The Tears of the (Not So) Heroic   2 comments

Yesterday, two women told me I was their hero.  I returned last week from a two-week, solo road trip, and these women found the fact that I took this trip – camping and driving over 2,000 miles on my own – to be heroic, something they would never undertake themselves.  But while I appreciate the compliment, I must say I’m not really heroic.

You see, I learned a while back that since I am unpartnered at this moment and perhaps, if God sees it to be best, for the rest of my life, I have to do things on my own if I’m going to do them at all.  This may seem like a heroic choice, one made by a strong woman.  Things are not always what they seem.

What these women did not see is that I cried almost every day on that trip.  I cried because I was lonely.  I cried because I don’t have children.  I cried because I miss my friends.  I cried because, well, for reasons I don’t even know.

The fact is that I cry most every day even when I’m at home.   I cry because I don’t have a job that gives me purpose in every day and because I want my writing to give me that purpose.  I cry because I miss my mom with a fierceness that I hope both will and will not subside.  I cry because a possum got squashed by the bbq place on the road.

There is a sadness in me these days that wells up and spills over.  I can’t pinpoint exactly the source of the sadness, but I can say this – it’s not the sadness of the heroine before she saves the day.  It is also not the sadness of the hopeless woman who decides to take to her bed and give in.  This is another kind of sadness – I think it may be the sadness of healing.  It is, perhaps, that I need to cry these tears as a release that lets the Healer of my soul step into the places where they had gathered in pools.

There is a reason we are told that God’s strength is made perfect in our weakness.  I am not that strong.

So, please don’t think me a hero.  Instead, think I am making the best of the life I have been given and think, more than anything, that I am loved by the one who catches my tears as precious diamonds and drinks them as God’s own.  Think this of yourself, too, and then go out and do what you think you cannot do.  Drive 2,000 miles.  Camp alone.  Keep on walking when the tears come.  You are loved.  You are deeply loved.


2 responses to “The Tears of the (Not So) Heroic

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  1. This touched my heart, Andi.

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