It was the hardest month of my life. There was so much pain and so many perils. My marriage was under siege. My sanity was under siege. My faith was under siege and I was losing strength for the battle.
In the process of everything a birthday got missed and so a few weeks late we tried to throw together something to honor our son. She accommodated the last minutes plans and brought her crew the hour long drive to our house.
It wasn’t exactly a pinterest party. We were unorganized, had forgot to fill out the liability forms for the trampoline park and I was up to my elbows in homemade meatballs in marinara because for some reason I thought that was a good idea.
She ignored the tension, browned the meatballs, gently redirected me when I started spewing venom and then helped me put the whole mess away. All while her sweet daughter entertained the little ones downstairs.
Then, she looked at me and said “I brought you a gift.” She pulled a simple stack of white computer paper from her bag. “We’re going to worship.”
She sat down at my slightly off-key piano and 45 minutes later we were still singing. I had barely had the strength to lift my eyes most days let alone lift my voice. But she was like a plow. Like a lead dog breaking trail through thick snow so that I could follow. She helped me find my voice.
I sat, and sang. We sang together. Sisters, finding strength at the Father’s feet. She brought me worship. It was perhaps the thing I needed most.