"All I can do is keep breathing."

When I was laboring with Henry, I unknowingly held my breath with each contraction. No one noticed until the midwife-from-heaven arrived.  Her face close to mine, her words gentle but firm, she instructed, "When you hold your breath, you tense everything in your body. Look at my eyes and keep breathing." 

As long as my eyes were locked onto hers, I remembered to keep my lungs moving. If I squeezed my eyes shut for even a moment, willing the pain away, my breathing stopped. Oh, the irony. What would ease my pain was the very opposite of my natural instinct.

During Advent I shared my recent revelation that sometimes the lifting of pain isn't the miracle; sometimes breathing is the miracle. Later that same day, I learned of the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut. For days afterward I would consider the remarkable fact that parents without children were still waking up each morning. Breathing. Putting one foot before the other. They were the survivors. I prayed earnestly for the survivors to intimately know their Savior in the days ahead, for I knew He was not only the reason they would continue to breathe, but also how they could continue. I prayed they would know this too.

How else can it be explained? When hearts are wounded so deeply that bodies hurt too, how can we explain that bodies continue to live? Only Him.

We do have a choice, though. When pain cripples, anyone can draw their line in the sand and say, "Enough." Anyone can withdraw, fold inward, and attempt to block the hurt. Anyone can, in fact, decide to end it all. 

Only the wise keep their eyes on Him, and He reminds us to breathe through - that we can breathe through.

Have you been tempted to draw your line? I have. I've flirted with the notion to stop caring. To stop feeling. If I close myself to others, I won't hurt, right? Just as I squeezed my eyes with each contraction, I've wanted to squeeze out the sources of my pain. And please don't misunderstand; I am not cured of this. I'm not talking about some time long ago. No, as recently as last week I've been tempted to grow cold.

But I've kept my eyes where they need to be, even through the contraction. Yes, Lord. I'll keep breathing. I don't know how to do this anymore and you have to do it for me, but I'll keep breathing. I'm tired of crying tears onto my closet floor, Lord, but I know you see every one.

The key isn't not to feel. If we can't feel the bad, then we can't feel the good either. It's not an either-or equation but a both-and. The key is to fall on the One who has already felt it all and feels it now, alongside you. 

Look in His eyes. Keep breathing.

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title from Ingrid Michaelson's beautiful song