It has been two and a half years since I first held my Olivia in my arms. Early in my journey, Laura Beach encouraged me to reflect and write on my experiences becoming a new mom. “So many are walking this journey and need some guidance, and not much has been written,” she said.
Will you sit with the helpless ones and hear their cries even if you are powerless to break through the walls that bind them? Will you sit and ache with them so they don’t suffer alone? Will you honor the cries that no one else hears and give validity to their pain? Will you face death with a tenacious hope that resurrection is always possible?
The other evening, my husband watched our two-year-old and cooked dinner so that I could lounge in bed and watch Netflix. I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t stressed. I wasn’t threatening an if-you-don’t-help-out-now-I’m-gonna-lose-it melt down. And, without divulging the details of our personal life, on this particular night I know he had no ulterior motives. He was simply being—kind.
