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I cry

September 9, 2013

In the past few weeks, I have been revisiting the sad place.  It is the place that I can only journey alone, in the earthly sense.  I never really travel alone. There is always a heavenly presence.  I don’t understand it, but often in the silent places of deep in the valley of the shadow, I feel closest to God.  In the sad place, I find that I can be totally honest with myself about how I am feeling.  No mask.  No filter.  Raw, but honest.

My littlest one asked the other day, “Momma, why are you crying so much.”  I had to explain that I had to go to a sad place.  She is eight; so, I likened the place to the “Slump” in Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You Will Go”.  She gets that because in her world she doesn’t want a sad mommy.  But sometimes, you will come to a slump.  That she understands.

These were the words swirling in my most raw moments when I soaked my pillow with my tears.

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I cry . . .

in a single moment all was changed. Now all we have is memories and old photographs.

I cry . . .

silently not wanting  to share my pain in front of my children, for fear of scaring them. Their pillar of strength is really human, after all.  Secretly I know they know this, but I will give my dying breath to protect them.

I cry . . .

The hole in my heart leaves such a scar in my existence.  Its caverns echo the beat of the sad song when the wind blows out of the valley.

I cry . . .

a melody reminds me of happier days when we sang and danced and laughed about our singing and dancing.

I cry . . .

Feeling that I have let my children down because there are days when I feel hopeless is winning.

I cry . . .

Jumping at the ringing of the phone, desperately wanting the answers I want to hear.

I cry . . . tragedy brings chaos.  I detest swimming in chaos. No matter which way I paddle my strokes chaos’ rip current threatens to pull me under.

I cry . . .

My scars are invisible, but theirs are real.  Pain is a daily visitor, and yet they hold their heads high.

I cry . . . perseverance might be one lesson while waiting.  Wondering how long that lesson must take and why did we have to earn advanced degrees.  For once in our lives, couldn’t we just be average?

I cry . . .

because everything he loved was taken away, and yet there are still people who say ridiculously stupid things.

I cry . . . wishing sometimes I was the kind of person who smacked people who say stupid things.

I cry . . . choking down the lump in my throat because platitudes and trite sayings, do not help.  I want to scream, “Do you not see the hole?” But we’ll take your word scars, your thoughtless actions, AND we will continue turning our cheeks, knowing very few could walk in our shoes.

I cry . . . understanding the tortuous relationship with genetics. When your children hurt, a part of you is woven into them.  Like tiny saucers sending a message to the mother ship, every fiber of my being is writhing in pain for them.

I cry . . . sadness has creeping tentacles grasping for all of my family.  Mustering the strength to become a warrior to fight back its choking appendages, some days takes all my energy.

I cry . . . bearing burdens is grueling, heart-breaking work.

I cry . . . fervently hoping that my visit to the pit of sadness won’t be long enough for my card to be punched.

I cry . . . eternity seems so far away.  Wanting to hear your giggle and wondering how you will look without glasses. My ears longing to hear,  “Hey Mom.  This is Jesus.  You are going to love Him!” followed by one of those sneaky behind the back hugs.

I cry . . . knowing that in the light of eternity all of this seems small.

I cry . . . remembering that He is collecting every tear in his bottle.

I weep . . . embracing the promise that He will replace my cloak of despair with a garment of praise.

I sob . . . knowing His grace is sweet, yet powerful enough to cover it all.

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.  ~John Vance Cheney

7 Comments
  1. Luann Wiese permalink

    Thank you for sharing, very touching.

  2. melissafaithbodin permalink

    Oh Kandy! This is beautiful and heart-wrenching. I am so sorry for your sadness.Sending you so much love, giant hugs, and many prayers my friend.

  3. Missy – thank you for your sweet words and love. I know you can identify with this sad place, and I am so thankful God made us friends. Kandy

  4. Vallerie Breczinski permalink

    Kandy first I want to thank you for sharing and also I lost for words, but I know God has given you a gift for sharing things and I am grateful for that. And for your family you are a very special family that that means so much to mine.

  5. t h i n g s + f l e s h permalink

    no words, you’ve said all the achingly beautiful ones. just love. tony

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