Pain radiated throughout my veins. A current so sharp, I couldn’t feel it anymore. Numb. As if my body has undergone anesthesia. I was walking away from the deepest desire my heart had ached for. The dream of walking down the aisle to a man I chose to love and who chose to love me. The dream of having a teammate in this thing called life, someone to adventure with and go out into the world with all for the name of Jesus .
Then, a collision of my worst-case scenarios happened. It all happened about as fast as it took for the rug to be pulled out from underneath me.
Everything had ended. Each time my glove met the sand filled bag, I remembered everything had ended. I could hear the accusations all over again in my mind.
“You didn’t fight hard enough for us.”
“You fought, but it ended. It wasn't good enough."
"You gave up and walked away from it all.”
My mind shut off.
I sat in my driveway with the phone on speaker, needing my hands to dry my cheeks. I think she could tell the tears streaming down my face were drowning my words, making it difficult for me to speak. But she had hit the nail on the head. This woman had been in my life for years and she knew me well. She is gifted in discernment and kind in practice. She authoritatively said to me:
“Be gentle with yourself.”
That’s when the dam of tears broke, there had already been a stream of salty drops, but the dam broke.
“You’re so dumb.”
It was said in laughter and sarcasm, but what she didn’t know was she had struck a wound. A wound I have tried to silence for most of my life, but she just strummed the chord loud and clear. Not feeling smart enough is a battle I’ve fought over and over, but throughout the last year I had begun to see I was winning the war over it.
Now, all of a sudden, I was bombarded by a surprise attack on an almost sealed wound.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of the crystal clear water. The way it glistened back at me, in some ways, I felt seen. I felt understood. The sunlight bounced off the white foamed waves and warmed my soul. It reflected pieces of me that have been burned like wood and ember. Wounded by words and weapons aiming to crush and destroy. But they haven’t.
The Mexican water seemed to understand the depth of my pain. Like it did see me, like it was saying, “me too” with each sway and crash onto the coarse rock below. The resilience of the emerald movements moved my heart in hope.
