Endure

 

 

Being brave certainly doesn’t come easy to me. Or anyone I know. Not really. I’m great at acting brave as so many are but I certainly don’t look at myself and say, “ Hey, look at that brave chick!” For a long time I wasn’t even sure what bravery meant to me. Then, with a little divine intervention, dictionary help, and a foreign language, I finally figured it out.

 

It all started with a Sunday School Lesson on “enduring to the end.” It’s a nice sentiment, right? I thought so too. Until a bilingual friend of mine pointed out to me that “endure to the end” translated to Spanish is:

 

“Perseverar hasta el fin.” (Or something along those lines according to Google. I still don’t speak Spanish.) Perseverar. Persevere. After that a thought began working on me and so, once home, I pulled out my handy Webster’s dictionary and looked up both words.

 

en·dure (en door’, in-) v. [[< L durus, hard]] 1 to hold up under (pain, etc.) 2 to tolerate, to continue; last, 3 to bear pain without flinching

 

per·se·vere (pur’se vir’) v. [[< L per-, intens. + severus, severe]] to continue a course of action in spite of difficulty, opposition etc.

 

Then that thought that had been trying to break free exploded and I had a revelation. Endure and persevere, both action words with similar meanings, had two very different meanings to me.

 

Endure-to hold on while you’re dragged through the mud, to hold on when

life is turned upside down, to hold on when you are no longer in control.

To tolerate, continue, and last.

 

Persevere- to take a hold of the reins when you’re dragged through the mud,

to kick butt when life is turned upside down, to take control of what you can

when life is calling the shots. To continue your course of action in spite of

every bump, hiccup, and trial.

 

This revelation came at a time in my life when I was merely enduring to the end. I had recently found out that the baby growing inside of me, a little girl, had a major heart defect called hypoplastic left heart syndrome, essentially half a heart. I had turned into a ticking time bomb, that once exploded, would turn our life into a whirlwind of fear, doctors, uncertainty, and a family torn between hospital and home. I was living day to day dreading the future, knowing there was nothing I could do to save my baby. Because of this knowledge, the feelings of helplessness took over and I began coasting through life, just letting each day drag me along for the ride. Wake up, get ready, take care of my oldest, take care of hubby, get ready, cry, bed. I was doing the bare minimum. My oldest was happy, so I don’t consider myself a complete failure during that time in my life. But Iwasn’t happy. And that had to change.

 

 

Then, on that one spectacular Sunday, I had my little wake up call. Enduring to the end was not going to be enough for our family during this journey. We, and especially me, were going to have to persevere to the end. I wasn’t going to stand there and “bare pain without flinching” any longer. I was going to take that pain, kick it in the butt, and take action. As a praying woman, I began to pray with more meaning and more faith. I swallowed some of my pride and did something that has always been difficult for me. I reached out to those I knew could help. I cleaned my house, I packed our bags, and I went and, as bravely as I could, had this baby who would not be safe outside of me.

That one word “persevere” changed my entire outlook on our situation. Yes, I was still scared. Yes, I still had emotional breakdowns at least once a week. Yes, I still had no idea how I was going to do this. But, by taking those few small actions, I found the strength within me to do what I needed to. Even through the fears, tears, and uncertainty I was happy, at peace, and (somewhat) ready for what would come.

 

 

I would be lying if I told you that I continued to persevere. Multiple times I fell back into enduring. Living from second to second, clinging on to any lifeline that was thrown my way. The depression and fear were too strong and I didn’t have the energy to take action. I didn’t have the energy to do anything other than make sure my baby was still breathing. But I would eventually reach that lowest low and pull myself up, put on my big girl pants and face life with a, “Heck no!” and try to show life who’s boss.

 

 

Bravery comes in so many different forms and is different for every woman. My own bravery came when I found this little vocab lesson (or it found me) and I was able to take action in my life. Persevering still comes hard to me. When life gets too real I still struggle to keep my course of action but I keep trying. I know sometimes I’ll just endure, and that’s okay too. But I know that if I persevere to the end I can do hard things.

 

 

*If you’re curious, my baby is now doing great. It was a bumpy road at first but she just celebrated her first birthday and if it weren’t for a few scars, you would never be able to tell she only has half a heart.

 

Guest Post from: Sarah Turley

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