When I think of strength I think of my daughter. I marvel sometimes how someone who has been through so much in such a short period of time is still able to laugh and enjoy .. just being alive as she does. In the short space of a year and a half she has lost her dad, her home, and almost lost me to a heart attack. She's had to pick up and move away from all of the friends that made her feel special each time she arrived at school and leave behind the comfortable routine that had always been her life.
She has been taking all of this far better than I have. She proved this to me last week as I sat on the floor of my living room, unable to stop myself from just plain crying. I have my moments, I suppose, shameful as they are. She placed her hands on either side of my face and all I could say to her was "I want to go back home. I want your dad to come back". I don't think I'll ever forget what she said next. "Wherever you and I are, it IS home, and Dad is always with us." It's kinda hard to keep crying in the face of such calm logic. Then she smiled, slapped one of her crazy sticker mustaches on me and ran away giggling.
Perhaps this is strength, the ability to keep going in spite of the world that would have you stop.