You have shifted my heart.
YOU—the tired, lovely, hard-working, cranky mom there in the living room or the carpool line or the parent bleachers at gymnastics class. You’ve got your laptop or your phone in front of your nose, and you’re stealing a few minutes to hang out with me here. I see you.
You are beautiful. Inside and out.
Last week, I sent you a reader survey. I put a lot of thought into the questions because I really wanted to know who you are and what I can do to encourage you. But part of me was still expecting a sterile kind of data-driven response. Like the space between you and me is the actual distance between my screen and yours. This isn’t the real world. It’s the Internet. Right?
Oh, no no. That is so, so wrong.
You are REAL. And you’re just like me. Thank you, thank you for your honest and heartfelt answers. I read each one—multiple times—in tears and solidarity and nodding amen, girlfriend, me too, me too! Your words shattered the space between us so that suddenly you were standing with me at my messy kitchen counter drinking microwave chai and snort-laughing, snot-crying, sister-to-sister praying about this tough and extraordinary gift we call family life.
I heard you. I hugged you. Did you feel it?
Do you hear me?
You are not failing.
And I’m going to be here week after week to remind you.
“And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near” (Hebrews 10:25, NLT).
Who knew? The Internet is a real place. Where real people can gather from across the miles and share common pain and praises. Thank you for the privilege of carving this little space for us, for allowing me to write these humble encouragements that I hope and pray each week will point you and me to Jesus. You bless me by reading.
I know you.
You’re a great mom.
I’ll see you back here next week for another cup of chai. You bring the Goldfish for the kids, and I’ll sneak us some Ghirardelli squares from my secret stash behind those leftover stuffing cubes in the cupboard. I know, I know, I ought to throw them out, but then where would I hide the chocolate?
Oh—and just a heads up, I probably won’t vacuum before you get here. Because we’re true friends like that.
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