As I sit here, hands hovering over the keys, words escape me (for one of the very few times in my life). In this moment and for so many moments in the past week, I find myself struggling to articulate the spectrum of emotions that course through my veins. For the first time in a very long time, the written word, which can usually be compounded, molded and recreated into something new, has lost the comfort I found in it for so many years. The culmination of difficulties have begun to overwhelm and the fight to stay afloat has become exhausting.

This has been one of the hardest years of my life. It seems like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to see what happens next. No ideas. No suggestions. No plan. I float in a fog of incomprehension and disbelief. I look at the world around me and see the lives of those I love falling apart in one way or another. The appearance of okayness no longer exists because the masks that have been so carefully held in place for so long have slipped, revealing anguish, heartache and loneliness underneath. In my own life, I find myself looking at a new chapter, a new beginning. This time is supposed to be joyful, adventurous and have possibility for a newfound awareness but it has been marred and dirtied by hardship and impossible circumstances. I’m not sure when it happened or how it happened but at some point, I became more aware of the “wrong” than I am the “right”. I’ve started paying more attention to the anger than I have the love and the sorrow more than the rejoicing. I focused more on my hurt than I did on the hurt of others.

I have long been a warrior on behalf of those who can not stand on their own. Over the years, I have found myself carrying burdens for others that would break me if they were my own and for a time, there was no struggle in doing so. Now, however, the heaviness seems too much when coupled with my own and I feel the weight like an anchor, not steadying me in the storm but pulling me down to places where the light is no longer seen. That is why it’s been over a week since the last time I posted anything. That’s why pen and paper have felt foreign to my fingers and keyboards almost painful to the touch. I’ve been living of my own accord and forgotten this life is not just my own. I am not a lone combatant and I have neglected to share the load.

See, this is where I fight to find the light. In writing, in recounting the stories and moments, in detailing the thoughts and feelings, my battles are fought. War is waged with the enemy when I begin to allow the voice of my Father to be heard. We hear tales of soldiers in battle being so exhausted they can no longer raise their weapons in defense or attack, instead finding a new enemy in their body’s inability to continue on another minute, another hour or another day. I’ve been finding myself there. In so many instances, I have wanted to raise my weapons, write my words but my strength has failed me. The inkwell has been dry and the power has been shut off. I know how it may sound. I know that in the literal world where problems are a force to be reckoned with and sickness and pain are debilitating and life-ending, the ridiculousness of struggling to write may seem minuscule, not even a problem at all. But.

Have you ever found yourself struggling to pray? Or if you aren’t a believer, have you ever found yourself struggling to find the way to deal with the harshness of life and everything you’ve been tasked to face? You try and you try, over and over again, to no avail because it seems as if nothing you can do will fix anything and you can never possibly do the right thing (life has proven it to you over and over again)? Doesn’t that desperation come from a different place inside of you? In those moments, don’t you have to dig down deep to find the place where that kind of strength resides, to remember the problem is you have tried and not allowed God to work?  Well, that’s what this is for me. I am trying to dig my heels in, straighten my back, lift my head and raise my arms in surrender. I have to, I need to, and those around me need me to, too.

In the beginning, I told you all that this was the biggest getting out of the boat moment I had ever had. Sharing these pieces of my soul with the world have been terrifying (even though no one is reading it except me, the possibility for public critique or ridicule is still there). In making myself vulnerable, strength should have been found. When I stepped out into the deepest depths of the ocean, I should have felt firmness under my feet. And I would have. If I hadn’t been distracted by the world around me. (In this, I don’t mean that I shouldn’t have paid no attention to the burdens of the people around me. On the contrary, I should have seen them more. I should have focused on them more, prayed for them more, instead of seeing only what the enemy placed in front of me, instead of only seeing my hurt, my failings, my needs.) Often, when we begin to step into the things God has for us, difficulties will arise. Our battles will become harder. I think that’s because when we step into the things God has for us, we begin to grow and when we begin to grow, we become more of a threat to the enemy and harder to control. I’ve proven, though, over the past couple weeks that growth can be strangled. Growth can be stunted. But only for the moment because when growth begins and resistance is met, the push to break free becomes more. The need for air becomes really does become a need, not just a want. Hope is renewed.

I know This may not seem very hopeful but it is. Oh, how it is. When we begin to recognize where we are, the stagnation we find ourselves in, it can give opportunity for change. It can create desire for cleansing, the need for movement. Like muscles that have long-lost the memory of their use, hope struggles to regain its footing and its rightful place in our hearts. God begins to open our eyes and help us see the avenues that will lead to better, more, light and hope. The roads aren’t clear. They never will be. If not for the dull of winter, there would be no new beauty in the spring. If not for the broken egg, there would be no new life in the world. I think maybe our paths are the same way. Without the stink of stagnation, how would we know when to move? Without the difficulties and impossible situations in life, how would we recognize and rejoice for the perfect days and the miracles that happen before our eyes? Without the heartbreak how can we love? I’ve heard my entire life that you have to take the good with the bad. I guess that really is true.

I can’t say much has changed since the words ordered here have begun to pour out. Maybe the change is that I took this step. I may get up from here and continue about my day only to feel myself beginning to sink again in a few hours. I might just forget, for a moment, to be thankful for the breath in my lungs instead of wishing for the things I don’t have. I almost guarantee that there will be at least one instance (and probably many more) of my worry for my own life being greater than that for the people I love. I will for sure stumble and I will absolutely fall. Just like every time before though, I will find my way back up, ready to move another day.