Someday something will happen that will take all of your strength to overcome. But you will.

It’ll give you a sharpness, the kind that comes with knowing the bite of pain—like a warrior, who knows his weapon well enough to walk with confidence.

And then, a little down the line, something else will happen.

This time, maybe, you don’t have the same sharpness that bites back at the pain. Instead of biting, the pain skips to trying to swallow you whole.

This time, the fight and tenacity that carried you through before are tools that don’t fit—like holding a hammer when you need a knife.

And that’s when you learn the hard difference between trauma and grief. One is a monster to be fought, conquered, slain. The other an anchor you have to learn to swim with before you drown.

This time, maybe, you don’t have the strength. Your muscles are taut from carrying the thing that came before, and cannot bear anymore. And this something, it weighs more than the world.

But strength can be borrowed.

It’s a hard thing to ask for, but we all run of out it at one point or another. And so this thing that is beyond your grip, your capacity, your ability to hold…it was never yours to shoulder alone.
Jesus has strength to lend in spades. His shoulders are big and broad, strong enough to carry the weight of the world. Your world, too.
And then you just keep walking. Breathing and walking however much it hurts. Until you realize, instead of just hurting, you can borrow other things. Things that seem lost, things you can’t quite muster on your own right now. You can borrow joy. You can borrow hope. You can find love and laughter. From your children, spouse, friends and family.

Day by day.

Until the anchor that was pulling, dragging, yanking—is something you can carry out of the depths, onto dry land.