“The Rise and Fall of It All”

Some days, it feels like life is daring you to break.
The heaviness seeps in,
settling into your bones like it was always meant to be there,
wrapping its fingers around your ribs
and squeezing until even breathing feels like surrender.  

You’ve stood at the edge of the morning,
watched the sun crawl across the sky
and wondered how light could exist
in a world so suffocatingly dark.
I see you.
I see your tired eyes and shaking hands,
your silence louder than any scream could ever be.

The truth is, life is not soft.
It is jagged edges and broken glass,
sharp corners that bruise and bleed.
It tears through you,
leaves pieces of you scattered in places
you’ll never go back to.

But even in the wreckage,
there is something else.
A flicker, faint as the whisper of wind
through cracked windows.
A pulse that says,
“Not yet. Not today.”

So start small.
Take one breath—
not for the world,
but for you.
For the way the air feels,
cool against your lips.
For the way your heart beats,
steady despite everything trying to stop it.

Look for the tiny, fragile moments:
The way a song wraps around you like a blanket.
The way the rain smells,
like the earth is crying with you.
The way the stars stay steady,
even when the night feels endless.

You don’t have to heal all at once.
You don’t have to rise like a phoenix every time you fall.
You’re allowed to stay broken,
to let the cracks remain.
You’re allowed to sit in the dark
until you’re ready to reach for the light.

And when you are ready,
when your hands stop trembling
and the weight feels just a little lighter,
take one step.
Even if it’s small, even if it’s shaky—
take it.

Because life will not wait for you to love it.
It will not soften its blows
or offer you easy answers.
But if you keep moving,
keep breathing,
you might find that, somewhere along the way,
there is beauty.

Not the kind you see in perfect pictures
or hear in carefully crafted words.
But raw beauty—
imperfect, fragile, achingly real.

And that beauty will remind you:
Even when you fall,
even when the darkness closes in,
you are still alive.
And as long as you are alive,
there is always more waiting for you.

By WhovianPastor

I am the pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ in Belleville, Illinois. I have a Master's of Arts degree in Instructional Strategies as well as a Master's of Divinity degree from Eden Theological Seminary. I am currently working on my Doctorate of Ministry degree. I live with my husband, Shea, and our dog Ivy. I love all things geeky and nerdy. Crafting and theology are my love languages.

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