The failure... and the fallout. The biggest surprise that comes with wrecking your life as you knew it is often how eerily quiet the aftermath can be. You almost wish everything about it would be more epic – that your existence could be scored and edited like a film, or that your external world would feel more visceral and more loud to echo the turmoil inside... But pain can be so very silent. And suffering so very magnified by the stillness imposed in time's absolute refusal to fast forward. Grief can be at its worst when it's... mundane.

The loss of identity is a staggering thing, but we've learned to expect it... sometimes. Still, any a process of metamorphosis, newly shaping who we are, is not an easy one. Even if we know we should expect it. So how much more staggering is the unintended and unexpected identity crisis? For so many Christians experiencing doubt and grief over a loss of faith, this has become their reality. There's this new and constant companion with them – an alien presence in their lives who turns out to be themselves. 

How do we reconcile our longing for the simplicity of the past with our new – and increasingly complex – perspectives? The allure of the known. The loss of familiarity. Nostalgia. Heartbreak. "Regret stacked up on grief..." None of it is comfortable when we find ourselves in the immediate fallout – the result of a hurt that's still lingering somewhere nearby, and still refusing to let us look away from the mess (or our part in making it).