IN THE BROKENNESS, HE REMAINS.

About a week ago, I awoke in the middle of the night to a large, booming crash.

"Sadie." The name sounded like a curse inside my head.

The clumsiest dog to walk the earth had been kicked out of my parents' bed, leaving her to sleep on the couch and sweep the entire contents of the coffee table to the floor with her massive tail.

Stumbling in the dark, and praying the yellow lab finally asleep in her kennel did not stir, I went out to right whatever Sadie had wrongned.

I was stunned by what I found.

No longer leaning atop the mantle in its rightful place of honor, our picture of the Savior, the centerpiece of the room and our home, had tumbled to the floor. Of its own accord. Sadie is a large dog, but not that large.

Its frame broken and scattered across the floor, and the dancing orange flames backlighting it perfectly, the untouched picture of Jesus Christ rested against the short wall of stones. Almost as if someone had purposefully set it there.

Gathering up the pieces to ensure no dog or human was impaled, I placed the remnants of the painting on the table, still in awe that no harm had befallen the image itself.

Clean up complete, I nabbed the yellow lab from her slumber, and tucked her into bed with me, an orange rimmed Savior tattooed to the back of my eyelids.

As I have reflected on the late-night excitement, it aptly sums up the way I feel right now.

Broken.

I feel so, so broken.

During this year, I received what felt like a prompting from the Spirit, nudging me into action. Having learned the hard lessons of regret that come with not heeding these counsels wholeheartedly, I went all in, braving the unknown and the scary to follow the path He was tracing for me.

And it didn't work out.

Not only did it not work out, but it completely and utterly blew up in my face. If you check the farthest reaches of the four corners of this earth, you will still find pieces of me there.

Because this broke me.

Not because I am naïve enough to believe I am the first human being ever to not properly predict the outcome of God's plans. This is not even the first time it has happened to me, let alone the world at large. This tale as old as time is told countless times over in the scriptures.

Nephi, Laman, Lemuel, and Sam tried three separate times to go and get the plates, and as many before me have pointed out, most likely counseled the Lord with their first and second attempts. Going forward in faith, they were repeatedly chased out of Laban's dwelling, escaping with their lives and a whole lot of bitterness on the elder brothers' side. (1 Nephi 3)

And that, is where you will find me. Bitter. Angry. Lost. Confused. Spent. Done.

I don't know what it is about this particular redirection in the plan, the curve in the road that I can't yet see, but it is eating me alive.

No longer am I confident in the whisperings I hear from the Spirit. No longer am I willing to go out on a limb, convinced it will crack beneath me. No longer do I trust in the Lord's plans, for so far it seems they have only led me to heartache and sorrow.

So, so dramatic. But so, so how I am feeling.

My faith feels broken. I continue clinging to the things I know to be true, the smallest of smallest particle of belief telling me that doing so will carry me where I want to go. But I just can't see it. I just don't feel it. I just don't trust it.

I am broken.

And in the brokenness, He remains.

As I try to pick up and carry and save the pieces of my testimony that feel shattered and lost and wavering, He remains.

As I utter broken-hearted, furious prayers, ones full of accusations and demands for understanding, He remains.

As I force my way through one more verse of scripture, one more line of the lesson, one more phrase from the talk, getting what feels like nothing out of the words, He remains.

Steadfast and sure and solid He remains. Never distancing Himself, never looking down upon my feeble, week, halfhearted attempts, never pulling His love out from under me. He chooses to stay in the hardest of hard.

Not only does He remain there, but He thrives there. He blossoms there. He works miracles there.

Just this morning, as I was moaning on about not being able to Hear Him when He called, I did. I felt His love. His truths shook me to my core, challenging what I believed about myself and this whole situation.

His guidance allowed me to offer words of wisdom to a friend. His laughter accompanied that of the children in Primary, the sound making me forget about my trials for a moment.

He reassured me that all would work out. That I was not really broken but being gifted opportunities for growth. That though my cracks seemed ever reaching, with an inability to be sealed back together, He would fill in the gaps. That my efforts, though small and not incredibly enthusiastic, would be used for my good, because He would make up the difference.

My story is not yet done. This odd u-turn did not break things beyond repair. He did not abandon me in my darkest of nights. He has been there through it all, and will continue to be there through it all, even when my mortal eyes blind me to His presence.

In the brokenness He remains, upright and untouched and perfect, ready to help us gather what we feel is the broken picture of our lives, and reframe it into something even better. That reframing takes work, and along the way it will most likely look like a purposeless nothing, but if we hold on, if we choose to see Him remaining in the brokenness, if we give it just one more try, He will make everything fit.