When I open the door and see my mother-in-law standing there, something inside cracks and tears escape down my face. I’m not dressed. Toys and bits of food litter the floor. I’ve been wracked with piercing pain and illness for days. Merely dressing and feeding the children has been a feat; nothing about this environment speaks to my competency as a mother.
And yet, my tears are not of shame, but deep relief. I am so far past the breaking point, trapped inside my pain. This week has shattered any illusion that I can “do it all.” I’d wanted to beg for help for days, but I stayed silent. It was my husband who finally called his mother to ask for help. Such a simple answer to everything I needed. I went in my room, closed the door, and slept for hours. My children were well cared for, the house spotless when I woke. Why hadn’t I asked for help sooner?
A couple of years earlier, my daughter’s babysitter fell ill during the Christmas break. A stay-at-home-mom, she didn’t have childcare options on hand. Feeling the pain of caring for little ones during illness, I volunteered to take her girls for the day. It was blast - her girls are darlings, and my daughter was thrilled to have the extra playmates. It was so simple, the least I could do to show my gratitude for the love this woman poured out on my baby while I worked. Compassion and generosity compelled me to offer what little I could to ease her burden.
Why do I struggle so much to accept those same gifts? Why do I push away the generosity and compassion extended to me? It brings me such joy to be allowed to serve others in these ways, to give a little bit of my heart in kindness to someone else. What are these walls that trap me inside of myself when faced with my own needs?
These walls are dark, isolating, and ugly. They do not come from you, Lord. They keep out love and light, and trap me alone within. I’ve spent so much time cowering away from them, but now I want to know: what are they made of? I start to see them not as impenetrable boundaries, but for what they really are: unjust lies, impediments to love .And so I investigate. I reach out my hand, expecting to feel cold stone. Instead, my hand passes through this barrier and it disperses like wisps of smoke. There is nothing to this barrier that is substantial. My obedience to it is all that has locked me inside.
Habit keeps me inside these walls. If I press against these illusory stones, they fall. Knocking them aside will take time, but why not? All that waits on the other side is freedom and love. Lord, help me break down these walls, stone by stone.
Help is for everyone but me.
Love is for everyone but me.
Grace is for everyone but me.
One by one, they fall. The bits of these sentences that exclude me are lies that evaporate when exposed. Slowly, I am coming to accept that God’s good gifts are for me, too. That others can and do love me, too. That his love is not only in the quiet moments, but in the concrete flesh and blood of his Body, of the missionaries of love that he has placed in my life. Help, love, and grace are for everyone. Period.
Thank you, Lord, that I am not that special.