“The tears are a sign of healing,” she whispered as she kissed me on my cheek and went home.
I was a wreck. I was in an emotional fragile state.
There she stood with the purest heart and deepest honesty, and I was unable to receive her words. My heart just wouldn’t let me. And the champion within me just couldn’t quite accept defeat.
I wanted to go home, to him.
It’s funny the way life turns out. One minute you are in this blissful bubble of goodness, and just like that you find the bubble has burst. I stood in the garage of the new house I was renting, walked to the one bedroom that was my boudoir, and fell to my knees replaying those words. Repeatedly trying to make sense of them.
Why did I feel God had forsaken me?
Why had He left me in this season of my life with a broken heart and empty wallet?
I had spent months convincing myself that God was not here and that I was in the realm that hung between Heaven and hell.
The only difference is: I wasn’t dead.
I was alive and this pain was real. This pain hurt. The mountain before me looked gigantic and I was in no shape to climb it. My days were endless and my nights were lonely. Existing without him was harder than I could have imagined.
I remember an encounter with my mirror.
I had cried all morning and was weary. I looked up at my reflection and did not like who looked back at me. I didn’t recognize her.
I could hide under my sheets all day, but something about the truth within a mirror will give you the reality check you never asked for. I could not hide from her any longer. I was sick of crying and tired of feeling the way that I did.
I washed my face, slapped on some make-up, and took myself to lunch; in the mood to shed the weight of the heavy burden love sometimes asks us to carry for a man far longer than we as women were intended to.
I learned that day that the power of love is sometimes hidden in the courage of letting go.
I spent the day in my favorite places, eating my favorite foods, and getting to know one of my favorite people: me.
Most importantly I laughed. I laughed because I knew that the tears of that day could not be carried into my tomorrow. I laughed because I serve a God with a sense of humor. There would always be a reason to cry, and laughing made me want to cry less.
Hours had passed and I stood in the middle of a library, free of the debris of the funk I was in. My mother’s words came to me again.
Tears are a sign of healing.
I felt stronger and grew wiser as the days passed.
There will be times in our lives in which God will speak clearly and we will not understand His reasons for orchestrating what we perceive to be a tragedy. He, like a parent or loving guardian, will not ask our permission to protect us.
He will simply do it.
It will hurt and cause confusion, but this was my moment to trust that His plan was greater than mine. There is good in goodbye. Saying goodbye is not the absence of love lost, but the presence of the worthy woman within that has been dormant rising to the surface.
I learned that being loved correctly is more important to me than just being loved.
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