Thus, when my daughter announced she lost a precious toy, AFTER we'd already found it once, because it had already been lost once, and AFTER I'd paraded she and her younger siblings all through the church on that search and then through the parking lot and then squeezed everyone into their carseats (because our behemoth vehicle was tightly parked next to two fellow family-lugging behemoths) and was clicking the last buckle so we could FINALLY get home to daddy, that new wail of, "I lost him again!" might have made me lose it, too.
And I may have been yelling at my six-year-old daughter about making smarter choices, like putting said toy in a pocket or holding it tightly, right in the middle of the church parking lot.
I might have been that mom.
Maybe.
But God is so good. Because even when I'm that mom, I know he's whispering in my ear, "Calm down. I'm still here and I'm still good." And even when I'm kicking myself for failing, once again, to display for my children grace under pressure, I know he's telling me we'll have another chance. This isn't the end. He's not done with me, yet.
Each time this explosive eruption of boiling words comes from within me, I get even more hard on myself remember how so many others have it so much harder when their challenges rise from more than a lost toy, a crying child, or just the repetition of, "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy . . ." There are those battling big things, scary things, things that give one the perfectly good right to lash out at the world around them.
And I wonder how I think I could possibly handle the real storms of life, even with God by my side, when I can't even handle the drizzle.
And this where we die by a thousand paper cuts. Because when the big hurts come, the ones that cause gaping wounds that bleed openly, we tend to those. We see them, we know their cause and we address them. We bind them tightly, we turn to the Healer and we are renewed.
That's not exactly how paper cuts are handled, though, are they? A thin sliver of nothing slices us in just the right way so as to inflict pain, leaving little outward evidence. You can't even see it unless you know where to look. And it's so miniscule it would be laughable to bring it to the attention of a medical professional. Maybe we bandage it, but mostly not. We brush aside, work through the pain and move on. And in our daily lives, we do this again. And again. And again. Until we're covered in wounds that seem so inconsequential, but when added together can make it unbearable.
But God is so good.
He is ready to heal no matter the circumstances. Big and small. We don't need to wait until we lay dying, whether outwardly or in the pain of our souls, to cry out to him. No pain is too small.
And if we can't trust him with the small hurts, when will we decide something is big enough to give over to him? When we're in over our heads? Or curled into a defeated ball of tears? Or, even when our limbs are cut off and we're bleeding helpless, will we still be crying, proudly, defiantly, "It's just a flesh wound!"?
It may be hard in this season of small things, because the world, our lives, our families, don't always allow us to take a break and mend, but we need to recognize our need for the Healer, turn to Him and allow Him to do His work in us. Because He will be faithful to complete it. Even when the papers keep flying.
The other day, I was considering McKayla Maroney, specifically the meme that the gymnast "is not impressed." Remember this moment?
If you don't, or just don't happen to follow the Olympics, about three years ago, this adorable teenage girl gave the most amazing Gymnastic Vault performance anyone had seen. It launched her team to Olympic gold and made her a shoe-in for the next day's individual competition (well, to the viewer with no real background as to what is currently happening in today's gymnastic world - I'm sure to those who actually know who's who in that realm, she had been a shoe-in for much longer). That vault was the entire reason she was in London in the first place. She had one purpose and, for her team, she accomplished that purpose. But the next day, when it was her turn to shine on her own, one slight misstep or muscle twitch was all it took for her to land on the wrong end of those legs and send her slipping back to a silver medal.
And in one day she goes from being known around the world for one thing - her mad vault skills - to being known for something else - that disappointed scowl.
And who can blame her? She was basically a child, and, in the world of competitive sports, when it has been assumed, and known, for so long, that you are the best at what you do and something goes wrong the one day you get to prove that to the world? Disappointment is a given and it might not always be masked well, particularly when one has little experience with it.
It got me thinking, though. Because we all clearly saw her vault the day before. She was outstanding. And, by her account, she had landed that same vault on her feet every attempt for four months solid. Landing on her rear was an anomaly. An anomaly that happened on a really bad day. Thus, it's probably still understood by most watching in those days, that though the gold medal was around another neck, it did not necessarily reflect the true hierarchy of the vaulting world.
So what does an Olympic Gold Medal represent? In many cases, exactly what it's supposed to - the owner has excelled in their chosen field to be called the best in their time. But, even then, what it always says is that person was the best at what they did on that day. For that moment.
Sometimes what it means is that someone else wasn't able to show up that day. It means someone's shoelace broke or they got tripped off the line. It might mean someone else had a leg wrapped too tightly or they were too sick to perform their best. Sometimes it is a facade. Representing that one moment the bearer was better than someone else who might be able to out-perform them any other day.
Its shining status represents one fleeting moment in time.
I've seen it in my personal life - one day (about once in four years - that's all it takes for a gold medal, right?) I feel like a rockstar Mom. I feed the kids something they all like for each of the three main meals (actually, this is what a perfect day looks like in my head, which may not actually reflect anything that has ever happened in reality). I rock snack time, too. I fill our days with activities we can do together. We spend moments snuggling in sheer bliss on the couch. I kiss them all good night and mentally pat myself on the back. We did great that day!
And then I facebook about it. Because that's how I get my gold medal (hello, the world has to know!).
The next day? I wake up to poop falling out of someone's diaper, complaints about breakfast (and lunch, and dinner, and even dessert). I yell more than I should. I cry in my room. I consider myself a failure as a mom. The previous day completely wiped from memory. And, thankfully, unlike McKayla Maroney, I don't have anyone photographing me in those worst moments to broadcast for everyone. (And let's be grateful for that, because my bad attitude days are much uglier.)
But also unlike her, those bad days? The ones with a million mistakes that add up to one bad attitude on display for my family to see - an attitude that only really reflects my disappointment in myself and my failures. Those happen more often than not.
I don't get gold medal performances in practice for four months straight. I land on my rear far more often.
But this, too, is a fleeting moment.
This, too, like those moments at the top, shall pass.
And wherever I find myself today - in that shining moment in the sun, or with a scowl of disappointment threatening my countenance, I must remember - that gold medal, that winning facebook status or even that self-congratulation is not where my worth - as a mom, a woman, a wife, a friend, comes from.
My worth - in my good days and my bad - comes from Christ alone. His victory brings me to my knees, at His feet, every day.
And my attitude, whether I performed my best or sadly faltered, should reflect my value as His daughter in every moment. Even when my world and the tiny little people in it, are crying out my failures or stripping me of the accolades I want to deserve,
"My worth is not in what I own, or in the strength of flesh and bone, but in the costly wounds of love, at the cross.
My worth is not in skill or name, in win or lose, in pride or shame, but in the blood of Chist that flowed, at the cross."
Whether at my best or sadly slipping, I remain His. And I rejoice in my Redeemer.
A number of years ago, my sister-in-law began telling us about this show she loved that we should try out. She happened to have the first couple of seasons on DVD and would be happy to let us borrow them.
That's cool, we thought, but we had our own series we were in the middle of and weren't interested in investing in something new. A looong while later, we had finished one of these series (of such major importance I can no longer remember what it was) and I mentioned to my wonderfully forgetful husband this show his sister has been wanting us to watch. So we borrowed the first season. And it sat around our house for another few months before we finally returned it, entirely un-watched.
Long story short, by the time she had four seasons on her shelf, we finally decided to really give it a shot.
Thus we watched our first episode of Castle. And were quickly hooked (and just as quickly felt guilty for how long we'd been ignoring her adamant recommendations). Before we knew it, we had zoomed through four seasons, often staying up way too late watching two or three episodes after we laid the kids down for bed.
We anxiously awaited the release of the fifth season on DVD (because it was too late to catch up in real time). But by the end of that series of binge-watching we began to question our use of time, overall, and put all TV-watching on hold.
Until recently. And as we began to realize we were easing ourselves back into a life in front of the television, while also hoping to stay still relatively detached, we also realized, Season 6 is now over on her shelf . . .
And as the kids were visiting grandparents this past week, we binged unashamedly through much of the season. Snuggling together, with popcorn, pizza or chocolate, watching the drama unfold, giggling at pop culture references and congratulating ourselves on successfully naming the killer as soon as they appeared on-screen (hint: it's generally the first person they talk to in the episode).
On Wednesday, we spent the evening with our beloved sister, and actually spent a portion of our time in an in-depth discussion over just how much fun this show is - as though having an artistic dialogue over the merits of Castle.
On Friday, I posted my typical POTD (Picture of the Day), this time featuring just a little of what had become our nightly ritual over the past week.
To some this may be even more sad, still, but as we looked forward to an evening in a local bed and breakfast Saturday night, we also anticipated snuggling up to, you guessed it, watch more of our favorite show.
And we watched four episodes during our one-night stay.
As we wrapped up the fourth episode, it was time to check out for the morning and head to our next stop on our getaway weekend: the Oklahoma City Museum of Art (I had a Groupon!).
Of course, Castle was clearly on our minds as I confessed I was beginning to question everything: our safety in the creaky, family-owned bed and breakfast, the sincerity of the guy who took our key as we attempted to check out, claiming he used to work there and we were good to go. In an art museum, as they prepared for the new Faberge exhibit, I felt we were walking into a potential crime scene. Who would be the one to commit a murder in this museum, and why?
I mean, my brain was on serious Castle overload.
Which is why when I saw another museum patron from behind and noted her beautifully long red hair, and then just a glimpse of her profile, I laughed it off with Philip as he, too, turned to me saying, "That girl looks kind of like - "
"I was thinking the same thing!"
We geeked out for a moment over how remarkably this girl, enjoying the museum with a few friends, resembled a character from the very show we had been consuming non-stop for the past week. We texted the very sister who had introduced us to the show: "There's a girl here who looks JUST like Alexis. We would take a picture, but we don't want to be awkward."
Her response: "Be awkward!"
I attempted to do my very best spy work, so she could see what an amazing coincidence this was. But, of course, we didn't want to get too close or too obvious, and we had still only really seen her from a distance and mostly from behind or the side. I used my phone, glad that stalker-photographing has become so much easier these days, when I don't have to point an actual camera in anyone's general direction, and can very easily play it off as texting something super important to a friend, rather than capturing unauthorized images of innocent museum-goers.
Meanwhile, I was freaking out inside, because I recognize I'm no good in the face of celebrity and thought it would be best to leave this poor girl alone who probably had never even seen Castle nor would appreciate random strangers asking her awkward questions.
So, I snapped my stalker-esque photos and we moved on, both of us too nervous to actually attempt to ask about our suspicions.
Yet, as we toured the next level of the museum, I began to hope we'd run into her again, as I worked up the nerve to at least inquire into whether she might be an actress . . . just to open the door to conversation. And, then, our opportunity came. As we attempted to make the decision about the best way to casually locate this mystery red-head, there she was, comfortably sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Here was our chance.
My hands were shaking as I attempted to be polite while rudely, awkwardly interrupting a conversation between this stranger and her friend. Though, at this point, at this distance, there was no question in our minds. We were standing a mere couple of feet from a face we had been watching on our TV screen for a number of years, not to mention this past week, and the four episodes we had seen in the past 24 hours alone.
"I'm sorry, but, are you an actress?"
She lowered her gaze slightly while also giving an understanding smile, "I'm on the show Castle."
Inside: "Aaaaaaaaahhhh. We knew it!!!!!!" Outside: "We thought so! We've been watching your show non-stop for the past week."
And as we bantered a little about some of the episodes we had just seen, this surreal feeling overwhelmed me: this girl was there on the other side of that screen - this was her! And that episode was just another day of work for her, full of embarrassing costume choices and probably even unexpected glitches. She was a real person. And we were talking to her. As strangers who just happened to bump into each other at an art museum.
Of course, we had to complete the awkward fan-dom and get a picture, and, of course, while we had been so nervous to approach a "celebrity" who just wanted to enjoy the museum, she was, in actuality, just as sweet in person as she was on the other side of the screen, happy to oblige a few star-struck fans, as she positioned herself for a photo, while offering her hand, "I'm Molly."
We chatted for just a few moments before offering an official Oklahoma welcome (though, as a Texas native, she said she'd been here before), and giving her her space. We walked away on cloud nine. The most crazy coincidence that felt like a dream.
So, thank you to Molly Quinn for indulging these parents of four who acted like a couple of silly teenagers. We appreciate you and we may be slightly bigger fans than we were even 48 hours ago (and that's saying something).
Some nights I am a Twi'lek Jedi. But I've been a Wookie Tank, a Bothan Assasin and an Elf Healer. At least that's who I roll the dice for.
And the honest truth: I have a lot of fun.
You need to understand, though, before I was married I didn't know what any of that meant (okay, let's be honest, I still had to ask my husband what those Star Wars characters were called as I wrote this post, because I still don't have a clue). I was a nerd, by some standards, but not a gaming nerd.
At least not outside of Life, Uno, or any other standard family games. I loved party games - Trivial Pursuit, Taboo, Cranium. Those were my jam.
Dungeon crawls, MMO's, RPG's? I neither knew, nor wanted to know what any of it meant or how it worked. Because didn't it involve getting super into an other-worldly character and hiding in your mom's basement with potato chips and energy drinks?
The sad truth, though, was I married a gamer. One who knew what all of those nerdy things meant. And thrived on them. One who knew what the next gaming console was going to be, when it would be released, and every game he wanted for it. But he couldn't tell you my favorite flower.
And I was ready to make him choose his time wisely - I was the wife who helped my brand new husband draw up a signed contract regarding how much time he would spend playing video games so I didn't get left by the wayside. Because am I not more fascinating than a tv screen or computer monitor filled with digital creatures of evil?
But I had a friend who did things differently. She's the type of friend who prepares for each new stage in life by gleaning wisdom from anyone who can offer valuable insight. She not only accepts advice, she seeks it out. I am not that way. But I so appreciate being friends with someone who is (because then I don't have to humble myself by admitting I need help, as she just shares all her well-sought knowledge with me without my having to ask. Because friends are awesome).
Before she was ever married,in an effort to aid her relationship with someone of the male persuasion she, wisely, sat down with a male friend who gave her this advice: "Women relate by talking. Men relate by playing. If you want to relate to your man, play with him."
So, when she was married a few short weeks after we were, rather than throwing down an ultimatum to limit his video-game nerd-dom, she sat down and watched him play. She took it in, learned the dynamics, offered helfpul (maybe undesired?) suggestions and helped Link find every Rupee on the way to Zelda's castle. She played alongside him (in a one person game, that's the best you can hope for).
And I started to think differently about how I approached my own husband's interests. After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
So I sat down at his computer, overlooking the World of Warcraft, and I became a Night Elf. And it was kind of fun. I joined a guild, I increased my abilities. I made it level 20 and felt like I was amazing (for the record, it's not, but to a newbie like me, it might as well have been the black belt of WoW).
But even more than opening the doors to new worlds, I opened the doors to our relationships. Instead of rolling my eyes at his descriptions of his latest exploits, I could honestly congratulate him for the succes in his latest raid, because I knew what that meant. I could understand why he said he couldn't pause his game to come help me in the kitchen that moment (because you really can't, or you die, and it's so annoying to get your spirit back to your body, seriously), but he would get to a safe place as soon as he could so I could have his full attention.
From there, I discovered card games, strategy games, miniatures and more. I'm still not hard-core. I play the games he's excited about, but I don't go out of my way to investigate the latest in nerd news.
I go out of my way to take an interest in him. And to relate to him.
So I play.
But I don't just sit down grudgingly, because I'm not under-achiever, and because I've honestly come to enjoy finding line of sight to kill his Storm Troopers. I play to win. And sometimes I do.
But win or lose, we're spending time together and I know he's proud that I'm trying. And I know he feels loved. So it's always a win.
A couple weeks ago, I was reading through Proverbs, in chapter 26, to be exact, and I found myself amidst verses I had heard many times before. All those ones talking about a "fool" - you know, that other guy, the one who just doesn't get it. Here is a sampling:
"Like snow in summer orrain in harvest, so honor is not fitting for a fool. 2 3 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey, and a rod for the back of fools. 4 Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself. 5 Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes. 6 Whoever sends a message by the hand of a fool cuts off his own feet and drinks violence. 7 Like a lame man's legs, which hang useless, is a proverb in the mouth of fools. 8 Like one who binds the stone in the sling is one who gives honor to a fool. 9 Like a thorn that goes up into the hand of a drunkard is a proverb in the mouth of fools. 10 Like an archer who wounds everyone is one who hires a passing fool or drunkard. 11 Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly. " (Proverbs 26:1,3-11, ESV, emphasis added)
Right around this time, after eleven verses going on, and on, and on, about how useless fools are and how little hope they have in the world, I was kind of done. I am not just being overly dramatic when I say, literally, at this point in my reading I thought to myself, "Ok, we get it."
And then came verse number 12, one I had heard before, but, when read in the context of the previous eleven tiring verses, was rather a sucker punch to the gut:
"Do you see a man who iswise in his own eyes? There is more hope for a fool than for him."(Proverbs 26:12)
Say what now? Now I'm awake.
Because if ever there was a person who was wise in his own eyes, I'm the girl. I'm the one who can pass any test, solve any riddle. If you have a problem, I guarantee I have a solution (not that I'll share it, because I don't necessarily need to tell you what to do, I just like the satisfaction of knowing that I know). And if you're not solving it the way I would have, I will have an opinion about that. I probably won't share that opinion with you, but, trust me, I've definitely shared it with someone (probably my husband because we kind of shame spiral together into gossip and petty judgments - it's totally a healthy bonding experience).
Wise in her own eyes? Yep, that's me.
And, yet, here it is, plain as day - there is more hope for a fool than for a person like me.
A fool.
You know, that one who deserves no honor, but, rather, a rod to the back. The man whose mouth is not even worthy to hold a wise saying. The one who is like a dog returning to his vomit in the way he continues after the filth of this world.
This man has more hope than I.
Let it not be true. May my eyes be torn out before they continue to see wisdom in my own frivolity, petty thoughts or belittling opinions.
May I see the worth and value in the hearts of others, in the opinions of others. May I no longer seek my own honor or the worthless validation that comes from thinking better of myself than of those around me.
May there be hope for me yet.
Oh, Lord, that you would humble me to hear the words of others more than my own voice. Grant me your eyes to see those around me and ear to hear Your wisdom alone.
A month and a half ago we celebrated our first anniversary of this beautiful place we so enjoy calling home. But at the turn of this calendar year, after only nine months in this beautiful place we so enjoy calling home, this house had begun to fall apart. Well, let's be honest, it started before that, but January was when I cried over tossing precious books in the trash which had been destroyed by a roof that doesn't understand its sole purpose to be that of protecting us from the elements.
We should not have rain water, or melting snow, as it were, seeping into our home, down built-in bookshelves, dripping off light fixtures or plopping into our closet.
But that's what we had.
And so we began to wonder what could be done, began to pray for provision, fully trusting God would provide.
A month later, we first heard about a trip to Germany to visit good friends who were working overseas. We felt in our hearts this was a trip we were supposed to be on.
But that roof.
And how could we dream of paying for such a journey when the roof over our heads was failing?
Yet we heard the advice, do not let finances keep you from doing what you know God has called you to do.
So we prayed, and we applied. And we told ourselves, if this was what He wanted, He would provide. And we waited.
We searched out financing options for our roof and began seeking contributions for our trip.
I sent out letters, I set up a GoFundMe account, and I waited. I did the math - if only 700 people gave $10, we would be funded. I laughed. I don't know 700 people. So, I adjusted the numbers. Only seven people would need to give $1000 each. I laughed even more.
I told myself in the back of my mind, if all else failed, yet we really felt as though we should go on this trip, we had our tax refund. We would set that aside, and if we needed it to finish funding this excursion, we would have it.
And then our plumbing backed up. There was water pouring into our garage from a bathroom upstairs. Then there was water pooling in our laundry room, seeping under the carpets of our den.
And it was fixed. Because we had money. Money set aside "just in case."
And, as we had water dripping overhead and water pooling underneath, I realized we were learning a lesson. A lesson in His faithfulness. And if I was going to insist we could do this ourselves, "just in case" He didn't come through, all our options for paying it out of our own pockets would be stripped.
So I let it go. I prayed, and I waited. But I knew, if nothing else, we would not be paying for this trip ourselves. Either He would do it, or we would not be going.
And we waited.
The GoFundMe account remained at $0. Our fundraising letters, with the exception of two responses, almost seemed to have entered the void.
After a month with little response, I began to feel defeated.
Perhaps we had been wrong. If we said we would go if He provided, and He's not providing, what does that say? I doubted, I wondered at what point we should pack it all in and say this was it. We'd made a mistake.
And then we received our second check for $1,000.
And I laughed. Not a laugh of mocking this time, but of disbelief. He would provide. In His time.
Over time, we have reached 3/4 of our necessary funds. I praise Him because He is Jehovah Jireh. Our provider. And I remain grateful for those who have followed His lead and given generously from their own pockets.
Yet, still, there is that roof. And the money we realized was not meant for our trip was set aside for that cause. Not nearly enough, but set aside as we looked into finance options for such a large undertaking of completely building up a roof that now is flat and needs to be pitched. And when we thought we had it taken care of, an option that maybe wouldn't need our precious savings, I began to assure myself - we only have 1/4 of the cost of the trip left to pay. Maybe we could still use this money for that.
Then we woke up to a bucket in our living room. A bucket that had been in our attic, catching the drip, drip, drip of leaking rain water. A bucket that had held all it could manage and when the drop came that broke the camel's back, it crashed through the ceiling of our living room, leaving a pool on the floor and a hole in the ceiling.
Two days after the bucket fell through, our financing for the roof did the same.
And the hole will be ok. Because we have money. Set aside, "just in case." Money that is clearly, clearly not meant for us to pay for our own journey overseas.
But I wondered, when will I learn?
If He has told me He will provide, if He has shown me He will provide, when will I stop trusting in myself and start trusting in Him?
Thus, I repent. I repent of my independent self-reliance and I trust.
I trust that Jehovah Jireh, the One who continues to hold this entire world, and all its possessions and wordly wealth in the palm of His very hands, can handle what we need. He can handle financing a trip He has ordained. And, more than that, He feeds the birds of the air and clothes the flowers of the fields.
How much more can He house these precious ones of His?
So, it's all there, in His hands. Every one of our needs. For Him to handle. For Him to lead us in His wisdom toward wherever we are to go.
I have been anticipating Mother's Day as a woman whose Love Language is gifts does these days - or one whose Love Language is gifts who has a husband that doesn't speak the same Language, and has a small budget with which to work, and four kids under the age of seven whose idea of a perfect gift for Mom is a My Little Pony DVD or a Supehero Matching Game - I'm keeping my expectations low. And trying really hard to keep my mouth shut in planning my own Special Day (it's not working too well).
But as I prepare my low expectations with secret wishes that they will be far exceeded, there are those who do not anticipate this Sunday at all. They dread it. They hate it. They maybe just want to sleep through it with the covers over their heads. They'll be the ones avoiding Social Media because those posts about everyone's perfect day - the breakfast in bed, the hand-drawn cards, or the spa gift certificates - will be too much to handle. Or those posts thanking Mom for all those years of hard work - those yank at hearts, too. Mother's Day, much like Valentine's Day is a sleeper holiday - one of those that seems to make it onto the calendar as an afterthought, meant to honor something beautiful while, in the end, creating unreal expectations and alienating those without.
As this Mother's Day approaches, I am praying.
For those in the trenches, wiping poopy bottoms, nursing in the night, sneaking chocolate in the closet, and facing endless piles of dirty laundry (or baskets of clean laundry that just can't get folded), I pray supernatural energy over you. I pray rest for the weary heart and renewed strength for the long days and short years ahead. He sees you.
For those waiting with the weight of empty arms, those who are mothers in their souls and are turning another month without the living embodiment of a dream, I pray supernatural peace over you. I pray for a satisfied soul whose desires are met, whether in expected or unimagined ways. I pray endurance. I pray for understanding companions to lift you up as you grow weary in anticipation. He sees you.
For those who have opened their arms to the child of another's womb, who have birthed a family in their hearts and created a home of acceptance to those who had none. I pray supernatural blessing over you. I pray your family will forge together with an unbreakable bond and that your welcoming heart would be filled to overflowing with the love you have allowed into your home. He sees you.
For those who wait beside machines this Mother's Day - machines that measure the life in your little one - not knowing what the future holds as you pray for a miracle. I pray a supernatural strength over you. I, too, pray for that miracle. I pray for a child who can come home into your loving arms and I pray peace over you as you wait for a day you are unsure will ever come. He sees you.
For those seeing the years fly by too fast while they seek to settle sibling squabbles, manage family schedules and still tackle that laundry, while creating a home of love and belonging. I pray supernatural wisdom over you. I pray for the ability to savor these waning hours, preserving the precious moments of the past and present, as you slip into the future. He sees you.
For those visiting their children where a mother never should, under a graven stone marking their small place of earth on this Earth, I pray supernatural comfort over you. I pray His arms would wrap around you in a way you've never known as His peace washes over you and you bathe in the beauty of your memories. He sees you.
For those preparing to send their babies into a world of wolves, wondering if they have prepared these little ones enough, wondering what you'll do with a home that feels a little emptier, I pray supernatural courage over you. I pray for a heart willing to let go, looking ahead to a brilliant future they will write for themselves. He sees them. He sees you.
For those waiting for the phone to ring or a card in the mail - who can't even handle including these in their low expectations. Those who feel forgotten by the ones whose hands they held and tears they wiped. I pray supernatural love over you. I pray you know your hard work has not been overlooked by the One in Heaven who formed those precious ones in the womb many years ago. He still sees you.
For those with a Momma on the other end of the phone, the one who held your hand and wiped your tears, those with a mother who prayed over you and listened to your stories. I pray supernatural understanding over you. I pray you would treasure what you have and see the ways you can model your life after hers as you wonder how she ever did it. He sees you.
For those whose hand to hold is now held in the Everlasting Arms, who are now left to wipe their own tears, of which there are many when they long to pick up that phone but have no one to call in those wee hours when life is heavy and they just need a listening ear. I pray supernatural belonging over you. I pray you would know and feel your home is not on this Earth and you have a Father in Heaven. I pray for another earthly soul, not to fill a void which cannot be filled, but to bridge the gaps, to be that listening ear or the voice on the other end of the line. He sees you.
For those who struggle to know the mother who birthed them, who feel a need for her, but don't feel her love, only her distance, whether physically, emotionally, or both. Those for whom the standard well-wishes of this day seem incomprehensible and empty. I pray supernatural guidance over you. I pray you, too, would feel your belonging in Heaven and would find a soul who can walk beside you, speak wisdom over you and be an example of loving motherhood where you had none. He sees you.
For all of us on Mother's Day, I pray for a moment in the arms of El Roi, the God Who Sees, as we are wrapped in His love, as we are grateful for his blessings, wherever they are found, as we mourn what we thought we would have and rejoice for what we do. Praise Him, for we are all fearfully and wonderfully made, prepared for the task at hand and loved with a light that shatters the darkness of this fallen world.
