This week meant forcing myself to apply an article I wrote, do a bit of art therapy while listening to songs I don’t know how to believe, and gutting it out because the emotional dizziness always gets better eventually.
This week meant catching my breath in the space made by support system and precious preschooler, feeling pride to keep my footing as well as I did, even if no one else could see how hard a battle I fought.
It’s midnight in the ER. I lie hooked up to heart monitors with one nurse drawing blood while another tries to place an IV. After months of regular IVs I should be used to the procedure, but I’m dehydrated. Five unsuccessful sticks later they go for the inside of my wrist on that pulsing blue vein. I nearly hit the ceiling….
I’m dancing with my grandfather at one of my brother’s weddings. I’m rarely happier or feel more alive than when dancing with a good partner, but tonight our subject matter is grim. He promises to help me figure out the confusing web of lawyers and divorce paperwork I’d just been hurled into. A sharp stab in my chest pushes out a few tears. I bite my lip until it bleeds. I will not cry about my divorce at my brother’s wedding.
How has God spoken through pain to you? What did it feel like?