I didn’t want to cry but I’m one of those people who cries when she’s angry, and this day, I was angry. I was angry at God.
We — the ones who follow Jesus — we must stop saying “God is good” only when good happens in our lives.
You’re thinking about your to-do list and your grocery list and that thing you wish you hadn’t said and that person from school who still has no idea how much they hurt you. Your brain never stops.
Tears streamed down my child’s face. The frustration was clear, but the real issue wasn’t. Was it exhaustion? A misunderstanding? I never figured it out.
The words that stopped me cold weren’t shouted or even spoken angrily. They were gentle, coming through the speakers of my laptop. One sentence, spoken sweetly, that gave me chills.
In a world where anyone with a phone is a news source and where everyone with social media can become a pseudo-celebrity, it is no shock that what was once sacred is snapped instead.
I wanted to stay in my bed and not move one inch. But not moving means not healing, and being still means staying sick. So move I did, and the healing came.
I can believe He has a plan, but in the waiting for the plan to materialise, I can struggle to trust that He hasn’t forgotten me.
My life doesn’t look like most of my friends’ lives. I am different from most of the other mums in my circle. And different is hard.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about women in my own 37 years, it’s that we feel immense pressure to be more than we can actually be.