From the ends of the earth, I call to You, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Psalm 61:2 NIV 

I ran as fast and as far away as I could, grabbing my keys and bolting out the door. Tears streamed down my face while my lungs heaved emotional release—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

With my hands on the steering wheel, I drew in one, long deep breath, bringing both my body and soul peace. I took the main road that leads to a pathway paved under a canopy of trees. Body heavy and burdened, I walked the trail and made my way to the boulder at the water’s edge. Elongating my limbs, I climbed. Then, I slid down onto the boulder’s wide, flat surface.

The sky above spun with the softest shade of blue, and the wind blew like a breath that calmed my broken spirit. Looking out at the lake, I listened to the leaves rustling and opened my audiobook app to listen to an Indigenous people’s translation of Matthew 5:4–5 (a way of listening to the Word that connects deeply with part of my ethnic heritage). On the boulder, I felt the heat of the sun warm up my skin. I curled up my body and closed my eyes while the gospel played, telling me how Creator cares for the ones who cry trails of tears and how the earth can be a holding place for the ones who know sorrow and pain.

Heart wide open, I saw it as clear as day: I was welcomed in the middle of my breakdown and brokenness as I rested on the strength and comfort of that boulder that belonged to the Lord. Though my spirit reeled and raged with emotions, through nature I was reminded that the Lord is a refuge. With my attention on His creation, I saw that He alone is a resting place for the broken.

I don’t remember what triggered my tears that day, but this I know: We are loved by the One who is ever-present and all-powerful. The One who cradles us with comfort, even as we crumble and cry.

By Rachel Marie Kang from the (in)courage devotional journal, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle.