I Cannot Be Broken

All of the things I've experienced have built the ground upon which I stand at this time.

I am deeply rooted, like an old pecan tree—my roots spanning wide and plunging far beneath the surface towards the core of the earth.

My branches have been broken by trauma, my leaves beaten by the wind and rain of difficulty and strife, my bark stripped by the unrelenting skies of life—leaving me standing here before you, naked—exposed.

How mightily my roots have grown—stronger. My bark has returned, and new branches are growing. At the tips of those branches, tiny leaves are sprouting in the shape of hope.

With my roots so firmly planted in the ground, I have become more flexible—almost fluid.

I cannot be broken.

My arms sway in the wind. My hair whips wildly around my head. I feel the deep-bone chill of cold and the blistering heat of the sun. My skin takes in only what it needs—the rest falls away.

The stronger my roots,

The stronger my soul.

The chaos around me continues.

Inside is silence. Inside is calm.

I cannot be broken.

It is here—in this earth, in this moment—where my home lies.

Here—within me.

Here—in my heart.

I have existed many times, and I will exist many more times.

And yet, I have never before been more present than I am in this moment.

I turn and look at the landscape behind me, and I grieve for all I have lost.

And, I stand in shock—in awe, marveling at the beauty that is my life, the fullness with which I love, and the faith carrying me through darkness I never knew the human spirit could endure.

I am here.

I am now.

I am.