I’ll never forget the day of my dad’s funeral.
I was slated to deliver one of two eulogies in his honor. Never had I felt so depleted—physically, emotionally or spiritually. As the service progressed, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to walk to the front of the church, much less deliver my remarks without the onslaught of tears that accompanied all my rehearsals.
At the time, I was awaiting my second back surgery, which I’d postponed for two weeks so I could travel to the service. I was barely able to stand or walk, except during occasional, short-lived, reprieves from medication.
It seemed my turn to speak to the crowded church would never come. With each passing moment, the nerve pain in my left leg was increasing and I felt more and more unequipped for the task.
I was at the end of myself.
My 8-year-old son sat next to me on the hard, wooden pew. I leaned over to him and whispered, “Mommy has to walk up to the front soon, and I don’t want to make a scene or have people know how much pain I’m in. I want to honor Grandpa, and keep the focus on him. I need to walk tall and be strong throughout my whole speech. I need you to pray for me from the moment I get up all the way until I get back to my seat. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll pray Mama. I’ve got you, and so does God. You can do this.”
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[reminder]Have you ever been at the ‘end of yourself’? What helped you get through?[/reminder]