Brave Face

Since our little Lex is often mature beyond her years and also quite the trouper about a lot of things, I find that I am actually surprised at times when she has a normal, kid-like reaction to something that I didn't expect would upset her. 

A few days ago. Alexa came home with a scrape on her knee. She had fallen on the sidewalk at school on her way to lunch and her knee was slightly banged up. She told me about it after school and I offered a hug and my sympathies, and didn't think too much else about it. Later that night, as I was putting her to bed, she brought it up again. This time she told me that, not only had the falling upset her, but none of her friends had asked her if she was okay after it happened. Again, in a rush to get her to bed, as I usually am, I offered her a little validation and then got ready to turn off the light. As I turned to walk out of the room, I heard her quaky little 6-year-old voice say, "I tried really hard not to cry when I fell. Like really, really hard."

Oh, my sweet brave girl.

 I immediately felt regret for not taking more time to talk with her about what had happened; for not letting her tiny heart grieve and sigh the way that it needed to grieve and sigh. Because she always does so well, always exhibits such bravery in the face of life's little trip-ups, I never even imagined that she'd feel the need to cry this time. I never thought that she'd want to cry about something that seemed so small to me.

And then I thought, maybe there are many times that she wants to cry, but puts on a brave face instead. Maybe I only think that things aren't bothering her only because she doesn't show that they do.

And then I thought some more.

About all of the people who manage put on a brave face when what they really need is to curl up into a ball and have a good, long, body-shaking cry. About all of those who manage to tramp through life with a smile and even a helping hand, precisely at the moment when their own hearts are shuddering and shaking from pain, splitting in two, invisible from the unsuspecting world. About those who spend the majority of their minutes and their days, trying, "like really, really hard," not to cry, no matter how the tears may be building up behind their weary eyes.

And I say to them:

Good Job, you brave souls. Way to climb out of bed every day and keep it together. Way to somehow function even when you feel like you can barely stand. Way to bear the weight of the world--and more--and still love and serve and give to those around you. You are doing it, and you are amazing.

And I also say:

Go ahead and cry.

You'v earned it.

You deserve it.

We'll be here with the Kleenex when you're ready.

It's time.