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I stood on the edge of the porch, paintbrush in hand. As the white paint slathered onto the wood, covering all the imperfections, the parallel wasn’t lost on me. I knew I was standing in the middle of a do over. I had lived a dark season of failing God. He knew it and I knew it. The choice of returning to that dark place was before me. Was I willing to make the other choice this time, the choice of following Jesus and His way?
Softly muttering, slamming cabinets just a little too hard, moving a little too quickly, everything within me was churning with resentment and self-pity. Here I was again, holding everything together, keeping all the plates spinning, all the children fed, all the needs met. I just wanted this one night out, this one time to step away from it all and relax with some friends. I longed to laugh, listen, and be something more than a compilation of chores, duties, and work. But he could not make it home. He was apologetic, but surgeries don’t wait. Trauma doesn’t pause for a mom’s night out.
As Shakespeare once penned, the eyes are the window to the soul. Earlier still, the Bible calls the eyes the lamp of the body in Matthew 6:22-23. Our inner man peers out through our eyes, revealing the light we claim to walk in. When darkness clouds our vision, dimming the light, those who hold our gaze will see and feel its effects.
“I am sorry. I am not going to make it,” read the text on my phone. A bit of anger rose up inside of me. “I am willing to give my time, but I am not willing to waste it!” I muttered under my breath as I walked home in the rain. We had a family member visiting from the States, but I had carved out a bit of time to meet with this woman I had never met before. She expressed interest through a mutual contact in attending the Bible study I lead. I wanted to help her feel more comfortable by meeting her first, but now she hadn’t shown up.