Truth Be Told


My apparel didn't suit the day. I wore mascara that wasn't waterproof ... and boy, did I cry. I skipped all other makeup, because I wasn't up for pretending. My far from practical hat nigh fell off with every hug I received that I desperately needed. My bright dress hardly matched my spirits. It was too hot for my tights. Thank God, I didn't wear heels.
I could never have pictured how lovely the day would end up being. Sure, I cried, sweated, and clung to my hat, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
My day had begun in an acute state of grief. And it wasn't the first day of this. It was not the death of a person that I grieved ... but, perhaps the death of who I thought they were; who they used to be. The news of this loss came after one of the hardest days of my life, physically. I was not in any shape to bear this, so I was crushed beneath the weight.
I didn't expect to ever be lifted.
I couldn't think straight. I lost my appetite. I couldn't sleep. I could not laugh. Breathing was even a chore.
I was devastated, to say the very least.
So how could a Sunday possibly fix anything?
I had underestimated Christian community. What's worse is I thought they wouldn't notice. I partly didn't want them to. I gave up on that when the first person I sat next to saw the pain behind my smile and refused to believe my "fine."
So the next person who hugged me got a double order of truth, with tears on the side. And in the span of a few hours, I received love, prayer, encouragement, sound advice, a gentle scolding, humor to lift my spirits, solid friendship, and cheap books. Oh, and food. Basically, my soul got radically revived.
I didn't get magically "fixed," but I didn't get a band-aid stuck on a stab wound, either. It's almost as if those people cleaned out my wound, took care of me, then tried to cheer me up. (Like the Good Samaritan without social scandal.) The wound is still there. The pain and sorrow remain. But they no longer overpower me. I no longer lie useless on the floor. And I don't drag my spirits through the mud behind me as I walk -- not anymore.
I'm breathing again.
A gift, for sure.
There He goes again, giving me things I don't deserve.

Comments

  1. AmandaApril 21, 2014 at 2:14 PM

    "There He goes again, giving me things I don't deserve."

    Yep...yes...that's how it works, isn't it? We forget so easily. Only to find ourselves drenched with love we don't deserve.

    Here's a hug for you, Lydia!

    ReplyDelete

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