Remember To Breathe Part 2: You May Be Shattered

I am not much of a crier. It seems that at some point in my teenage years I was hardened by life, and I now find very little worth crying about. I have encountered a few tragedies in my short life, and it makes the smaller things seem silly to be sad about. Lately, that doesn't seem to be the case anymore.

I was not aware that after the decision I made the other day that my body and my mind would soon wage war against each other. I am currently marvelling at the power of the human body, at just how much you can mess it up and just how hard it is to fix it. While this is currently a great part of my battle, it seems that I no longer have any control over my emotions, either. Overnight, it seems, I became a crier. And I don't just mean shedding a little tear at the Hallmark commercials. I mean completely break down and sob uncontrollably crying, typically with little or no warning. I know I have surprised at least two people this week by suddenly falling on them and weeping, but it seems I can't do anything about it. My pain is great, and I've smiled in spite of that one too many times. Every tear I've never shed apparently must come out before I can heal. Bring it on.

As much as this battle completely sucks, and as much as I know that it will get worse before it gets better, I also know that it will be worth it in the end. I am walking through fire, not over or around but through, and I am refusing to turn back. I know that I can fight this, I know that I am stronger than it is, and I know that despite how hot it is I will come out whole. No longer cracked, shattered, or missing a few pieces, but whole.

Last night I read in Psalms that He has our tears in a bottle. I love that picture. To me, that means that He is sitting next to me every time I break apart, and He is catching every tear. He's giving me what I need to keep going, and He's leaving me little gifts to keep my spirits up. It's been seven days. Let's go for eight.