What I'm Not

strong Pronunciation: \ˈstrȯŋ\ Function: adjective 1 : having or marked by great physical power 2 : having moral or intellectual power 3 : having great resources (as of wealth or talent) 4 : of a specified number 5 a : striking or superior of its kind b : effective or efficient especially in a specified direction 6 : forceful, cogent 7 : not mild or weak : 

I've heard this word many times by well-meaning people about me, thinking somehow it accurately describes my ability to survive. But surviving is an instinct, hardly a trait to be admired and the inaccuracy is wildly misleading. 

For starters, no one asked me to volunteer to be here today. I did not courageously sacrifice the life we could have shared with my baby girl for anyone. I was as natural a mother as any other, I wanted to keep my baby.

It also triggers another thought when I hear that word. People use that word 'strong' implying an alternative to being what they perceive as 'strong'. What was the alternative? Giving up on life? Losing hope? Crying about things I used to take for granted? Wanting this nightmare to end daily? Well then I am weak everyday. What most people don't understand is that what they perceive as strength is simply a mask. A very convincing mask at best.

People think because they see someone successful in battle, that they must be winning the war. Or someone with a smile must have conquered the deepest, darkest foe of grief... finally... and surely they don't cry anymore.

But it's wrong. You see there were at least half a dozen more meanings of that word 'strong' and none of them identify with me except for one. The third meaning is 'having great resources'. But to me just because you have a strong friend, it doesn't make you strong. At least that's how I see it.

When Jenna died my Lord Jesus Christ had shoulders big enough to carry me and everyone that was heartbroken last May.  

He is strong. 

Naturally most regained their strength and began walking on their own fairly quickly. I never felt so alone. I wasn't ready to start walking again. The guilt. The pain. The memories. All so raw. 

I walked into her room last night and tears came as I looked at all the pink stuff. A flood of tears. I discovered last night I will never drop enough of them for her.

And when I take a glance back at how many months I have survived without her, and wondered how I didn't die when her heart stopped beating, I realize He is still carrying me. I haven't walked any of it by myself. 

I haven't DONE any of it at all. He has. 

I think He knows a big part of me died when she died. It's going to be a very long time until I can walk again.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. -Isaiah 41:10

I know many have heard this, but this song "I Will Carry You" by Selah came to my mind as this post was rumbling around in my head.