Hope in the Dark

Sometimes it’s hard to find the things to be thankful for. Like, really hard. I try to tell my kids “there’s always always something to be grateful for. Even when it feels like there isn’t.” But I will admit, it’s been a struggle to find even the tiniest of things lately. The last few years we’ve been buried in the deep lonely places of parenting, the places where no matter what you do or how much you love, it doesn’t seem to make any difference. It’s a deeply discouraging place to be. And yes, it’s hard to find the good things there. Yesterday felt like any other day, trying to stay positive, repeating the silent prayers again and again: help me find the good… It was later in the day, as the sunlight faded through the trees outside my in-laws house, when I sat reading over the scrawling on their Thanksgiving tablecloth; the “I am thankful for’s” that we write every year when we gather. Many were the usual: family, home, pets…but then I stumbled on a note written in red earlier that day by my child who has been fighting in silence for so long: “I’m thankful for parents who are patient with me.” I stared at it for a minute, hardly believing what I saw, letting the hope flood into the empty spaces in my heart. It felt like her hand was reaching out for mine in the dark, squeezing my fingers in that silent rhythm like we used to… I. Love. You. What sweetest of gifts, to be reminded just when it feels like we are failing hopelessly at this parenting thing, that maybe—just maybe—we are doing okay. The good things are there, friends. They might be buried deep, and it might take awhile to find them, especially if the world around you feels dark and hopeless. But keep looking…there’s always always something to be thankful for. And once you find it, I promise the hope will follow.

Thanksgiving Day 2020

I sent my daughter to school today.

I sent my daughter to school today.
We were told earlier in the week that there had been a threat of violence at the High School planned for today, March 23rd. We were given enough notice to let the threat sink in…to decide how to react. My daughter was given a choice: she could stay home—where safety was guaranteed, and family would be close—or she could walk out the door, board the bus, and head to school as usual. She chose to go. “I don’t really feel afraid, mom,” she told me, but as we stood waiting for her bus to come, she asked me to pray over her. I knew her mind was on the possibilities…on the unknowns and the what-ifs. But she chose to go. It took everything in me not to pull her back—not to pull all four of my babies back inside and keep them close—but I let her go, because she wanted to. I drank deeply of the air surrounding that moment—I wanted that ability to trust so deeply in the One that sees even the sparrow—that ability to step out into a tangled mess of unknowns and fear, and to just trust.
The truth is, none of us are promised tomorrow. Every day we step out into a tangled mess of unknowns, and although the fear isn’t always there, we aren’t guaranteed that we will be. We aren’t guaranteed that the people we love most in the world are going to walk back through the door at the end of the day. Every day counts, and it matters what we do with it. 2 Timothy 1:7 says that God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of sound judgment. My daughter chose to step out the door into an unforgiving and angry world that desperately needs every bit of love and peace that she has in her heart to share. And although my protective mama’s heart wanted to keep her here, I know she was right to go. We are all called to step boldly out into the unknown of each day, pour as much love and light into it as we can, and then hope for a better tomorrow.school