I penned this post a few years back when I was working through some painful changes. Just like everyone, our pain can fill our entire world for a period of time until we realize it’s all part of our growth. Once we reach that point, we’re ready to take the lessons learned and move forward.
The intense sunshine, so bright glaring off the sparkling emerald green water, made it almost impossible to see. The day was quite hot and humid, but the breeze ruffling my hair was refreshing, even though I continued to sweat. I took a deep, deep breath, closed my eyes, and tilted my face to the sky. The glare from the ever moving water didn’t matter. I was deep inside my own head working on something, seeing only what was going on in my mind’s eye anyway. I do this a lot. I have a hard time staying out of my head, actually.
I’ve written stories and had conversations in my head all my life. I’ve rewritten the endings to books and movies countless times. I’ve had so much practice over the years I can be so deep inside my thoughts I won’t be aware of anything going on around me.
You’d probably characterize me as a loner. An introvert. I’m comfortable in my own company and I love solitude. Which also means I don’t have many close friends. So sometimes I get pretty lonely.
Which is why, I think, one of my most recent heartaches unfolded as it did.
I recently relocated from the Midwest. I grew up there never liking the winters because of the cold, and not liking the summers much because of my hay fever as a child. Although I did have the unparalleled opportunity of living in Arizona for a few years a short while back. My last winter in Michigan, though, was so long and brutal I was not-so-secretly hoping to be somewhere warm for the next season. And here I am.
Digging my pink painted toes deep into the warm sand, I experience once again that familiar twinge in the pit of my stomach. The sadness that won’t let me be. I can see him. I can feel him. His strong embrace. How safe I had believed myself to be in his arms. I foolishly thought it would last forever. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the mental picture, but it insists on returning, along with the accompanying sorrow. And now here I sit on this beautiful beach of chamois-soft white sand with my chin on my knees and my arms around my legs and tears once more sliding down my cheeks. Crying shamelessly on a beach most people refer to as Paradise. This grieving has to end sometime. It just has to. The empty aching won’t leave me alone, and there are days I want to lie down and die just to make the hurting finally stop.
But I can’t lie down and die, because there is still work to be done. My job here isn’t finished yet.
“Suck it up, sweetie.” I speak these words out loud. “There’s lots of people hurting much more than you, so get over yourself and find someone to encourage.”
At that last voiced admonition, I’m on my feet and dusting myself off. I pick up my discarded flip flops, give them a good shake, and make my way back to my car, sinking into the sand with each footstep, leaving a visible trail of where I’ve been and where I’m going. I only live a few miles from the beach, so it’s a short drive.
I look in the car’s rearview mirror, dry my eyes, now puffy and red from my weeping, put my sunglasses on, then give my head a good shake and force a smile at myself in the mirror. Just breathe. One last nod of my head, and I’m heading back to my new home.
The gentle and mesmerizing sounds of the emerald water swooshing in and then retreating, over and over, is always soothing to my spirit so I come to the beach to sit for a while as often as I can. Or I stroll along the water’s edge with the white foam tickling my feet letting the sounds and the smells and the gently sinking sun whisper peace to my soul. I can feel myself healing down deep where it matters.
The good thing is, I’ve stopped losing weight, and have actually put a few pounds back on. Before I moved, my weight kept dropping and I had no appetite. My stress level had apparently reached its limit and I hit the wall – physically and emotionally. I couldn’t eat for days and then didn’t want to eat. No desire. No cravings. At least for food. My desire and cravings were for him. I think they call that being heartsick.
Love has a scent. It is rain in the air. It is wildflowers in the field. It is
life pushing through the dirt.
The crack and pungent burning of a close lightning strike.
A screaming gale-force wind hurtling freshly broken branches into
the maelstrom.
It is beautiful and gentle and rough by degrees with passion and wanting
and satisfying.
A complete relinquishing and total possession mutually given, mutually
accepted.
My happily ever after, so far, isn’t so happy or ever after. And my memories in turn comfort and haunt me all at the same time until I fear I will go mad.
But enough of that. It’s a beautiful day here, and God has provided for me a place of refuge and a new beginning. So no more tears. No more feeling sorry for myself. Time is passing much too quickly to waste it on regrets and sadness.
I am truly looking forward to a new ministry with plenty of opportunities to use my gifts.
The most important thing I’ve learned recently, though, is this – I can only use my gifts in His strength, because it has been made abundantly clear to me that I have none of my own.
So, armed with my most recent lessons, and feeling my strength returning once again –
Onward and upward!
♡