By Christina Holder

A year ago, I would've never imagined my life as it is now. I'd envisioned myself happily engaged to my long-distance boyfriend of almost two years, Matt. I confidently believed I'd be busily planning a wedding—and perhaps a trip overseas as a new bride to minister hand-in-hand with my husband.

Little did I know I'd instead be preparing to live and work in Liberia for six months, with no Matt by my side. Or that for the first time in a long while, I'd be experiencing something that I didn't think was possible in the midst of great pain—pure joy.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me take you back half a year.

Matt had planned to ask for my hand in marriage about six months after moving from Florida to Washington, D.C., to be near me. Whenever the big proposal day arrived, I told Matt I'd love it if he slipped a simple band on my finger.

I wasn't partial to diamonds. And besides, Matt, the photojournalist, and me, the writer, had a dream to travel the world together to tell the stories of God's broken people. I couldn't picture myself talking to impoverished people while my bejeweled hand tried to scribble their life stories into my reporter's notebook.

But I didn't get my wish. I didn't get a ring at all. Only three months into Matt's big move, he broke up with me.

It didn't make sense to me. Sometimes it still doesn't. I loved Matt with all my heart, and I believed we'd spend the rest of our lives using our gifts together.

It was difficult and painful to move on in a place that represented so much of my future with Matt, and it didn't help to have reminders of him all around me. I told God that I would stay if He really wanted me in Washington, D.C., but I was ready to pack up my broken heart and drive my U-haul into the sunset as soon as possible.

But what began as a way to deal with my broken heart on the surface level became something so much deeper. As the next few months passed, I began to see how moving away was part of God's plan to take me to a new place for His new purpose.

I realized that my dream of traveling the world with Matt and using our gifts to serve God had come to an end; but that didn't mean my dream to serve Him had to come to an end. So I began calling Christian organizations to find out where they needed a writer. My criteria mirrored my heart. I wanted to go to a country that had a great need, the most heartbroken country I could find. I wanted to go to a place that few were reading about but where God was working out His redemption and joy in big ways.

I'll never forget a conservation I had with one staffer at a Christian organization that works in Africa. It set my journey to Liberia in motion.

"Liberia's story needs to be told," he said. "Would you go?" At first, I wasn't sure.

Liberia has endured a 14-year civil war. Its more than 3.5 million people on Africa's west coast are expected to live to be just less than 43 years old. Since the early '90s, water and electricity has been mostly knocked out. Liberia shows all the signs of a government in transition—even with a Harvard-educated president, lawlessness and corruption still exist. It's also a country in need of God's great healing. It is heartbroken beyond any human repair. Most important, few are writing about Liberia.

I began praying about going to Liberia. And as soon as I opened my heart to the idea, Liberians began to show up in my life. God's sovereign hand was at work.

Shortly after first considering a trip to Liberia, I retreated to a little inn on the side of a mountain. I wanted to get away to talk to and to try to listen to God.That weekend, as I chatted with the innkeeper, I learned that she happened to have a Liberian friend who had opened an orphanage in the war-wrecked country.

Soon after, I ran into someone who told me about a church home to Liberian refugees. I showed up one Sunday at a church where the service supposedly was held, and God didn't disappoint. That Sunday, church members embraced me and kissed me and promptly called me to the pulpit to tell the whole church about my dreams to tell the story of a country so close to their hearts.

Then, several nights before I was to host a viewing of a documentary about Liberia, God had me run into a Liberian journalist, who was visiting my newsroom. I invited him to my party, and he led an hour-long Q & A, explaining Liberia's heartache to a packed room.

Most recently, I learned one of my co-workers has a friend who is the niece of Liberian President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf.

With so many Liberians coming into my life, God has made it impossible to dispute His will for me to go there.

And so I am going. For six months, beginning in June, I'll be living in Liberia with the goal of telling its story. I'm partnering with several Christian organizations that are working to help Liberians rebuild and find hope in a God who works in strange yet beautiful ways.

God is sending me to a country whose people are on a journey that parallels mine. They are living with deep heartache. They desire to be free; Liberia is translated as "land of the free." It was founded by freed American slaves, who left to flee the persecution they experienced in the United States. Years later it became embroiled in a bitter power struggle that left its own people oppressing one another.

I believe that God wants to return Liberia to a country of freedom—the kind that allows people to face every struggle and every pain while still hoping in Him. I believe that God wants to restore joy to this broken country—the kind that flows from recognizing that He is in control and has great purpose for every shattered life. I believe that the healing years for Liberia will become joyful years as its people learn to recognize God’s mighty yet gentle hand over them all.

And I believe that God will work out the same kind of joy and redemption in my own life.

Recently, I ran into Matt at work. About a month ago, he moved from freelancing to a full-time job at my newspaper. We work in a big building with lots of people. But for some reason, in between the quiet, glass walls late one afternoon, no one seemed to be around. I was in one of six elevators going down when it stopped.

The doors parted, and there Matt was. I couldn't believe it. We hadn't talked in months.

I wasn't alone when Matt stepped in. My new friend, the Liberian journalist, was with me. We had just met and spent time talking about my upcoming trip. I remember some uncomfortable small talk with Matt before the elevator landed and the shiny doors opened again. The three of us filed out and walked through the lobby together for a short while before splitting.

Matt went to the right while my Liberian friend and I went to the left.

I believe God planned that elevator meeting because He knew my heart still longed for Matt, but He wanted me to know that for now His plan was different. And short of Matt showing up in Liberia, I think God wanted me to stop hoping He would restore the relationship.

As the months since our break-up have passed, I've realized that God may never give me a specific answer to why it happened. But in my brokenness, He's showing me how a great God can use misery for a mighty purpose. He's demonstrating how His loving hand always points me in the right direction across terrain that doesn't look as I think it should.

And as I embark on this new journey deep into "the land of the free," God is working in my heart in a way I didn't truly believe was possible: He's releasing me into His joy.

Discuss this article on our blog, Fresh Brew.

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Christina Holder works as a freelance writer and editor near Washington, D.C. She is a former reporter for the Naples (Fla.) Daily News, where she enjoyed writing stories about Wal-Mart’s takeover of the globe, interviewing war veterans, and analyzing the deeper meanings behind speed dating. She also has worked as a reporter and researcher for syndicated columnist Robert D. Novak in Washington, D.C. She taught Bob how to be grumpier, he taught her to be sweet and then they parted ways. Most recently she started a blog called Beautifully Broken to encourage women in God's promise to take their brokenness and to make it beautiful.

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Copyright © 2008 Christina Holder. All rights reserved. This article was published on Ungrind.org on March 10, 2008.