I was so engulfed in my world that, at times, I felt like a spectator watching this unfold before me rather than an actual part of the event. All these “helpers” did not know what I was going through. They did not realize how broken I was. They saw a young mom of two trying to console her baby and keep her three-year-old entertained.
o you want to impact the world for Jesus—but your life feels more like a trainwreck than a billboard for God’s love. I used to feel this way, too, until one young girl changed everything.
Struggle and suffering had taken me under, and I was beyond tired of running on empty. My praying and trying only led to more disappointment and heartache. Finally, at the end of most days, I collapsed into bed with nothing else to give. It seemed as if my life was out of control, and I wanted to scream, “Enough, Lord.”
Over ten years ago, when my big ones were little and my littles weren’t even born yet, we began making weekly visits to a local nursing home. We’d chat with residents in their rooms or join them in the activity center to play games (lots of Bingo!), do puzzles, or even exercise. When my kids were a bit older they performed monthly “variety shows” where everything they did was received with loud applause, huge smiles, and loads of encouragement.
In the summer of 2018, I was hit head-on and fell hard into the world of mental health struggles. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. I couldn’t follow a conversation. I got angry at little things and cried at the drop of a hat. I was easily startled. I couldn’t be a passenger—I had to do all the driving. I became terrified of spiders, scanning every room looking for them. I started having panic attacks, and where I used to love walking in the pasture among our cattle, I was now afraid of them.