Living Among Miracles
Post #6 Miracle Series
If you are new to this blog I hope you will go back and read the first five posts on miracles. It will help this one make better sense. Here are the links:
What does life look like from the middle of the Miracle Zone?
That’s a great question!
From first inspection it may looks like a lot of trouble. Often your are in the middle of the most chaotic time of your life.
If you’ve followed this series you’ve heard me speak of the many miracles I expereinced to get to to where I am today. A miracle phone call with a total stranger offering me a job, miraculously in the very town where my newly pregnant daughter lived; emails miraculously dropping an amazing home and land for my horses in my lap; and over night a roommate to help pay the bills. You’ve heard how a little daily devotional provided just the right words at just the right moment. But you may not have picked up that the further into the miracles zone I traveled, the deeper I sank into depression and confusion.
This leads me to the hardest part of this story.
The hardest part of all my stories. But a part I think I need to share.
The part about depression.
That deep sadness that no one can really understand unless you’ve walked a thousand miles in those shoes.
Even in the middle of undeniable miracles, I was depressed.
I lived under a dark cloud of sadness.
Even though my daughter and her husband lived 20 minutes away, and I had a friend living in the same house, I was lonely.
I had left my home, friends, and rest of my family in Hotchkiss and Delta, and the only people I knew here were my daughter, son-in-law, and his family. And I didn’t want to bother them 24-7.
Men are suppose to be the only ones that go into their cave.
But when trouble comes my way that is my M.O.
Do you know what M.O. stands for? It’s the abbreviation for the Latin phrase, “Modus Operandi”, or mode of operation.
Going into an emotional cave is defiantly my mode of operation.
When I’m stressed, hurting, or struggling with anything, I disappear.
Physically, and emotionally.
I shut down and tune out the world.
Others tend to look unfavorably on my behavior, but it is my way of surviving the really bad stuff life throws at us.
I go into my cave because I’m struggling to make it through whatever is going on. It’s where I go to focus on who and what can help me not only survive the current issues, but to thrive afterward.
So in the midst of the Miracle Zone with whirling emotions, traumatic transition, and vast internal emptiness, emotionally I ran to my cave.
But it can get extremely lonely in that cave.
Thankfully I had the hand of God reminding me to pray, to cling to Him, to refocus my attention off myself and onto Him.
And onto others.
Others struggling with hurts so huge no words can define them.
A tragedy changed my prayers and my life while in my cave.
I watched in horror as an amazing family struggled with loss, despair, emptiness, worry, confusion, anger, misery, heartache, and heartbreak.
The family were friends of my daughter and son-in-law, but just acquaintances of mine. So I witnessed their tragedy through the eyes of my family and a heartbroken, amazing, mutual friend.
We prayed they would find him that day.
And the next.
And the next. . .
And I mean prayed Hard.
While his family, his wife, and his son worried, worried, worried. . .
Will we find him? Can we find him? What happens if it snows again? What happens if the avalanche runs again? And when it did, what happens if the snow melts too fast? What happens if it doesn’t melt?
They needed a few miracles of their own.
Every day they watched the mountain . . . and waited.
We cannot fathom the depth of despair that family went through.
But they faced it with incredible courage, grace, and dignity.
And unbeknownst to her, his wife pulled me out of my cave.
With her hurt and pain she reached into my emotional coma and pulled me back into life.
She was yet another miracle in my miracle zone.
Thank you for being the woman you are. A role model for grace under fire. Love in the midst of indescribable pain.
Courage and light in total darkness.
I tip my hat to you. And thank you for the amazing way you handled yourself . . . and all of us.
Thank you for being such an inspiration and reminder of God’s care.
You and your entire family are still, and will remain, in my prayers!
Thank you for being my personal miracle.
Copyright © 2013 & 2014 Kristi Ross, All rights reserved.
Our mailing address is: Kristi Ross, PO Box 133, Hotchkiss, CO 81419