Learning to Rise

 There are days when the physical pain feels especially heavy.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of my old self. For a few precious moments, I remember what it feels like to move through life without constantly thinking about my body.

Then the pain returns.

My body gently reminds me that I am not healed yet.

In those moments, I find myself reaching for strength once again.

A strength I didn’t know I possessed.

A strength that seems to meet me every time I think I have reached the end of my own.

Years ago, I made a promise to myself.

No matter what life placed in my path, I would always rise.

I have kept that promise.

Not perfectly.

Not gracefully every day.

But faithfully.

That doesn’t mean it has been easy.

There have been days when I felt exhausted.

There were even moments when giving up seemed easier than taking one more step.

Yet somehow, each time, something within me quietly whispered,

“Rise.”

Not because I was fearless.

Not because I was certain everything would work out.

But because hope, however small, refused to leave me.

I have learned that rising doesn’t always look dramatic.

Sometimes rising is simply getting out of bed.

Sometimes it is choosing to pray instead of despair.

Sometimes it is believing that tomorrow might hold a little more light than today.

Perhaps rising isn’t something we do once.

Perhaps it is a lifelong practice.

A decision we make over and over again.

And if my life has taught me anything, it is this:

I may bend.

I may grieve.

I may grow weary.

But by the grace of God, I will continue to rise.

Not because life has been easy.

But because hope has always been stronger than despair.