The other day a song came on when I was at work. It was one I had heard for the first time when I was in the depths of my sorrow. The song begins with the words "It feels like an ocean of sorrow is under my skin. Even the ocean eventually meets with the sand. Sorrow on sorrow I'm waiting, heavy I'm anticipating, trusting the current will carry me."
It brought tears to my eyes because in an instant I was back there. As if watching a playback of the last ten months, I saw myself in the depth of my pain. My heart broke for the girl whose world had fallen apart, who would sob hopelessly into the phone, in the bathroom, in the car. I couldn't get out of bed for weeks, and it was months before I was able to go outside of the house for more than an hour. It felt like an ocean of sorrow was welling up within me and I was certain it would never end. When I read back on the journal I kept I want to hold tight the me who felt so hollow, so empty, so ready for darkness to envelop what little life she had left.
During the hard times I clung to music to get me through, and to my friends who always answered my calls, always listened, and never pushed. They let me process. They held me up when I had no fight left in me. I feel like for a while I was just a wisp in the wind, so close to disappearing, so ungrounded. But my people held me down (goodness the thought gives me tears!). They refused to let me disappear, to be overcome, to give up. They cried with me and held me tight.
I truly believe that it is the beautiful people in my life, even those that just sent a message of encouragement, that kept me from disappearing from the world completely. And now, amazing things are happening in my life.
You know, a man I once loved used to tell me that I would never get a job with my degree. My passion for working with underprivileged youth was unfortunately never going to amount to much of a career and accordingly, his suggestion was that I go into a different field.
Well, as a woman who now has gumption and perseverance, I am pleased to announce that based on my experience and education, I have accepted a paying job as the Program Director for an after-school program for at-risk youth in Dallas, Texas.
The journey to this position has been quick, unexpected, and to me, divinely influenced. After 10 months of healing from my sorrows, I feel that God has given me the go-ahead to return to that which He has called me. With the support of my family and friends, I head back into the work that God has prepared me for, the work that He has placed as the utmost passion in my soul.
This is a big step for me in a lot of ways. I have been staying with family since leaving Arizona and I will now branch into this next chapter of my life on my own (with Gidget the dog in tow of course). After months of waiting and questioning, surrounded by moving boxes I never unpacked, I will begin my life again.
I will unpack. I will settle down.
I will be challenged, yes. I will have unsteady steps, rocky moments, and a gamete of emotions. It won't be easy, but it will be the end of the valley. It will be sunshine. It will be steady ground.
It is a beautiful thing to be at this juncture. It is a beautiful thing to step into the next chapter. And I do not take for granted the fact that no matter what I am not alone.
I told my mom the other day that when I was in the midst of my sorrow I felt that my body was built out of toothpicks instead of bones, like the bridges we had to build in physics class. With just the slightest touch I was certain I would collapse. I had been so unsteady, so fragile. She asked me what I felt my bones were built of now.
Without hesitation I answered one word: