I’ve been buried.

The weight of the dirt is pressing hard against my skin.

I feel bruises forming but in true ‘tough girl’ fashion, I pull hard to hold in the tears and fight to stand against the pressure.

The earth sticks and cakes my lungs with mud as I breathe deep and will myself to keep going.

“I am Iron Man!” I repeat to the masses in hopes they won’t learn of my weakness.

Still, the charade is up and I fear I’m exposed, insufficient and lowly.

The lifter of my head leans low

Reminding me I wasn’t designed to carry the weight of the world on my Gumby shoulders.

His strength in weakness perfected, lifts me from the mire, clothes me in white and I remember to breathe Him in.

I lay my head upon His shoulders and all at once, I see the sky.