I see you.
You’re the friend who lost her baby too soon and lives daily in agony. While I can’t fathom your pain, I can imagine your grief. I see you.
You’re the friend who had a miscarriage last week. You walk around trying to live life as though nothing ever happened, but I feel you pain and I know the depth of your grief. Some who find out will say, “at least it was early,” as if that somehow makes it less of a loss. Trust me. I know. I see you.
You’re the friend who has a baby up at all hours of the night. You’re so thankful to be home after five painfully long months in the NICU, but you really just. want. sleep. And it’d be so nice if a nurse could just cover this feed for you… but oh yeah, you’re at home now. I feel the depth of your thankfulness, and yet I also know how very hard it is to adjust to life after the hospital. I see you.
You’re the friend whose husband didn’t turn out to be the man you thought he was. He abused your adopted children and in the process, ripped out your heart slowly in a way you never thought he could possibly. I can’t begin to fathom the depth of your pain, or your sorrow over all that was lost. I see you.
You’re the friend who would deeply love to be loved. You try to hide it by laughing it off and saying you’ll be single forever, but I know. I see it in your eyes. I would dearly love to find you your Mr. Right. You pour your heart and soul into your nephews, but I know you would have loved to have been a mother to your own little motley crew. I see you.
You’re the friend who pulled her son from public school as a last ditch effort to not lose him completely. He has so. many. unique. needs. He is an amazing kid, but you often don’t know who he is. You’re giving him your everything in an attempt to save him – from himself. And to save his siblings from him, too. I see you.
You’re the friend who just started sharing your knowledge online one day, and suddenly became a “sensation” in certain circles. Now, your entire life is critiqued and judged by women you’ve never met, and you feel you have to justify everything you do and don’t let your kids do. I have no idea how many emails and messages you receive on a regular basis, but I know it has to be overwhelming, all while you’re just trying to be a mom who helps her kids the way they need to be helped, and makes some money while doing it. I see you.
You’re the friend who moved hundreds of miles away and is now dealing with the fallout of the world of friendship – few are for forever… most are just friends for a time. And it hurts when people you thought were for forever, are actually just for a season. I’m still here. And I see you.
You’re the wife of a pastor in a tiny remote town, just trying to do what God called you to do. You’re an awesome mom, but you’re just plain lonely. You long for in-person friendship and fellowship from other women who can relate to you and don’t avoid you because you’re the pastor’s wife. I so deeply wish our long-distance friendship could be the in-person relationship that you so desperately need. I see you.
You’re that teacher at the car drop-off line at my daughter’s school. I don’t know what grade you teach, but I know your well-groomed look. You’re dressed to the nines and hair curled just so. You’ve got cute makeup and an empty left ring finger. When I rolled down my window and told you you looked nice today, I saw something else, too. You almost cried. You’re hiding something inside. And I’m so glad I said something. You told me I made your day, and I’m so glad I took those two seconds to really see you.
Maybe you’re a mom who is battling cancer, or a mom who just started a second job. Maybe you’re single, or maybe you’re married. Maybe you’re just out of college, or going back in your 50s because you never really followed your calling. But whoever you are, whatever you are dealing with in life, I see you. I feel your heart longing to be loved. I feel your heart desperate to break up with fear. I know the weight of your worry. I know your need to be beautiful. And you are, sweet sister, you are. You might not fit into a six or even a sixteen, but either way, you are exactly who God made you to be. And I see you. Do you take the time to see others for who they are? Do you allow yourself to feel their pain? It’s overwhelming. But it’s beautiful. God gives us friends to help pick each other up when the going gets rough, and to encourage us that God will never leave us, either. Because most importantly, He sees you. And He is your King. He is your Father. He is your Abba (Daddy).