This has all been a lot.
Even though most days I can feel the blessing of extra time with the kids.
Even though I believe strongly that God has got this all—and He has got all of us.
Even though I can see that my family under our roof is healthy and safe.
Even though I can smile and laugh while in the moment.
Even though I can steal a million kisses and hugs from my littles and husband.
Even though I can send you a silly text and GIF about how the struggle is real.
Even though we FaceTimed just the other day, and when you asked, “How are you doing?” I said, “We are all doing OK—the best we can you know.”
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall in the shower.
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall silently while staring out the window waiting in yet another parking lot while the husband runs into the store with a mask on.
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall as I ache to hug my mom, dad, sisters, and family who have all been weathering this storm at a distance.
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall while I walk into another doctor’s office alone holding our baby.
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall while daydreams of celebrating upcoming birthdays and holidays seem so far-fetched from this new reality.
Doesn’t mean that the tears don’t fall when I break away into the bathroom for just a few moments of silence.
Even though we talked through the camera and you asked.
I was not alone in a space where I could really share how I am doing.
For I have little eyes beaming up watching my every expression and reaction.
I have little ears eagerly listening to and hanging on my every word.
Their worlds and perspectives of all of this is being largely shaped by how I respond in front of them and the incredible weight of that is largely unseen by the outside world.
I feel the gravity of this responsibility—keeping them healthy and whole in body, mind, and spirit.
Therefore, my smile will be worn and the onions or allergies blamed when my eyes well up with water, for the tears can only fall when no one is looking.
But I know I am not alone in my ache.
That my tears are not a failure.
That in my weakness there is strength regained in prayer.
That God sees and feels my silent tears and aches.
That God knows my inner thoughts—doubts, joys, and fears.
That when I call out for Him—even when my call is not spoken but shouted from my heart—He hears me.
We are not in it alone sister. Not for a moment—and when you need that reminder know that we can look to our God and look to one another too.