You walk out the door just as quickly as you can, but everyone longs to say hello.

They want to give an update, express a need, ask a question because after all, you’re suppose to have them and always seem to care.

Yet all you want to do is get out of sight, out of mind, out of earshot, to let the tears fall.

That one sentence. That one image.

Brought back all the pain, all the turmoil, all the brokenness that you work so hard to hide.

Most days, you don’t even think about it anymore.

It’s been so long now. The memory has faded for so many. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen.

If they all forget, is it now just a made up story in your mind? Not many know the whole truth anyway.

Would it make a difference? No. Not really.

It’s not their story to know. Some of it’s not even yours to repeat.

So, you walk a little slower to appear engaged. You smile and answer the request as needed and cast a caring look their way.

It’s not their fault you were triggered. They had no idea. The knife was invisible. And they don’t deserve for you to wield it.

But it still pierced. It still made you bleed.

So, you turn and resist the urge to run. You resist the compulsion to loose it right there in the parking lot.

You hold it all in and let the tears flow freely once darkness of night has shadowed you from sight.

And that’s when He walks in. That’s when He does His best work.

He lifts you from the ashes and dries your rosy cheeks. He holds you close and reminds you whose you are.

And then, He shines your armor and picks up your sword.

And offers you to join Him for the battle once more…

…weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Matthew 5:3-4