Sometimes our strength lies in our willingness to break down.
My grandma is the strongest woman I've ever known... and one of the most stubborn women too. She's the best cook and entertainer as well. I have seen her sick but I've never seen her this ill and weak and restless.
I am strong as well, plus i'm this badass woman of God with my faith on a no crease fleek. I get worried but act like it's nothing, because most times I know it's nothing even when it feels like something. I tell myself it is well and I comfort people that it is well as well.
But the day I saw my grandma weak, the day she looked at me and didn't recognise any of us in the room. The day she was treated like a baby, this strong woman whose shoulders we all stand on... the day I saw her helpless even as my faith assured me that she would be back to herself marching to the kitchen and making my favorite soup with the biggest chicken ever. (The last time she sent soup to me, I was overwhelmed by the size of the chicken, maybe it was a giant chicken... Just maybe, because I kept sighing in frustration as I ate wondering how I would go through it. )
Anyway, my faith was on fleek but my heart was breaking, so I refused to be strong for a few minutes. I stepped out of the room and sobbed like a baby. I broke down and then I cleaned my eyes. Removed all evidence of fear and weakness and walked back to mama and my family.
What a relief that cry was. It made me realize that our strength sometimes is in breaking down, giving in to the emotions of pain, but just for a minute. It becomes a weakness when you let that downpour of pain and heartbreak drag you into a pool of selfpity and depression. That little cry strengthened me as I now move around in faith. Spending all day in the hospital and watching IV after IV flowing into her body and jabs of injections piercing her, knowing the doctors are doing their best, but resting in the truth that God's done His best already through Jesus, and that's our hope, our anchor, our faith on wheels, faith on fleek...