To Live or Die: A Choice When Life Hurts
Last week, I wrote about one of my first encounters with God, the one that changed everything about how I saw God and myself. It was the one that convinced me that following Jesus was worth it. You can read about it here.
Today I want to talk about how I almost lost my life and how that has also forever altered the trajectory of my path.
I was seventeen when I moved 1200 km away from home to begin university life. I know, you’re probably wondering, What the heck were my parents were thinking?? I wonder that now, too. At the time, I was ecstatic to be on my own. It was a new city, new school, and I quickly made new friends through InterVarsity Christian Fellowship on campus. I also had a new boyfriend from my summer spent at Bible camp - we began dating at the end of summer, but unfortunately, he lived 1000 km away and our “dating” consisted of Skype and phone calls.
Two things happened that year:
I was exposed to different ways of thinking about God, life, and church from what I was used to, and it terrified me. It also intrigued me. I believed in the genuine faith of my new friends… but wow, did they ever have cracked out ideas. It was borderline heresy! … or was it? My conversations with my friends opened up an entire world of thinking differently than I had ever thought before. I didn’t know what to think, but I was curious. I wanted to hear more about why they thought the way that they did.
I was convinced that I was going to marry my boyfriend (he was my first). I loved him, and I thought he loved me. And so, I was completely devastated when he broke up with me the week before my year-end final exams. I. Was. Wrecked.
In the aftermath of my heartbreak, I lost the will to live. It seems sort of silly now. We didn’t even know each other that well, and we had spent a maximum of three weeks in each other's presence since the end of summer. Nevertheless, I was a weeping mess for an entire six weeks, after which my mom sat me down and declared that she would intervene if I didn’t begin to piece myself back together.
The following weekend, I nearly drove my car into a ravine. Almost. I was so mad at God, so furious at him for the heartbreak I was experiencing. Didn’t God care at all that my heart felt like it was literally being ripped out of my chest? I tore down that road - faster than I should have been - and I quite nearly jerked the wheel to end it all. I wanted to, just to end the overwhelming, neverending pain. It would be so easy.
But I didn’t. When I finally parked my car, my hands shaking, I realized something:
I wanted to live.
Not just to muddle through the pain of life, but I wanted to live. I realized that God wasn’t done with me yet. He had more for me worth living for. Somehow, I wrapped the spindly fingers of my faith around that promise and I clung tight.
I spent the rest of that summer in my super-boring construction job. It was a terrible job; I spent twelve hours a day in a hot, stuffy packer - hours that I quickly realized could be used to pray, to sing, and to meditate on Scripture as I drove my machine back and forth. Slowly, very slowly, I began to put the pieces of my shattered heart together. In doing so, I learned a very, very important lesson about God:
God does not change.
Even though my heart was still battered, I clung to the knowledge that God does not change. I repeated the words of Paul over and over: “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Phil. 1:6) The words sank into my bones, strengthening my soul. God is not done with me. This is not the end. He has more for me.
Lest you think I was rehabbing myself on my own, I should add that a dear friend was a critical part of my recovery. With her help, I found joy again. By the time we headed back to university in the fall, I could smile without pain and laugh without regret.
That first year after leaving home, I faced a couple of faith choices:
I could have let my doubts about God and church sweep me away. I could have rejected the community that I found at InterVarsity and called them heretics, but I didn’t. Why? Because they showed me what real community looks like - a community that asks curious questions and that opens its arms to anyone regardless of culture, race, gender, church background (or lack thereof), or any other identifier. They were a community that loved Jesus above anything else and it showed.
I could have rejected God because the pain I was experiencing was too much. After all, why does a good God let bad things happen? I can’t tell you exactly why I chose to stick to my faith, except that I found in myself a desire to live and deep, deep down, my intuition whispered that true life is found by persevering in faith.
Faith isn’t easy.
That wasn’t the promise. No, faith is uncertain. It means pressing on even when you don’t know if you will be able to rise the next morning. It means whispering the promises of God over and over again, clinging to them, because they are the only things you know to be true at that moment. I know my story pales in comparison to many others, but I want you to know that you are not alone, whatever your story is. I choose to share my story because this is what a faith community does. We share our hearts and lives with one another, and that is where healing happens.
In courage and in love,
Katelyn
When you are ready, I would love to hear your story. Leave a comment below, follow the conversation on Instagram, or drop your email here to join the community. I will respond directly to you via email or Instagram messenger.
