Alrighty Then - What Next? (Part 5))

Hello, all. Hope your day is faring well. Let's get to the business at hand, shall we?

We have been dealing with one of my new heroines, Zaniah, who has been thrust into the midst of a horrific storm. Sometimes, we find ourselves thrust into the midst of horrific storms, though maybe not of the magnitude of Zaniah' storm. What we have to do, is push on, even if we have to move like a robot on automatic pilot. Sometimes, we don't have enough of anything left except to say, "Lord, I give up. I can't do this any more." You know, those times when you react to whatever stimulus is put before you, those times when you have to just lean on tomorrow, those times when you say, "What next? Surely, this is enough." You know those times when you say, "I am not a Job and I have had enough."  Most of us have had those times, you know. Somebody once said, "It is in the valleys that I grow." Then I can hear another voice say, "Then according to my valleys, there is no more room for my faith to grow; there is nothing else left for me to show."

Yet, when we get broken down to nothing and are just shuffling along the roads of faith, looking for the intersection of happiness and joy so that we can turn the corner and never look back on "Used To Street" again, we weep when we are sent relief. It's like a new tender treasure and we don't even want to breathe hard for fear of upsetting the "apple cart" again. Anybody here know what I am talking about? I'm sure that some of you do.  I imagine that Zaniah, tough little scrapper that she is, is beginning to think somewhere along those lines, you know?

Zaniah lay in the bed, with tears coursing down her cheeks. She was crying, not because she had her leg elevated, nor because she had been violated, not because she didn't have a brother, sister, mother, daddy, aunt, uncle, cousin, etc. to be by her bedside, but because she had to go through recuperating from all of this as a person with Cerebral Achromatopsia (color blindness). She just could not take it. So, she cried. She didn't care who saw her crying; she didn't care about anything. She wondered why she could not have summoned super human effort and beat those *+x!*^! into pulps before they left her in the shape that she was in now. She knew that she could only count on self and she had let herself get soft and had let herself down. She remembered when she had fought ten in the orphanage off with only a broken rib to show for it.  The others had not fared as well. There had been black eyes, collapsed lungs, broken bones and concussions, to boot. She had wielded that broken mop handle like a ninja assassin. She had been so proud of her prowess as a "Fight my way out of the corner combatant." Then why had her skills deserted her? Why! It was because she had gotten soft, that's why. Well, no more softness. She was going to look out for number 1. But first, she had to get through rehab and learning about how to tell things apart. She would make it and she didn't need anybody else, nobody! Not even sappy, Mr. Woodward.

Doing What I Can, While I Can,
Alma Jones

Aside - Zaniah is having a real good pity party right now, and deservedly so. Let's leave her be for a spell. We will check in on her later today or maybe on tomorrow.