I pressed my face against the cold window and looked out over the backyard. Patches of half-melted snow covered the ground, but here and there dry, lifeless grass pushed through. Tears streamed down my face as sobs rose from somewhere deep inside.
I felt like that grass.
The day had begun with one child responding to my call to start school by saying, “I hate school. It isn’t fun, and I don’t want to do it.”
Moments later, another child eagerly began telling me about a new realization they had come to. It was a meaningful conversation, but before I could really listen, another child needed help finding a book. My attention shifted, frustration grew, and the conversation ended abruptly. I could tell I had disappointed them.
Just as I was settling down to work through grammar with my son, someone shouted, “Taylor is having a seizure!”
My mind raced. It had only been two months since the last one.
What is happening?
We rushed upstairs and helped her through it. After every seizure comes a period of confusion. Taylor asks the same questions repeatedly as her mind slowly clears. She feels frightened, defeated, and vulnerable. Usually she reaches for my hand and asks, “Will you pray for me?”
It is one of the sweetest requests a mother can hear.
But that morning, I felt as though I was sitting beside her in the very same place.
As we talked, she tearfully admitted that after a seizure she sometimes wonders if God really loves her.
I wanted so badly to assure her that He does. I know He does.
Yet at that very moment, I found myself asking the same question in my own heart.
If God loves me, why is this so hard?
I was trying to pour from an empty vessel.
Leaning against the window, staring at the dead grass, I thought, I should text a few friends and ask them to pray.
Just as quickly, I dismissed the idea.
No. They’re carrying heavy burdens too. I don’t want to add mine to theirs.
I waited for Taylor to call me back, expecting another round of, “What happened?” and another opportunity to pray with her.
Instead, she shared something else.
A difficult interaction with a sibling had happened just before the seizure. As she described it, my heart sank even further. Now there were strained relationships to address and another painful conversation waiting for me.
The weight of the day grew heavier.
Finally, I knew I had to do what I didn’t want to do.
I texted three dear friends and simply asked them to pray.
It wasn’t easy. Everything in me wanted to keep carrying the burden alone. But I had reached the end of myself.
The rest of the day offered no relief.
I discovered our health insurance had the wrong primary care physician listed, leading to a maze of phone calls. Then an email arrived with news and requests I wasn’t prepared to receive.
It felt as though bricks weren’t just falling around me—they were falling on me.
Then I checked my phone.
A dear friend had sent me Psalm 91, along with words of love and prayer. Soon other messages followed.
In the middle of the storm, God gave me an anchor.
The frantic scrambling in my heart began to settle. I stopped trying to find solid ground on my own and rested instead in His promises.
I poured myself a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold and warmed it in the microwave. I cleared away the dishes and stacks of books from the kitchen counter just enough to make room for my Bible.
As I sat there reading, I remembered what my heart had almost forgotten.
God was still on His throne.
Nothing about my circumstances had changed.
But I had.
Hope returned. Confidence returned. Not because life had suddenly become easier, but because my eyes had been lifted back to the One who never changes.
That day reminded me of something I often forget.
Even those who spend their lives ministering to others need to be ministered to.
We need one another.
God often strengthens weary hearts through the prayers, encouragement, and faithfulness of His people. Sometimes we are the ones offering that encouragement. Other times, we are the ones who desperately need to receive it.
Both require humility.
My sisters in Christ carried me that day when I couldn’t carry myself. I pray that, by God’s grace, I will do the same for someone else when their day comes.
Because sometimes the battle is so thick with smoke that we cannot see clearly on our own.
That is why God, in His kindness, has given us one another.
Simple action plan:
- Remember, you are ministers and other powerful truths. Consider downloading our free Identity in Christ from A-Z.
- Reach out when you need help. Text, email or call a friend.
- Answer the call when a friend reaches out to you. You don’t have to be a professional, just a fellow beggar who found bread.
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