We are having an ice storm here in Ohio and as I looked out through the glazed-over windows in my family room, the blurry view reminded me of what it feels like as a mom when one of our kids is really hurting or struggling in some way.
When our child is heartbroken, distraught, anxious, or desperate, every ounce of their anguish settles deep in our bones. It’s a different kind of heavy than the weighted blanket of love and adoration we feel for our kids in general. This ache is disconcerting because of the added sense of helplessness that pokes our heart.
Beyond the physical distress caused by our visceral empathy is the mental anguish we experience when we can’t see through their situation to the other side. It’s difficult to have a clear vision of how God will work through their pain while watching our child suffer. We just want their misery to end. Like right now–even though we know healing is a process.
Although we know everything will eventually be okay in their world, our inability to control the outcome (or speed up the recovery) can leave us feeling like we are looking through frosted glass into a future that is hopelessly blurred.
Yet, we still speak hope into their situation with abandon, reminding them that ‘this too shall pass’ because we know it will in due time. We love them through it to the best of our ability, encouraging them to feel their way through and trust God has their back.
No one tells you how hard these moments are going to be in motherhood. These are the situations that have put my faith to the ultimate test. It’s one thing to trust God for myself, but trusting God to work things out for my kids requires a level of surrender that can’t be put into words.
Having this kind of all-encompassing faith is something we need to feel our way into. I guess that’s why God gave mommas the superpower of being able to internalize the hard and heavy while projecting light and hope. A beautiful burden to bear.
This piece originally appeared at Shelby Spear, Finding Grace in the Mishmash, published with permission.