The first time I visited Texas, I was beyond shocked that a cactus was an actual plant. I was stunned to see them in front yards, on sidewalks, and on roadways. I even made my sister take a photo of me standing in front of one so that I could prove it was real to my friends back in Nashville. "Look at what they have in Texas. This is crazy, right? These are real, I swear!"
Then I moved to Texas and I learned that a cactus is very real. And pretty much everywhere you look. Their presence became less of an excitement but more of a daily sight. And the enthusiasm I had in seeing them throughout the landscape dwindled as life pushed me to admire their beauty less and take on their characteristics more. With every failure, closed door, and broken heart I put my guard up. You're always told to look at a cactus but never touch. And that's exactly what I did. I never let anything get too close. And if I let my guard down and they did: one of us was getting hurt. They say that the cactus flower signifies the loneness of the desert. And as someone that was more content alone- safeguarding those around me from my flaws, faults, shortcomings and failures- I was more like a cactus than I ever thought. And I held this ideology for a long time. It became a part of who I was and I didn't even know it.
Then, one bitterly cold February morning in Fort Worth, time stopped at 6:13AM on a frozen interstate.
I can't talk about that day. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But... that day was a turning point. That day was life changing. That day broke me. I became a shell of a human. I looked in the mirror and I didn't know who I was or what the reflection was supposed to be looking back at me. I was numb. I was deafened by silence. I couldn't sit with my own thoughts because they haunted me. And I couldn't close my eyes because what I saw broke me even more. I began to tread water that I could not stay afloat in. I was drowning. And one night on a walk... I realized I was not alone. We were both broken. The mighty cactus that lined my street did not make it through February either. She was laying down. Damaged. Lifeless. And clearly needing help.
And he passed me a note later that day and said, "How can I help you?" And for the VERY first time in my life, I turned down therapy, more medication to numb me further, and a treatment plan. To my own surprise, I asked: "Can I talk with you?" And without hesitation... he agreed.
The conversations we had were honest. They were tough. They were ones that will always stay between us. But as I talked to him, I felt the prickles and spines I had covered myself in as a shield to protect me were too weak. And he handed me a book to read. One we would read together as I had never read it. As I had always thought "I understand this and don't need to read it." But a book I had no knowledge of whatsoever.
He handed me the Bible.
And on April 9th, I began a journey- one chapter at a time- trying to find a new path to understand the things I truly could not understand. The things I had tried to handle with quick fixes and coping techniques that were neither healthy nor fulfilling. Whether a failed engagement in the wake of a police massacre on my birthday in Dallas, a Hurricane so large it brought thousands to a shelter in Fort Worth that drained me, to the man with a gun in a Walgreens, to the virus that took my Grandmother and did it's best to try to take me too. And finally to that frozen interstate with 135 lives forever changed. I turned to running. I turned to my eating disorder. I turned to unhealthy and unsafe ways to cope with pain and confusion.
But for the first time ever, I opened this book to find a way to cope with the pain. And the words I was being introduced to had been there for thousands of years. I just didn't want to listen to them in totality. I now had someone praying for me every morning to understand the words I was hearing and asking God to help him guide me where I needed to go with each new chapter we choose.
I felt myself filling the deafening silence with words of affirmation. I closed my eyes and tried to replace images of carnage with images of miracle that happened that day on I-35.
And then I took that walk once more. And I was overcome with emotion. The cactus was alive. Blooming with flowers. Standing tall again and bright green with life.
The roots of the cactus withstood the frozen February nightmare. She fought through and came out on the other side. Despite the disaster that essentially brought her to her knees and the event that tried to forbid her from rising tall once again- the cactus bloomed. And in looking at her beauty, I cried. She defied the odds.
And I was going to do the same come hell or high water. I was going to find the strength in the words that had been placed before me in a book that's saved lives and entire civilizations. I was going to come out on the other side.
I was introduced to the song, "Look What You've Done" by Tasha Layton. And every word rang true. "The lies I believe... they've got some roots that run deep. I let them take a hold of my life and I let them take control of my life. Standing in your presence, Lord, I can feel you digging all my roots up. I feel you healing all my wounds up. I thought I was broken, but now I see- you were breaking new ground inside of me. Look what you've done."
The roots I had planted firmly in the ground telling me that I was not strong enough to handle the pain of tragedy and trauma on my own. That I was not good enough to be forgiven for the coping mechanisms I used to process the pain. These roots held me down and told me I was completely broken. That I did not stand a chance to once again stand up and say to someone, "I'm going to be ok." With every page I read- side by side with this invaluable friend that answered every question and clarified every hesitation I had about the words I was reading- my wounds were very slowly healing. I was broken but I was broken with purpose.
He, with the capital "H", was making me come to Him in my time of weakness and complete despair and say, "I need you." And new ground was was planted inside of me. With every verse, I was starting to see my reflection in the mirror more and I was starting to feel that the control I had lost of my life in the wake of witnessing such devastation was being given to Him.
And I was slowly starting to stand back up and show life again. I was smiling and it was not forced. I was feeling things and I was not needing to hold people a safe distance away from me because all of the times I had told myself about not being enough, not being strong enough, not being worthy enough... were lies.
So with at least a thousand pages to go, I am far from ending this journey any time soon. But I can drive down I-35 and hold my breath yet know that He is with me. And I can speak to the families of the victims without a trembling voice knowing that He is with them. And I can find strength in my weakest moments when I feel lifeless because He gives me the strength I need when I can't do it on my own.
While the cactus flower may signify the loneness of the desert it also signifies strength. Since it blooms in harsh conditions, cactus flowers also symbolize the power of enduring all things, no matter how hard they are. The days following that frozen morning in February were some of the darkest days I have ever lived through. The conditions were harsh. The heart was broken. There was confusion and anger. There was no light and there was no hope.
And then I opened a book.
"Be on guard. Stand firm in the faith. Be courageous. Be strong. And do everything with love." 1 Corinthians 16:13.
And these words I will follow because while my heart may be a cactus, it no longer strives to keep people at a distance to protect them from my flaws, faults and failures. It is strong, overcoming and capable of all things through Him who gives me strength.
