How to be broken Revision (AKA How to be happy)

So here I sit. Completely... happy. 

You know, I knew it would be alright. I knew it would be the most trying thing thrown at me thus far in my life, and I knew I would get through it. I could feel it in every fiber of my being while I prayed. I guess, I just had this undying hope that it would happen sooner, faster. And that hope consumed me.

So here I am to write it out. And the "how to" format seems to have escaped me for two years now as I look at the keyboard. How could I talk about the lessons I learned as if it were simple enough to write a guide to? I couldn't, and can't still, explain any of it accurately enough. I don't even know how to describe it. Where would I start? Would I begin with explaining what it's like to think the Lord has abandoned you completely? Or do I begin by first explaining the answers I received much later? Or maybe I could just start explaining the way it feels to sit in a car and pray and pray and wonder when the answers are going to come or the love is going to be felt or the trial is going to be over. See what I mean? I have no idea where to start.

I've cried harder than I've ever thought possible. I've hurt more than I thought I would.
And I wouldn't take any of it back.

Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I probably hated it at the time. That's usually how it goes. Although, I don't anymore. Not like I used to. But I understand now how it worked for my life. How it aided the overall plan. But there's something about the way it felt that nothing else had ever felt like before. Like part of me was missing. I thought maybe it was my left leg. Then realized that no, maybe just the left lung. That's what was making it hard to breathe. But in reality, it was my testimony that was missing. My faith in His plan. 

I did learn something from it then. That I'm my own person and I should rely on myself and no one else. That life moves on. That the Lord knows what He's doing. That faith is all it takes sometimes. That time passes even when you don't move. That life is lived better outside of my bed.

I didn't feel like I was learning anything except for that I would never be good enough. But I've reached that level of goodness that I want in my life. Not perfect, no. But a level I'm content with now and a level that is a good enough foundation.

So yeah. I moved on. But I didn't want to. I wanted to miss everything. I want to feel it. I wanted my life to stand still.
But that was my time to be sad. So heartbreakingly sad. (My computer still thinks heartbreakingly isn't a word. I'm still fairly sure it is.) But I was on the mend without even knowing. Life moves on.

And for now, I'm gonna go crawl in bed and dream of days that are waiting on my horizon. And when I wake up, I promise to appreciate every moment that I breathe a thousand times more than I did today. But if I forget my promise... I'll repeat this process again tomorrow night. Maybe one day I'll remember that I am loved.
And I am happy.