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The Light That Never Fails

The Light That Never Fails

 There’s a fire in every one of us. It flickers, flames, crackles, but it’s never the same flame twice. I suppose what I’m saying is that we change day to day. Sometimes, the strength of our flame is decided by our every day. Other times, it seems to be dampened or invigorated for reasons beyond us, AKA getting out of the bed on the wrong side.

 

Lately, I’ve noticed there’s been a one-way exit out of the side of my bed, and it’s not the right one. I just don’t feel like me. In fact, I seem to be accompanied by an old, familiar foe of mine – depression.

 And I ask myself, “WHY?!” If me from 10 years ago had seen me now, she’d think I had it all – and the remarkable thing? I do. I finally have the business that only existed in my dreams for so long. I fulfill my purpose every day. I make it my business to always point out the light at the end of the tunnel. I remind people that life is tough, but so are they. So why was I feeling so … well … not tough? Why was my light off? How had I got into this tailspin that I just could not pull out of?

 2 weeks had passed, and I hadn’t lit a candle. So I lit one. That familiar crackling hum was like a lullaby for the soul. The beautiful scent? A tonic. In the midst of it all, I found myself thinking, “Hey, I am capable of everything and that it’s okay not to be okay.”

 Staring at this little flame in the jar, I was coming back to reality. Life is never easy – it never was, and it never will be. But it is beautiful. Challenges are a given, and every last one of them is worth it.

 And that brings me to the answer to my “WHY?!”

 My ex-husband died recently. Plain and simple.

 

That’s it. One day to the next, he was gone. All the years of pain, gone in a moment. I thought I might be furious, conflicted, even exhausted. But at the end of it all, I understood. I really did. Our kids and I got to see and talk to him one last time. And as I looked upon this man I once knew so well, who couldn’t look me in the eye while telling me he was sick, shame washing across his face – I forgave. I’m grateful we got to see him one last time. I’d like him to know that I pray that he will rest in peace. But for now, I’m not feeling great, and that’s okay. I’ve got my incredible family here for support, and I know I’ll feel alright again. In the meantime, I think I’ll light a few candles.

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