Ten months that I’ve lived without my husband and best friend.
My children have survived.
Apparently, we’re survivors.
It brings back to mind how so many people would comment to me that I was “So strong.” I’ve come to hate that phrase. I’ve said that I would punch the next person in the face that said that to me.
(No, I wouldn’t actually punch someone in the face, but that’s how much it frustrates me.)
Because I’m not strong. Not even close. I want to runaway sometimes. I want to be in Heaven with Jesus and my husband. I want to stay in bed all day and pretend I’m having a bad dream.
I’m not strong.
Jesus is my strength in my profound weakness.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is…
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