My health was compromised. Aside from making it to church last Sunday, I was confined to my bed for seven days. My only food option was saltines with peanut butter, because I couldn't stomach anything else. The smell of leftovers warming in the microwave made me sick. Me having to get up to warm the leftovers made me even sicker.

I was nauseous and in pain. I was sad, helpless and hopeless. For seven days. They were filled with tears, love, prayer and saltines - none of which seemed to be doing me any good. I didn't know what to do and I didn't know how long it would take for me to figure it out.

In its early stages, I was positive that I'd come out of this. I knew this journey through hell would be short. But the more days that passed, the more I felt myself traveling deeper into a tunnel. I saw the lights dim before I could see an exit sign. What I thought would be a short trip, turned into an extended stay.

I didn't know if I'd done something wrong for my body's reaction to be as severe as it was. I didn't know whether God was teaching me a lesson or the enemy was trying to take me out. I didn't know why it was happening or how I could make it stop. I was stuck in the middle of the fire, hearing my yells echo against cement walls. I heard my sobs bounce around the space, tormenting me. I was in the middle of a 150 degree tunnel, with no air, and had no idea how much longer it'd be before I was rescued.

What we often forget, though, is that the deeper you go into a tunnel, the closer you get to its exit. The more you walk toward the other side, the closer you get to it. While I had to let go of my entrance - I truly had no choice - in the middle of the tunnel I lost it. I didn't see the light on either side of me. I had nothing to run back to, and no idea how long it would take me to get to the other side. I completely ignored the joy that should've come with knowing there would be an end, and sat in the severity of feeling lost. Feeling incomplete. Feeling like I was never going to escape the pain I was experiencing.

That may be you, too. You may have traveled through a dimly lit tunnel with no sign of an end; no hint at a finish line. Shoot, you may be in your tunnel right now, desperately screaming to get out. You may be tired, your feet may hurt and your faith may be lost. You may have given up, copped a squat and have been trying to find a way to get comfortable right where you are. You may be approaching your tunnel and are afraid to step in. You're nervous to see how deep it is and are fearful you may never come out. 

This is why I'm here, because for some odd reason God wants me to inspire you from my seven day lesson.

There's an end to every tunnel. That's what makes it a tunnel. It's a passage. It's a space for you to pass through, not stay in. The tunnel is not your forever, it merely takes you from one side to the other. There's an entrance and an exit. There's a beginning and an end; and sometimes there's a light to guide you through it.

There's an end to every tunnel, and no matter how long you feel like you've been traveling through it, the exit is near. My mother's mantra is: you're closer now than you've ever been. You, Queen, are close. Keep walking toward that exit. This is not your forever. You're almost there.

—

I find encouragement in truth. In vulnerability. In sharing my uncensored stories. While trying to get you to dive into your faith, I'd be remiss if I ignored the many falls I have in mine. The journey won't always be beautiful. I won't always be the perfect model; I am not perfect. But I do hope for my reality to help create, shape and inspire yours. I don't suggest anyone to lose faith during critical moments, but I acknowledge that it does happen. I acknowledge that it is not always easy to keep a cool head and a sound mind. I pride myself in speaking nothing but my truth to you; which is why I chose to share with you some of my weak moments. If you took what was truly intended of this post, you'd understand that through my wavering faith, God still rescued me. You can now understand that there's an end to every tunnel, and this story —as well as your own — can be the testament of that.