31 Days: Pathway to Perseverance - Tiny Chairs and Broken Hearts
Every day on this 31 day journey, I ask God what story am I supposed to tell today? Who is going to listen? What else can I learn about keeping a steady pace even when the road is rough? Sometimes it is the story of others that touch deeply.
I’m thinking a lot tonight. About everything. A chance encounter in the hospital children’s ward ripped my heart wide open. What do you say to a mamma who has been three days waiting for a place for her little girl. A young life barely beginning and third time almost successful at cutting it short. Suicide is such a grown up word. Not child's play. Who of us could ever imagine holding the hands of a child who is intent on letting go of everything. Everyone. Letting go of life.
And, the judgment from those who do not understand. Parent's become battering rams, she said. I want what is best for my little girl. I would move world's for her, but in the eyes of others with children who have little more than scraped knee struggles, there is only criticism. Mental illness is so misunderstood.
It did not matter, the age difference, hers 11 and mine 17. Both still our very reason for being mamma's. Both the reason we wait sitting in tiny, child sized chairs waiting for room. Waiting for answers and whispering prayers.
I understand. God understands.
Photo Credit: http://www.sarahebrooks.com/faith/scripture/psalm-3418/
I’m thinking a lot tonight. About everything. A chance encounter in the hospital children’s ward ripped my heart wide open. What do you say to a mamma who has been three days waiting for a place for her little girl. A young life barely beginning and third time almost successful at cutting it short. Suicide is such a grown up word. Not child's play. Who of us could ever imagine holding the hands of a child who is intent on letting go of everything. Everyone. Letting go of life.
And, the judgment from those who do not understand. Parent's become battering rams, she said. I want what is best for my little girl. I would move world's for her, but in the eyes of others with children who have little more than scraped knee struggles, there is only criticism. Mental illness is so misunderstood.
It did not matter, the age difference, hers 11 and mine 17. Both still our very reason for being mamma's. Both the reason we wait sitting in tiny, child sized chairs waiting for room. Waiting for answers and whispering prayers.
I understand. God understands.
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