The Day of my 19th year of celebrating my existance has come and gone.

I managed to rush through the day flashing a smile. Inside, I veiled the struggle that's been weighing on my heart strings. I talked a lot. Not mentioning the great struggle once. Not about my nervousness about our marriage. Nor did we discuss the struggle of my existance, as a future wife, employee, student, daughter, sister, jobless stna. I can't get motivated with school. I'm exhausted. I'm worn out. I'm tired. I'm hurting. Struggling.

Beauty in a fathers tears

I've been contemplating an entry about this for the past few days. The other day my father and I sat in our living room discussing wedding plans. I played some songs I want to be included in my wedding. He sat there with his bible, ready for some personal time with God. Reaching the end of our conversation I glanced over and saw a stream of tears flowing down his face. I broke inside, but yet was numb. To me those tears were beautiful, long awaited, and yet painful and uncomfortable. I badly wanted to hug, kiss, and tell him I loved him. But, I held back, afraid to become reconnected with feelings of my earlier years. My mind has pondered the emotions behind those tears since the minute I saw them. Were they sad? Proud? Regrettful? I think this was the first time I was able to honestly see my fathers emotional acknowlegement of me, of the delicateness of my soul. I've longed for this day all my life. But it was sweetly painful.