I was listening to a song on my way in tonight, and these are the lyrics I heard:
In the girl there's a room
In the room there's a table
On the table there's a candle
and it won't burn out
In the woman there's a song
In the the song there is hope
in the hope revolution
I believe I've blogged about this song before, with a different attitude. Today my spirit is heavy. I'm the girl, and the candle on the table in my room has gone out. I'm the woman, but I cannot sing.
Over the years I have become adept at putting on a happy face and doing what needs to be done, no matter what I am feeling. I have become so good at this, in fact, that I actually become my happy face. The pain and struggles and burdens that I feel are forgotten out of necessity -- things must be done, and I must be the one to do them. There is no time, no room for pain. But when the aching sorrow catches up with me, it hurts even more because I've forgotten about it while I was busy being the happy face.
In a few minutes, the kids will arrive for youth group, and the happy face will settle back into her face, masking my true heart from everyone -- including myself.