So many thoughts but none of them seem right. My mind is buzzing, dazzled by many compelling topics. All week long I’ve been thinking about this post and have made many notes about four different topics. But none of them is right for today.

Maybe, I’ll just talk to you as if you are sitting in my living room and we are having a cup of tea. The pleasantries aside, we dive deeper. We listen to each other. You share your heart. I make an observation. Then I tell you what’s going on in my world.

Warmth enters the room. The Holy Spirit enlivens our conversation. My mind is racing. Tears in the heart surface at whim. As you talk about your struggles, remembered pain does this to me. We can’t talk without some troubling issue coming up. You talk about it. I talk about it. What is God’s perspective? This is hashed out.

Because we both love the Lord there is the common ground of spiritual truth. This causes a bond between us. The bond is precious. I know it by what you say. I see your growth, your love, your awareness of what matters in life, and it pleases me. Sometimes during the conversation I’d like to shout “Hallelujah!” it so excites me inside, but I don’t.

Once in awhile, though, it’s not so grand.

I wasn’t sure what was coming, but it couldn’t be good. She’d requested a talk with me. For a month we’d been texting about an sensitive issue, but it had only gotten worse. I knew I wasn’t making much headway. If anything, my suggestions bounced off and were not taken as serious.

She arrives forty-five minutes early. I am just settling down to pray for our meeting but now there is no time. I whisper a prayer. I’ll need God’s intervention.

We talk about Christmas, her kids, my kids, life in general. Then we dig in. She shudders, tells me what’s going on, then cries, sobs, deep sobs. Her pain is more than she can bear. Like most of us, she just wants to be loved by the important people in her life. I go over to her. My right arm hugs her shoulders. I sit with her until the sobs are spent. She’s talking most of the time. I can’t tell her that it will get better, for I don’t know if it will. It is all so very painful, and she’s bottoming out. I ache for her.

We talk it through, and I share some stories. My road was an unsteady one, and I have an understanding of some of what she is experiencing. I tell her about my fortieth birthday and how desperately I wished to be treated with a special 40th birthday celebration–with my family, my parents, my brother’s family, and a couple of dear friends, but none was forthcoming. I’d done past celebrations for my mate, I longed for him to make a reciprocal effort. It was that just show me you love me kind of feeling. Somehow, I couldn’t take it that night.

The family went out to dinner for my birthday. I could barely talk. After we returned home, my tears were barely in-check. I got my purse and keys, didn’t say what I was doing. I drove away from our simple house in the country, leaving the kids with their dad. I drove to the mall and went to Claire’s and got my ears pierced. The ache was so heavy that night. I returned home after dark, a couple of hours later. The kids were worried, scared. They said they had prayed for me with their dad.

After I share that story with her, I say that sometimes when you are desperate, you do desperate things. I say how I didn’t usually give in to those kind of feelings, but I felt them. I want to give her something helpful, so I tell her what helped me during those dark years. There were two things: I read books that gave me insights, and God helped me. And I loved my husband, even though it was hard.

“God loves you so much,” I say to her. “He loves you more than anyone ever could. I love you. I want you to be happy. I see your despair. I wish more for you. I want you to take charge of your life. I want you to be whole. But I can’t do that for you. I don’t want to give you advice, I want to love you.” Her sobs return. My thoughts are taking me to something she doesn’t realize yet. In God’s sight she’s a beloved princess, if only she could see it.

The two of us have been talking for three hours, and we both have other places to be. She smiles at me. I hug her and tell her again that I love her. I ask if she would like to go on a walk in the park with me sometime. She brightens and says yes. She tells me she almost chickened out coming to see me. I know why, of course, I speak truth with her. (Truth is scary. You have to own it.) But that’s part of loving well. We need people to be straight with us, even when it hurts, even when we’re a hot mess, even when it’s corrective.

We also need people to treat us with kindness, especially when we’re a hot mess. I had a couple women be that for me, women who had been there in that place of pain long before they ever knew me. They’d all found a way out, with the help of God, with caring people in their lives, and with their own courage and the inner desire that says, I will make it, I will do whatever it takes to make it.

That was yesterday. Please pray.