We are not alone
Some days you think you just can't take one more thing: can't change one more dirty diaper, can't swat one more of the spiders invading your house, get through one more day without air conditioning, can't clean up one more mess, or deal with one more tantrum or make one more dinner when you can't think or stand straight for the tiredness. You want to run away deep deep into a cool forest with a blue lake and never, ever come home. You want to scream or stomp or just sit down and cry.
And then, as you stumble to your hour of adoration, exhausted, frazzled, having wolfed down your dinner after coaxing a squirmy crabby child into the bed, and wonder how in the world you will sit in a hard pew and get quiet and pray when all the turmoil of thoughts in your head are bitter and dissatisfied and churning and churning in a mass of self-pity and frustration . . .
Then, after a futile, restless half hour, there comes, in an instant of quiet clarity in your head:
"Give Me your faults."
And immediately and without volition of your own, as if those words touched a chord of release, you pour your load of frustration, anxiety, lethargy, weakness, and dissatisfaction out into the Lovely Heart that waits before you.
And then, you read, as if this passage had been prepared for you since the beginning of time:
I am with you. How often I repeat this. I, Jesus, am with you.
I, Jesus, will never leave you. I see everything that occurs in your life. I understand exactly where your pain originates. Like nobody else, I understand you.
Much of the suffering my little ones experience is from loneliness. Even if you are surrounded by others, you can feel lonely.
You see . . . each person feels alone until he rests with Me.
And then the tears come. Because it's exactly what you were longing to hear. It's what you always need to hear. And when the hour is over and you leave the golden church to stumble home to your normal life, none of those things that make you so weary and frustrated and sad will be quite so very hard.
Echoing in your mind will be the words: "I am with you. I understand you." And the little details that push you past your limits will be bearable, because Jesus is there too.
And then, as you stumble to your hour of adoration, exhausted, frazzled, having wolfed down your dinner after coaxing a squirmy crabby child into the bed, and wonder how in the world you will sit in a hard pew and get quiet and pray when all the turmoil of thoughts in your head are bitter and dissatisfied and churning and churning in a mass of self-pity and frustration . . .
Then, after a futile, restless half hour, there comes, in an instant of quiet clarity in your head:
"Give Me your faults."
And immediately and without volition of your own, as if those words touched a chord of release, you pour your load of frustration, anxiety, lethargy, weakness, and dissatisfaction out into the Lovely Heart that waits before you.
And then, you read, as if this passage had been prepared for you since the beginning of time:
I am with you. How often I repeat this. I, Jesus, am with you.
I, Jesus, will never leave you. I see everything that occurs in your life. I understand exactly where your pain originates. Like nobody else, I understand you.
Much of the suffering my little ones experience is from loneliness. Even if you are surrounded by others, you can feel lonely.
You see . . . each person feels alone until he rests with Me.
And then the tears come. Because it's exactly what you were longing to hear. It's what you always need to hear. And when the hour is over and you leave the golden church to stumble home to your normal life, none of those things that make you so weary and frustrated and sad will be quite so very hard.
Echoing in your mind will be the words: "I am with you. I understand you." And the little details that push you past your limits will be bearable, because Jesus is there too.
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By the way....if there ever was a week to use the AC, this would be it!
Can't wait to see you soon!
~Laura