I sat in "Just brakes" with a room full of people. While we waited for the too-timely fate of our worn-out brake pads, we discussed our own lives. One man sat diagonal from me in a red t-shirt and sweatpants. With his crackly porcelain skin and clear ice-blue eyes, he confided in us strangers about the three heart attacks he had in the past few years. The last and worst one caused him to flat line in the ambulance until he was revived by what he stated was the "grace of God". He was an earnest man and while i received my estimate - which hurt my pockets so much that i could have sworn i heard my pants moan out of pain- he encouraged me to smile.
The heavier set woman sitting inches from me was reading - what i had a strong suspicion to be a cheesy, erotic, romance novel. Yet and still, she exuded warmth through her pale cheeks. She light heartily spoke about her sons. One suffers heavily from PTSD after his time spent overseas in the war. After recounting the times when she barricaded herself in her room out of fear of his "episodes", she compares him to other accounts of the troubled mental instability. "There are plenty of men out there killing their families and/or themselves! I guess i don't have it that bad..." I tried to muster up my best smile possible.
My story could not compare. Or perhaps it could compare. I recounted the things i have dealt with, seen, and experienced. Then it hit me. As we shared life's potholes on the road to peace of heart and mind, we learned to cope. When hearing someone else's story, we think "How can someone deal with such a horrible, trying time?" Nevertheless, these are OUR lives and we have invested more time and thought to these puzzles of ours ... more than anyone else. We learn how to cope . God gives us the strength to cope.