My fingers glided over the small, wooden jewelry box, tracing the cluster of painted florals that graced the top. I noticed one of the hinges was broken, but that didn’t stop me from gingerly lifting the lid to peek inside to see what treasures lay within.
My body had been sounding an alarm that something was seriously off, and my symptoms were growing increasingly strange. What began as a small rash had grown into an unsettling set of problems: numbness in my toes, tingling in my hands and feet, sharp and quick bursts of nerve pain throughout my body — it felt like my nervous system had been turned up to high. While laying down, my heart would pound and I felt like I was breathing through a filter.
My anxiety was rising as I rifled through every possible place I could think of. After two days of searching, I was still coming up empty-handed. I dug around in the garage, in my junk drawer, in the pile of hardware, in the purse I had worn to the store to measure for a new hinge … everywhere I could think of.
The lovely, innocent-looking teenaged girl fidgeted nervously as she shared her heartbreaking story on camera, hesitantly answering questions posed by an off-screen reporter. The account she shared was true, but so disturbing it was almost hard to believe.
I had reached a breaking point. I felt spent, desperate even. Both my body and soul were at a point of exhaustion. How much longer, Lord?, I cried within.
The late afternoon sun shone joyfully as I hovered over my garden starter trays, seeds cradled in the palm of my hand. It was one of those birth-of-spring days when summer-lovers like me are unwittingly taken by daydreams of summertime dancing through our minds, seemingly gaining momentum with each passing glitter of sunlight.