We live in a broken world. We live with broken people. We live with the daily consequences of all the brokenness.

This is something that is obvious to me every day. It's something I think about often, something I pray about, something I discuss in light of the Scriptures with my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

But some weeks the brokenness in my own life, in me, is so obvious and apparent that it's a little staggering. 

The past couple weeks have been those weeks.

God has allowed physical brokenness in my life that has left me extra emotionally, mentally, and spiritually broken.

He has allowed relational brokenness and hurt that has surfaced more painfully.

It has been an incredibly humbling and difficult two weeks.

I like to think I have it together. I like to not need anyone. I like being strong and independent. I like saying I'm fine and dandy.

Those are a lot of "I like" statements.

Praise God that He's not about catering to my "likes".

Praise God that He has surrounded me with brothers and sisters who challenge me, who dig past the "I'm okay" mumbles, who point me to the truth of God's Word, who pray for me, who give me a good kick in the backside.

And praise God for brokenness. As I write here, I am flipping through various passages in Scripture that talk about brokenness.

Brokenness can be a beautiful thing.

Psalm 51:17 says, "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." That whole chapter shows the beauty of brokenness and repentance before God. 

Psalm 34:17-18 says, "When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." 

Those two verses have been so incredibly true in my life. God has allowed some dark, dark times; times of more pain than I could possibly handle on my own. And it's in those times, that He has been the closest. Thinking about it makes me cry right here on my MacBook as I type this. He has taken me to the depths of the sea (metaphorically speaking) and His love has never, ever been separated from me.  (Romans 8:35-39) He has been near when I am broken and crushed. Because of Him, I am truly thankful for the hard times.

Matthew 21:42-44 comes to mind here. We need to allow God to break us. We need to humbly fall on the Stone in brokenness. When difficulties fall on us, we can respond in one of two ways: we can respond in humble brokenness or in stubborn bitterness.  I have responded in both ways. It's much more natural to be angry, frustrated, and self-pitiful. But when we fall before the Throne of God in brokenness and submission, He is near to us. He hears us. He saves us. He binds up our wounds. 

Jesus came into our broken world, He lived over three decades in our broken world, and He died a horrible, awful, gruesome, cursed death. He did that to heal our spiritual brokenness. He became broken to heal our brokenness. I can hardly fathom that. It's incredible. The perfect Son of God came and was broken for me and for anyone else who calls on Him for salvation and repents. Joy and gratitude and utter awe floods my heart when I ponder that.

Normally, I like to keep a clean house.

Normally, I like to eat healthy(ish) and work out.

Normally, I put cute clothes and makeup on.

Normally, I do the dishes and wipe the counters.

Normally.

The past week, I have just not cared.

There are crumbs and dirty pans covering the stove.

Dishes fill and surround the sink.

There are brownie crumbs all over the house from me nibbling on them.

Yesterday I ate about ten chocolate chip cookies, crescent roll pizza, and caramel brownies.

Oh, and cherry pepsi.

Today for dinner I grabbed a bacon cheeseburger from Culvers (better burger) and french fries and a shamrock shake from McD's (better fries).

Oh, and had a caramel brownie for dessert.

I have watched more episodes of Pretty Little Liars in the past thirty-six hours than anyone ever should.

I stay up until 1:00am just because I don't want to go to bed and I don't know why.

(And then getting up the next morning is a bitch.)

Did I mention I didn't get out of my pajamas for over forty-eight hours straight this past weekend?

This is not normal.

This is me in a rut.

This is me responding (very poorly) to a lot of emotional and physical trauma and stress.

This may also be an attack from the devil and his buds.

I was doing really well. 

Eating well.

Working out a lot. (And loving it.)

Participating in a Bible study.

Going to bed early.

Getting up early.

And then I had a whole crap load of crap just dump on me.

Health issue after health issue.

A difficult surgical tooth extraction (after weeks of pain and appointments and torture).

A very hard recovery from surgical tooth extraction.

A horrible abdominal attack.

A hospitalization.

An awful recovery from the hospitalization.

And here I am.

Those are not excuses.

Are they hard? YES.

Does that give me a reason to respond by eating junk food and drowning in dark chocolate?

Does that mean I sit in my pajamas and watch Pretty Little Liars?

Does it mean I let the kitchen remain covered in dishes and brownie crumbs?

No. No, no, no, NO.

This is me picking up the pieces.

This is me going to bed before midnight.

This is me planning for a healthy eating routine.

This is me thanking God that even while I bummed around on Saturday, He gave me a lot of inspiration, a lot of dreams, and a lot of creativity. Amidst the laziness, He gave me vision and worked some productivity into the laying around.

I'm not saying that a weekend of laying around was bad. In fact, I absolutely needed it.

But it's time to get out of my funk.

My health is still greatly struggling.

Getting out of bed is going to be hard no matter what.

But I'm done with not caring.

Here's to a new tomorrow.

Here's to mercies that are new every morning.

It's 10:42pm and my head is pounding. My gut is still hurting. I have more needle pricks and medical tape residue on me than should be legal.

I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

And yet this need to write, to tap these keys on my MacBook into words, is so pressing that I hardly have a choice but to type them out.

This hospitalization has left me more drained mentally and emotionally than usual. I appreciate each and every single text, voicemail, card, or Facebook message/comment but I just do not have the energy to respond to nearly all of them. (And I mean truly appreciated every. single. one. You guys don't even know how much they help me make it through each day.) 

Usually I blog at least once during each hospitalization. This one left me empty, with nothing to scribble from my keyboard.

It wasn't until  I was being wheeled down the hallways after going through the discharge papers that the words started just flying around in my head. 

It's like moving into a different world when living in a hospital, whether it's twenty-four hours or twenty-four days. When being wheeled out of the wing I was staying in (in a wheelchair with no foot rests but that's another story), it was like being released from prison. 

And then we went down the elevator to the first floor and we strolled over the skywalk and past the waterfall and down the hall overlooking the garden, and I suddenly wanted to cry.

That waterfall, that garden, those halls, they hold so many memories from last summer. 

Walks through the garden with my siblings and parents.

Watching the water tumble down the waterfall next to the workout room.

My brother lifting my IV pole up and down the stairs in the back part of the garden.

That one bench in that one lounge that got washed in my tears of frustration and hurt after a difficult phone call last June.

It honestly is a bit of a second home. A home I'd prefer to not have to return to for a very long time but that's beside the point. While I don't like why I've had to spend so much time there, I am thankful for the lessons learned and the growth in relationship during those times.

At the same time, being chained to an IV pole, sleeping in a plastic covered bed that makes me all sweaty, being woken up at 5:45 each morning for blood draws, being told what I can and cannot eat or drink, having my freaking pee measured? Yeah, all that stuff isn't my favorite.

I'm glad I'm out of there. 

But I'm also grateful for the care when I need it. Although my prayer is that I won't need it for a long time. 

This whole flare and hospitalization was so random; so unexpected; just so hard to accept.

I thought I was doing better.

I thought the medications and nutritional supplements were working.

Darnit, I thought that I was past this.

At least for a long while.

The discouragement, the depression, the frustration, I cannot pretend it's not here.

I cannot be less than honest.

I must be real.

But part of being real is also writing how thankful I am.

So thankful that I made it over six months since my last hospitalization.

Thankful that I celebrated the six month mark, since it turns out that I didn't make it much further.

Thankful for the love of my family and friends.

Thankful for all the prayers (more than I'll ever know and that is so humbling).

Thankful for hospitals in my time of unbearable pain.

Thankful for awesome EMT's and ambulances.

Thankful for IV's and medications.

Thankful for a hospital room window facing a gorgeous lake (see photo above).

Thankful for fuzzy socks and blankets.

Thankful for flowers and other gifts of loveliness.

Thankful that God stays the same even when life is so freaking unpredictable.

Thankful for my gorgeous golden retriever who covered my face in kisses after I was released.

Thankful for understanding employers.

Thankful for the knowledge that my God will provide financially.

Thankful to know that I don't have to rely on my own strength to get back on my feet.

Thankful for life.

Even when it hurts.

A lot.