couldn't function at work, I couldn't get past the hurt, so I got in my car and I left. I mean, seriously, within hours of the conversation where he said, "I can't do this." I was gone.

The first place I went was to my grandparents' farm in Texas. It's a magical place with horses and wild kittens under the porch. There are old abandoned houses to explore and a ghost town down the street with a 100 year old post office that's boarded up. The railroad tracks are about 500 feet from their front door, and the train comes by several times a day, but it's comforting - a sign that life in the world outside continues, whether yours has ended or not.

I went there, and I arrived at about 2:30 am. My grandparents knew I was coming, and my grandmother waited up for me. She had the sofa bed made, and I brought my bags in, tie the dog up outside, and made myself a glass of water. Until this moment, I hadn't let myself cry, or scream, or rail against the unfairness of the entire thing. I saw down on the sofa bed next to her, and everything came out in a huge rush. The entire day - the wedding plans, the money spent on deposits, the guests that would have to be contacted, the embarrassment of the fact that I had allowed this man to walk out on me AGAIN - all of it. I cried, and I cried, and I cried until there was nothing left. My grandmother never said a word. She finally just patted me on the shoulder and told me goodnight, but it was what I needed.

The next morning, I woke up at 5am. Five in the morning, people. Sara NEVER wakes up at five in the morning. I laid in bed wondering what in the heck could be so important that it would wake me up at 5am. No dogs barking. No train in the distance. Nothing. Quiet.

I got up, got dressed, and decided to walk down to the river. It was still dark outside. I walked down the river road with faithful hound Bear by my side, still wondering what had gotten me out of bed so early, and still focused on my life so quickly coming unravelled.

The horizon exploded. I mean EXPLODED. The sun came over the trees like a volcano - I have NEVER in my entire life seen colors like this. Brilliant. Awe-inspiring. And immediate - this was no gradual sunrise.

God was there. That was my lesson for the day. Whatever was happening was supposed to be happening - God was there. He had to smack me in the head a little to make me realize it, but the message was, "Sit down, shut up, and let me handle this. I got this."

I got it too. The next day was my rainbow. I was driving to San Antonio and my rainbow appeared in the sky out of NOWHERE. No rain. No reason for a rainbow. Just popped up. God's message that day was, "Yes, this sucks, but it's going to get better, and I promise not to do this to you again." You know the rainbow story.. I don't have to repeat it here.

I went on to Corpus Christi and Galveston and El Paso, and then I spent some time in New Orleans, Memphis and St. Louis. I met some wonderful people, and saw some amazing sights. I spent a lot of time talking to God. I wasn't angry with him, and I knew I would get through it, but I wanted to know where to go next. I wanted the hurt to stop so I could move on to the next thing.

What I learned on this trip was to chill out. He would make it work. I just had to pay attention and do what he told me to.

So here I am, at a turning point, again, and trying to figure out which direction I'm supposed to be taking. It's hard to find the quiet in my life, because there's so much noise.

But I'm listening.