Behind Dark Glasses

I am convinced that one of the most exhausting things in life is pretending that everything is ok when the world is crashing in around us. There is nothing harder than putting on a happy face when it hurts too badly to even breathe. And yet, we do it anyways. We do it, and we do it well.

It all started with the first of at least seven "How was your trip?"s today. "It was good!", I would reply, not bothering to mention the part about not wanting to come home. The good thing about my job is that it keeps me busy enough that I don't have to think about my own life for a good number of hours, or at least that's what I told the sobbing co-worker whom I held this morning while she cried over the good friend that died yesterday. She made me grateful that I wasn't the only one secretly dying on the inside. And yet, I felt the need to keep the fake smile plastered on.

I knew it was falling apart when I was left in charge of a part of my life that I'm not so sure I want yet this afternoon. When my world falls apart, it does so suddenly, and I often have no warning of when it all might hit the fan. I got in the car to leave, and a song on the cd I was listening to, one that I have heard at least a hundred times, suddenly struck me down.

As you go your own way
Remember do not be afraid
'Cause you're right where you should be
In Capitol City

I lost it. I began to cry the way I cry when I have lost all hope. I cried for the fact that I haven't told anyone why I've been running so fast for a little over a month now. I cried for what happened to me that night, and for where it has now left me standing, in the dark. I cried because I was angry that I've been left all alone, without anyone to turn to or anyone to sit beside me while I cry over it. I cried because I'm lost, even though I know deep down that it's possible to find my way to where I need to be. I cried for all the times that I haven't cried about it.

A few minutes later I pulled into the parking lot to pick up Carson. I knew I looked awful, and I didn't want the questions, so I chose to leave on my sunglasses. I chose to hide the pain a little more, behind the dark lenses. On my way out of the car, I told Jesus that I was going to need Him to hold me through this. I don't have anyone else, and I need someone to hold my hand.

I walked into Carson's classroom, and told him that it was time to go. The little boy who always instantly goes racing down the hallway towards the door when I get there graciously let Jesus inhabit him for a few minutes tonight. He stopped walking, and I stopped beside him. He looked up and met my eyes, and a few seconds later, slipped his little three-year-old hand into mine, without saying a word. And so we walked, hand-in-hand, outside to the car. He's never held my hand before. Good thing I was still wearing my sunglasses, or he may have seen the tiny tears of hope that he brought to my eyes. Thank You, Jesus. I feel You there...