I’ve gotten comfortable.
I’m not desperate. I’m happy. My kids are older, they’re sleeping through the night, and they mostly play nice. I’ve got a good husband who watches our children at least twice a week in the afternoon after work so I can write. Or buy candles. (It’s a thing).
Also? I haven’t been depressed in a long time, which is just light.
And right there, between sleeping and getting away and experiencing light, I forgot. Even though I wrote a book about it, I forgot.
But then I got a letter this morning, and it reads like so many letters I get. So many, in fact, that I started tuning out because I got overwhelmed. Because I can’t help everyone, but I want to.
This is a portion of the letter:
“I don’t know what to do and I feel like I’m drowning…They are the most willful, difficult kids I’ve ever known. When we visit friends who have kids the same age the difference is night and day. I do my best not to compare, but I can tell that my girls are much more… um. Spirited….I am so, so alone. My husband helps when he’s home but often works 13 hour days, and I don’t understand it, but I cannot seem to find any girlfriends…I have tried everything I can think of…I don’t want to do this mothering thing by myself, and my heart is breaking, and I am so lonely. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to find my solace in our Savior right now, but I am so desperate for community and real bonds.”
For the first time in a long time I wrote back. Because I don’t want to be the person who forgets, or ignores it. And what I said to her I want to say to you:
I wish I could reach out to each of you individually, invite you to coffee, watch your children, be your friend, make you cake. Because I would. I hate that you are so lonely and so discouraged. I know you’re just tired, and overwhelmed, and you’re doing your best with what you’ve got. Oh mama, hang on. Hang on. It doesn’t sound like much, but I want you to know I will pray for you. I will. And I’m hoping with you and for you for a friend, and for light and for encouragement, because what you are doing matters so much. And you, you matter. You matter to me and you matter to God and you matter to those little ones in your care. As Kat says, you are kind of a big deal.
So I know I can’t be there for you personally the way I’d like to, but I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to pray for you by name. Would you leave a comment with how you need prayer? If you don’t leave your name, that’s okay, I’ll whisper on your behalf anyway. I’ll be up early interceding for all of you who leave a comment.
I waited and waited and waited for God.
At last he looked; finally he listened.
He lifted me out of the ditch,
pulled me from deep mud.
He stood me up on a solid rock
to make sure I wouldn’t slip.
He taught me how to sing…
Psalm 40:1-3, The Message
There’s one more thing I can do for you, and I’ll tell you all about it on Tuesday. If you don’t want to miss the post, you might want to consider signing up to receive my posts via email; you can do that here.
Keep on, friend, keep on.
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