Children should grow up carefree and happy. Period. But that's not reality. Children suffer pain. They feel great loss. I hate that.
I struggle daily with my children's pain. Their uncertain future, combined with our difficult present circumstances and traumatic past, weighs so heavily on me that I often collapse in tears.
Recently I started reading books on subjects other than mold or health. These is my Words is the fictional diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, a woman who endured multiple tragedies in the West during the 1800s. Author Nancy Turner paints a compelling picture.
I was struck deeply when I came across this entry:
October 10, 1887
Children are a burden to a mother, but not the way a heavy box is to a mule. Our children weigh so hard on my heart, and thinking about them growing up honest and healthy, or just living to grow up at all, makes a load in my chest that is bigger than the safe at the bank, and more valuable to me than all the gold inside it.
Oh, how true! The load is so unbearably heavy and oh, so precious.
I take heart in the Biblical account of Mary and her isolating journey into motherhood. Amy Grant poignantly conveys Mary's heart in the song Breath of Heaven,
I am waiting
in a silent prayer,
I am frightened
by the load I bear.
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now,
Be with me now.
Do you wonder
As you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place?
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan.
Help me be strong...hold me together,
Breath of Heaven.
Sometimes prayer is the best way to carry a load.
Sometimes prayer is the only way to carry a load.