I fumbled my way through making dinner and pushed down the emotion I had felt rising to the surface all day long. It had been a normal Tuesday like most others–filled with car line drop offs and conference calls, writing, a load of laundry, organizing Mercy House volunteers. I squeezed in a quick visit to my mom who was recovering from knee replacement surgery and hurried home to get an update from Maureen on Skype about her recent trip to visit each of our girl’s families before I started car line pick ups.
She told me of one our girl’s family who was being severely abused when she arrived for the home visit last week. The situation was so violent and potentially life-threatening, she put herself in harm’s way to offer immediate assistance to this family.
And there were another half dozen equally disturbing and overwhelming updates like the first two. Hungry siblings, broken parents, and heartache. We ended our time talking about the real estate situation in Kenya and the big miracle we needed.
I didn’t have time to process it all before I changed hats and sat with my family around the table. Suddenly, the weight of the day and really, the heaviness that has become my normal felt like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I asked my kids to clean up the table and dishes and I told my husband I needed a minute.
Deep breaths weren’t working. I couldn’t breathe.
I stumbled to the bathroom and closed the door. I turned on the bathtub so the roar of the water would block out my sobs. I fell down on my knees and I cried like a baby.
“I can’t do this, God, I don’t know how to do this. The burden is too heavy. The more we help, the more help is needed. You’ve provided so much, but we need more. I’ve run out of faith,” Sobs racked my body as the hot water washed away my tears.
I told God I didn’t know it would be this hard.
I told God I couldn’t take another breath or one more step.
I closed my eyes and I waited and in the depths of my inadequacy and feeling overwhelmed, I experienced this:
“Your most profound and intimate experiences of worship will likely be in your darkest days-when your heart is broken, when you feel abandoned, when you’re out of options, when the pain is great – and you turn to God alone.” Rick Warren
I didn’t see writing on the wall. I saw footprints, like the ones in the sand from the infamous poem seen on countless plaques.
I will carry you.
I still don’t have the answers. I’m still waiting for direction and seeking wisdom. But I can breath again: I’m inhaling grace and breathing out praise.
When I handed that heavy burden over to God, He reminded me this battlefield isn’t just filled with struggles and scars, it’s filled with victories only He could win.
I am not alone, I’m being carried.
You are, too.