I have spent my entire life trying to be strong. I'm not talking the "stiff upper lip" kind of strong. Or the internal strength that allows some amazing people to get through things that would have mere mortals melting into puddles their own tears would make. I'm talking about the I-can-run-5-miles-and-not-break-a-sweat kind of strength or the Demi Moore in G.I. Jane kind of strength. For years my goal by the time I hit 30 has been to compete in an Ironman. I mean, how hard can it be. I can run (longest to date is 13 miles...Ironman requires 26), I was a cyclist in college (never did 100 miles like the Ironman, but still...), and I have been swimming since before I could walk (never competitively and never in open water for over a mile). So theoretically, why can't I do all of that..in one day...in the hot Hawaiian heat? Pssh, piece of cake.
In middle school, even into high school, I prided myself on my strength. I would arm wrestle the boys and win, though I wondered why all the boys in my school equated me a dude rather than the girl I'd hoped they'd see. When presidential fitness time came along..you remember that hellish week too don't ya...I would do the boys' requirements because the girls' requirements were too easy. I desperately wanted people to know I was strong. Because if I could bench press a bus, maybe I could translate some that strength inside.
Truth be told I've always felt weak inside. My opinion has always been mailable, and directional compass has rarely pointed due North. I've sat on the fence on so many issues my butt still has splinters. I cry at Hallmark commercials (and the occasional shampoo commerical, but my gosh their hair is so beautiful). Until I met my husband, boys scared the crap out of me. I even wore a t-shirt in high school that said "I Make Boys Cry", I think subconsciously so they'd stay away...it worked.
With all the issues with my brain right now, it's been very easy to continue the thought theme that I am weak, but now I can't exercise my physical strength to compensate. That has been a very tough blow to my already vulnerable ego. I feel like Sampson with a buzz cut. Who am I without a tough exterior?
Fragile
That word popped into my head while I was driving yesterday and I nearly boohooed behind the wheel. At first because, to me, that was just another word for weak, but then God put this amazing image in my head. For our wedding, John and I got this AMAZING crystal vase. At the time, I thought, "what the heck am I supposed to do with this Victorian-looking vase?" It didn't match the rest of our stuff, but I just couldn't keep it in it's box. It was just so beautiful. Every time light hits it it sparkles, sending little rainbows skipping across the walls and ceiling. You have to be careful with it, but have you ever SEEN anyone make glass? Let me clue you in if not, it's done in fires that Satan would sweat in. It's pressed, melted and molded into something beautiful.
Plastic is strong. It's durable. It won't break when dropped. But it won't win any contests for being beautiful either (in fairness, my husband would argue that there IS beauty in function, but it's not his blog). I think I'm learning that it's okay to be fragile. It' take pressure, heat and the breath of life to mold what shines. If you going to be fragile, stand in the light, you'll shimmer and decorate the world with rainbows, the promise of good things to come.
