It’s another late night or perhaps an early morning, I’m not sure. My eyes are too blurry to see the time and yet I continue my vigil.
There must be something more I can do to ease the suffering for those in my home and those on my heart. There are so many who are hurting, including myself.
At this point, we just shuffle who comes first like a ladder, he or she who is in most need, goes to the top and is pushed down a wrung when the crisis is at bay. The need is just so great.
Reinforcements are not in sight. My humanity longs for a social media glimpse of rest: a day at the beach, soft new towels, a hike in the mountains, a cold refreshing drink on a hot day. Heck, what I wouldn’t give for a nap right now? What I truly desire, what I truly need is an authentic glimpse of promised healing.
I am rooted here; here in this home, here with this big heart swollen with prayer, here with all these beautiful extended people in my life. I walk the path back to my bedroom after tending to another call for help. These are the souls given to me to shepherd, and though at times I cry out for wisdom and energy, there is comfort in knowing the immense trust the Lord has for me. He has equipped me and not left me alone. He has given me an incredible husband and family to share the joy and shoulder the suffering of this path to Heaven. What have I done to deserve this abundance of graciousness?
And yet I realize in this moment, at whatever God-fearing time it is in the morning, I have nothing left to give and so I offer my breath. Truly it is all I have as I fall upon the couch in the living room, not even making it to my room. My breath can be a prayer for the ones whose hearts and bodies are racked with pain and worry. I ask that each breath be intentional in its inhale and in its exhale. Praying like this grounds me deeper in my identity as a Christian where everything I have been given, down to my last breath, is an offering and an invitation for Christ to use for His purpose.
Sometimes as Christians we give and wait for the expected reply; a call and response of sorts. I say thank you. You reply You’re welcome. I say I’m sorry. You say you forgive me, or you are sorry too. We live in a world where an offering is almost anticipated and expected to be reciprocated. I love you. You love me too.
I’m coming to understand how this negates the gift. There is no selfless giving if we give from this human expectation. Rather, I am finding God to be closest in my recognition of my own desire for this affirmation, my weakness and my total surrender.
I am reminded of the story in the book of Luke Chapter 21: 1-4 of the widow’s mite.
“He looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the treasury; and he saw a poor widow put in two copper coins. And he said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all the living that she had.”
All the living she had, this is the woman I seek to emulate. My children might see the extra stop at the ice cream store on the way home or the special pair of sandals and feel loved, but I think the truly selfless giving is the widow’s mite. Perhaps we call it a mother’s mite, the gift no one sees but we parents give, of the very last of our effort, the last bit of our patience, and even the last thought at night laid out in a prayer for those we hold so close.
Lord, help us to give selflessly, to pour out like you, for you, in all we do.
To read more of MaryBeth Eberhard’s writing, visit her website and subscribe for updates at www.marybetheberhard.com.