Slam. Another wave of grief. A torrent of heartbreak, ripping me apart. Another weight shouldered as someone confides their pain to me. I hold back the tears until I’m alone, and then I shake with sobs, unsure I can handle another drop of pain.

Why? Why this after I’ve faced so much? My scars are still healing, they can’t yet withstand pressure or exposure. I feel rubbed raw. For so long, I buried myself in a protective metal cacoon, but now I’m trying to step out into the daylight and all I feel are waves of pain slapping me in the face.

Tonight, my friend texted me a quote from The Waltons, “Yes, we fall. But they can’t count us out until we stop getting back up.”

I don’t want to hurt again. I don’t want to break again. I don’t want to fall again. Because I might not get up again. 

Don’t get me wrong. I want to fight. In a lot of ways, I’m ready to lash out against the darkness of this world that has pummeled me for so long. But I’ve seen enough to know that it won’t be without consequences. Though through Jesus I am already a victor and I have incredible power within me, I know that there is going to be some whiplash. The enemy isn’t going to go down without a fight.

While I’m powerful in God, I’m weak in my flesh. I’m human. And while I’m not supposed to be, I’m afraid. There. I said it. Those two words hold too much power over me. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of more pain. I’m afraid of losing people I love. I’m afraid of losing my abilities or mental stability and functioning.

I feel called to lead a life that means taking some risks. Health-wise. Relationship-wise. And otherwise. But with how broken chronic illness left me, I don’t know if I can handle it. Now is the time to count the cost, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the cost when the time comes. If there is one thing chronic illness has taught me it’s how strong I am — and just how weak and fragile I am physically, mentally, and emotionally.

In my most honest self-evaluation, I don’t know if I can live the life I feel God calling me to, serving the people I feel Him laying on my heart. I do know I can survive it — I think. But handle it? I have serious doubts. It could potentially be a steep cost.

The thing is — God can handle it. Even if I can’t, He can. Even if my flesh is weak, I’ve watched Him carry me through some impossible situations already, and sure, I have scars, but I know He can do it and even bring good out of it. I am struggling so much with this, but I want to trust Him to carry me and bring good no matter what danger I may face in the future.

I know He can pick me up when I don’t have the strength to get back up alone. This is hard. It is so hard to know that I am going to get to a place where it’s all too much for me again. It’s hard to know that if I want to fight these battles there are going to be bumps and bruises on the way. It’s hard to choose to accept the pain that might come. The pain that is inevitable for a human in this fallen world.

But I want to choose to trust. Jesus, help me choose to trust. Help me to understand the beauty that is so far beyond this world and its momentary troubles. Lord, give me the courage to look the cost in the face and still step forward into what You have called me to do. Into “YES.” Lord Jesus, please give me the courage You know I need. Take my baby faith and make it crazy faith!

This morning, I happened to read Romans 8. It’s a good passage if you’re lacking courage. It talks about living in the Spirit — not the flesh. (Ouch.) It talks about being set free. (Please!) And it talks about Love. About how NOTHING, none of the suffering, is even comparable to the glory that will be revealed in us.