It's hard to believe.
One year ago I was in hiding. I knew nobody at my kids' school. I spent all of my money on therapy and security cameras and lawyers. My days were spent in tears and many nights I'd wake up screaming. I thought there would never be a time when I wouldn't feel broken.
It's interesting what happens when something seeks to destroy you: God steps in.
What was once a dark void has now been filled with people: people at the club, parents at the school, families at the ski hill, my boyfriend's circle of friends, extended family, and people in the Christian community at large. Most of these people are new in my life: unknown to me at this time last year. There have been miracles both big and small that defy rational explanation. I'm the most cynical person on the planet - especially after what happened - and even I'm filled with awe.
I've found a new church where I cry almost every Sunday because the music is so good, made friends with the excellent people at Crossroads, joined the social and membership committees at the club, met Mark Burnett and Roma Downey, decorated my new home, met Lisa Whelchel, gone to Italy, reconnected with a couple of dear long-time friends, gone to art school, finished writing a book, watched my children settle into a new community and thrive, painted my gazebo, met an amazing guy, possibly found a new calling (stay tuned), and, last but not least, adopted a champion French Bulldog who suits my personality to a T.
I don't write this to brag; quite the opposite. I didn't do any of this. I wasn't able to do any of this.
And yet this is my life: good, solid, rich with possibility, and filled with love.
Because that, my friends, is what God does.