I Lost An Hour

There was a time I thought the struggle was the story.

The struggle is real.

The battle is real.

The pain is real.

But I do not think that anymore.

Overcoming is real.

Yesterday I lost an hour.

Not twenty one days.

Not weeks in bed.

Not months buried under darkness.

One hour.

One hour where grief, exhaustion, guilt, loneliness, pressure, old wounds, and disappointment all collided inside of me.

One hour where I wanted out.

Not out of life.

Out of pressure.

Out of carrying.

Out of feeling.

Out of being needed.

Out of trying so hard.

I wanted rescue.

I wanted relief.

I wanted someone else to carry me for a minute.

And shame immediately came with its sentence:

"Here you are again."

"Same old Kim."

"Look what came out of you."

But something is different now.

I rose.

I prayed.

I cried.

I breathed.

I got up.

I counted the good.

And this morning I realized something:

I am so much more than my failures.

People may remember old versions of me.

Pain may take snapshots and freeze people in time.

But I am not who I was.

I am not the woman from years ago.

And one bad hour does not erase years of healing.

Still Rising was never built because life became easy.

Mornings at the Cross was never born because I figured everything out.

They were built because every time I fell, Jesus kept lifting me.

The righteous fall seven times and rise again.

Not because they are strong.

Because grace keeps meeting them there.

I used to think the struggle was real.

Now I know OVERCOMING IS REAL!

And yesterday?

Yesterday I didn't stay down.

Because HE rose. I rose!