Fractures Tell a Story
Is it possible to be fractured and beautiful all at the same time?
As I reflected on my journey through suffering–the never-ending waiting, the seemingly unsurvivable grief, the deafening silence of God, the questions with no answers– I return to a hike in Watkins Glen State Park. An unexpected sign revealed how beauty and transformation can emerge beneath pressure and pain.
Heather LaVigne is the author of “Barren: A Shared Journey of Infertility, Loss, and Faith,” a memoir about her own journey through infertility and loss while exploring Biblical women’s stories to offer comfort and hope.
We had arrived in New York the day before. I had been resting all day after becoming sick from the injections used to prep my body. My head was foggy. I wasn’t sure that I had the stamina to endure a hike, never mind any vigorous activity that didn’t involve the four walls of a bathroom. We arrived at Watkins Glen State Park later than we had hoped. After parking the car, I gingerly followed my husband and two rambunctious boys up the steps to the entrance of the park.
Upon entering, I realized that I was being ushered into a place of unexplainable beauty. Jagged rocks formed rugged sidewalls and arches surrounding paths that led to small springs and waterfalls. The park is a 400-foot-deep gorge cut through rock by a stream created by glaciers in the Seneca Valley. There are layers and layers of hard rock and soft shales showing the deep path the stream cut. I felt a hush of pure God-honoring worship, overwhelmed by the sight of His glory and perfect creativity.
We climbed the stairs and followed the rugged path laid out before us with several other tourists. We took pictures and put our hands in the streams falling from rock formations towering high above us. We marveled at the stunning beauty of this place. As we followed the path, I saw a sign that said, “Fractures Tell a Story.” It said, “Notice the cracks, called joints, that run up the walls behind you. You can follow them through the creek bed and up the opposite wall. The joints represent a great continental collision that pushed up the Appalachian Mountains…The tremendous pressure of the continental collision fractured the rocks of Watkins Glen and the rest of the southern New York State and lifted the land skyward” (New York State Parks, Recreation, and Historic Preservation, 2020).
As I read this sign, I knew without doubt that the Lord was speaking directly to my heart, telling the story that was mine. Knowing this was a holy moment, I took out my camera and snapped a shot to reflect on it later.
Friends, the last ten years of my life—the physical pain of endometriosis, the surgeries, the fertility treatments, the failed adoption quests, the loss of my babies—has cut deep in a way that I, on my own, can never repair or comprehend. Just like that gorge, the fractures run deep and ragged. They show physical evidence of the intense pressure on my marriage, my home, my family, my life, and my faith. But the Lord in His immense goodness and His great authority saw fit that this would be my path. Pain carved a deep chasm that created a reliance on Him that could never be found on flat dry land. Faith showered from waterfalls of mercy and grace. The end result: a beautiful, fractured story that lifted my life skyward in holy worship of Him.
He knew that our relationship would be redeemed under the pressure of great pain and sorrow. I had to choose to believe that He was at work in my circumstances to bring about restoration. Those babies we lost–He holds them in heaven. My broken body will be redeemed upon the ushering in of the new heaven and new earth at Christ’s return. When I chose to be obedient and trust the Lord, my relationship with Him, my husband, and others fell in line with His plan. My heart, again, was aligned with His and pointed the glory heavenward. This, Friends, was the greatest miracle.
But even more, He knew that the physical evidence of His mercy—my sons and the daughter we were still waiting to welcome into our family would be an added reminder... My Ebenezers.
So, I stacked stones there along with many others, knowing this was a turning point in my story. I promised I would never forget how my heart had changed.
Here’s what I can’t tell you: that your fractures, your deep grief, your increasing pressure will produce the same for you as they did for me. In fact, I can promise they won’t, because while our paths may be the same, the outcome will be different. But I can point you to the One who meets us in our suffering. Who can begin to heal your heart even when some wounds remain. And if you let Him lead you, you will discover peace that passes understanding.