My heart felt like the hard, cracked ground of the desert.
In a rare quiet moment when the neighbors weren’t having a party on our shared, covered rooftop, I climbed the stairs slowly. My teammate and I had been living in a little border town in western Cambodia for less than six months, but it had been difficult. We dealt with health issues, troubles with the landlady of our little row house, heat (and a barely functional AC that we only turned on as a rare treat), rejection, and the crashing dreams of what we thought ministry would look like.
I made my way to a hammock someone had put up near the railing on the rooftop and looked out over the motorcycles and cars winding their way to or from the border crossing. God, are you even real? It was a sincere question but one I never thought I would ask as a cross-cultural worker.
I sat there, talking honestly with God. I was sad and angry and told him so. My heart felt so broken and I knew I needed restoration. I wanted to give up—on the work, on myself, even on my relationship with God. But as I found my way back down the stairs, my heart echoed the words of Peter in John 6:68, “To whom would we go? You have the words of real life, eternal life” (MSG).
The restoration process can begin when we acknowledge our brokenness.
Hope. A team of people to join us on the healing journey. Rest. Sacred space to process. All of these are beautiful ways that God brings renewed life and joy, like rain that pours into the desert cracks.
The answers are not easy, and often restoration happens slowly. I look back at that season when I felt incredibly broken and I see God’s faithful fingerprints and tender care for me. I learned how to better care for my mental health and when to seek help. Intercessory prayer became a new daily practice. There’s a deeper compassion in my heart for others who are struggling, especially as a single, when it comes to burnout or depression or just the hard parts of daily life on the field.
There were little gifts that I learned to savor too. I remember how a friend found sweet potatoes in her local market and brought us some. My teammate and I would make cool, refreshing smoothies and watch Downton Abbey on Sunday evenings to relax. When I paused and looked for the gifts, I found hints of joy in even the littlest things.
Finding the good doesn’t take away the sting of the hard, but we learn to hold both. We can acknowledge our brokenness and also laugh over a silly YouTube video. We can find delight in the beauty of a sunset and also be real about our weariness.
Start where you are. Do you need to be honest—with God, yourself, others—about your need for restoration? Are there ways that you can invite hope back into your life through laughter, connection, or fun?
You might need to talk with a counselor. This is good and healthy.
Perhaps it would help to sit with a spiritual director.
When your heart and spirit feel dry, let the words of worship songs or liturgies carry you.
The journey to restoration is not easy. But I have watched God bring beauty from the ashes, and I know that he is able to do that for you too. We can trust him each step of the way.
Is there something God has stirred in you through this month as we have talked about restoration? Do you have a story of God’s tender care for you?
