Sometimes in the middle of the night, I can’t find sleep.
Sometimes in the middle of the struggle, I'm not strong enough.
Sometimes in the middle of the heartache, I can't breathe.
I wrote these words the other morning as I was trying to balance my emotions about some impending surgery. It is not so much the surgery and the long recovery, though, that lingers in the shadows of my mind. No, I was wrestling with the demons of loss and abandonment. The tears fell freely as I ached with the emptiness. I could not understand why these forgotten feelings were raising their ugly heads.
I am thankful for sisters. My birth sister is gone but God has graciously given me new sisters to walk beside me, and I them. I was sharing my fears/angst with one of these dear friends and she put it into the words that I could not seem to find on my tongue. “You have tasted the other side.” There it was. The catalyst for my tears.
Many years ago I believed in a dream. I believed that when someone looked into my eyes and said “for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health” that it would just happen. Magic. Rainbows and butterflies. Forever. But my forever tripped over itself on the way out the door and shattered into a million shards of glass. And as I scrambled to pick up the pieces, I cut myself and bled. Only there was no one there to bind my wounds and some of my life spilled out. And in this moment that reality is scraping, like sandpaper, against my scars – which, though healed, seem raw.
And like my sister said, I have tasted the other side. I know the familiar sense of someone’s hand on mine telling me everything’s going to be alright. I know the brush of a cool cloth across my feverish forehead. I know. And now the future lies ahead of me with its uncertainty and trepidation. And on this side, I am learning that love doesn’t look like it used to. There are still faces looking me in my eyes and reminding me that life is worth fighting for and that the days ahead are brighter than the past. There are the faces of the children that I hold, and teach, and care for. There are the faces of the young ones that I listen to, love on, and breathe into. There are the faces of my new friends from around the world whom I get to cheer on in their new lives and who daily remind me why I am here. And there are the faces of my sister-girls who have lived and loved and lost and lived again.
They are here to remind me what we women tend to forget – that we are stronger than we think. We are able to rise from the ashes because of the healing hand of God. We are undergirded by the grace of God. And He lifts us up with His mighty arms when we fall. He carries us the rest of the way when we are weak. And when we have nothing left, He sends His warriors to stand beside us and fight for us. I am thankful for the sister-warriors who have fought for me this week. Thank you for telling me that I will get through this.
I will.