Learning to Begin (Even When Everything Feels Broken)

How do you start writing when your body feels broken?

Both of my hands are injured, one with plates and screws, the other with torn ligaments. And yet, here I am… voice texting, trying to get something, anything, out. I’ve known for a long time that I was supposed to write. Honestly, I think it’s been almost 20 years.

But what do you write about when everything feels tangled?

Do I write what’s in my head?

What’s on my heart?

What frustrates me about the world?

What do I love?

What does joy mean?

What does sorrow feel like?

It all feels wrapped up inside of me, hard to separate, hard to organize.

Maybe I can just start here.

I’ll be honest, sometimes I feel incredibly confused. But one thing I do know is that the Lord has asked me to write. Not once, not vaguely, but consistently over the years, and confirmed through other people more times than I can count.

I don’t know who this writing is for.

Maybe it’s for others.

Maybe it’s just for me.

Maybe it’s simply for Him.

But today, I’m choosing obedience over understanding.

So let’s start with today.

I’m sitting on my bed, icing my wrist after a fall in the bathroom. Nothing dramatic,  a slip that left my right wrist crushed. I’ve done everything to avoid this moment: scrolled social media, answered messages, cleaned out emails.

And now, here I am.

Finally sitting still long enough to listen.

What’s on my mind?

It’s heavy, if I’m honest.

I think about widows I know who have recently lost their husbands. And some who were widowed young from war. 

I think about families carrying the weight of PTSD after 20 years of war.

I think about children growing up without fathers.

I think about my own extended family, so far away, harder to get to than it should be. I wonder why distance feels so heavy. I think about my fear of flying, something I never used to struggle with.

And then I think about my boys.

One is in the reserves, finishing his Basic Officer Leaders Course. 

The other is a cadet at Virginia Tech, heading into his junior year, with a deep desire to follow that same path, Ranger School, Green Beret, serving wherever he’s called.

I’ll be honest… that thought alone can feel like too much.

With everything happening in the world right now, new conflicts, rising tensions, it feels like there has been no pause since the last war ended.

Not long ago, while caring for my mom after her knee replacement, I was sitting on my parents’ couch watching the news. When coverage of the situation with Iran came on, something in me shifted instantly.

I was no longer sitting there.

I was back in a moment years ago, with a nine-day-old baby and a husband deployed to a war zone.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up, tight  stomach, anxiety, fear. That night, sleep was almost impossible. I woke up knowing I needed help processing it, needing EMDR, and now I’m on a waiting list.

And it makes me wonder…

How many others are carrying this same kind of weight?

How many soldiers are walking around with unprocessed trauma?

How many don’t even realize they need help, or believe they should ask for it?

It’s a lot.

Sometimes it’s just… too much.

And if I’m being honest, there’s another layer of frustration.

I’ve given up social media for Lent (and yes, I realize how small of a sacrifice that sounds). But the truth is, I can barely handle what people say online anymore.

My husband serves in a public, somewhat political role. And what I’ve noticed is that the loudest voices are often the most negative. The constant criticism, the harsh words—it wears on me.

I have what my sister calls a “justice bone.”

I want to correct people.

I want to defend him.

I want them to understand how their words affect real people, good people, who are trying their best to serve others.

But I’m learning… that reaction isn’t always what I’m called to.

My sister recently recommended a book called Unoffendable. I’ve been listening to it (since turning pages isn’t exactly an option right now), and it’s been challenging me deeply.

The message feels simple, but living it is anything but:

If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn the other.

And if I’m honest, it sometimes feels like—

“Okay, here’s one slap… and another… and another.”

Living the way Jesus calls us to live isn’t easy.

But it is possible.

Not through willpower, but through His grace and mercy, the same grace and mercy He’s already given so freely.

So where does all of this leave me?

Right here.

Writing.

Not because I have it figured out.

Not because it’s polished.

But because I’m trying to be obedient.

There was a moment recently—quiet, not dramatic—when a thought came to me so clearly it stopped me.

Not an audible voice. Not anything overwhelming.

Just a gentle, steady truth:

“Stop preparing for the war on earth when you should be preparing for a wedding in heaven.”

And that shifted something in me.

So this is me, beginning.

Not perfectly.

Not confidently.

But obediently.

And maybe that’s enough for today