Only the strong survive

I want to show you my feet. I'll make my point in a minute. For now, just take a gander...

They're not my best feature. In fact, they are my worst. And I've often wondered what others think when they look at them... I've felt self conscious about them in the same way one might be of a big pimple on picture day. But today, I am proud of them. They've recently been manicured and filed and pumiced, so I don't know - maybe this picture doesn't do them justice, but I have corns and bunions and this thing on my heel called a Haglund's Deformity. This from 16 years of dance classes, time spent perfecting a talent, and in pursuit of a passion.

I've been in survival mode this week. A little overwhelmed with life in general. I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed yeserday afternoon, deep in thought. Deep in effort to tap into my inner strength. As I stared down at the floor I became momentarily distracted by my workworn feet. And it occurred to me what a symbol of strength they were. Battle wounds. Proof of perservearance.

I suddenly realized that if I am capable of enduring physical pain, of pushing myself a little harder, of building up my stamina, then I am certainly capable of bracing my faith, of standing a little taller and reestablishing my drive and resolve to keep on keeping on. And so I will.