There was a morning not long after my dad died that grief wrestled me to the ground. I was home by myself, had just taken a long, warm shower, and reality hit me like a 2×4. I dropped to the floor and tried to catch my breath.
I texted my best friends an S.O.S.: “Having a really hard time. Please pray.”
Tracie, who was out of town (or she probably would have immediately driven to my house), texted back, “Want me to call and pray with you?”
“Yes, but I won’t be able to talk. All I can do is cry.”
She replied, “That’s okay. I’ll probably just cry, too.”
She called. I cried. She cried. She prayed.
Then I heard a faint knock through the phone, and a small voice say, “Mommy, are you okay?”
Tracie has one of the sweetest (and energetic) little girls ever, and apparently Tracie had gone into the hotel bathroom for a moment of privacy. If you’re a parent, you know bathroom privacy doesn’t last long.
Tracie assured Lea she was alright, opened the door for her, and reminded her that I was sad and needed some prayers to help me smile. Well, Lea didn’t hesitate. She wanted to help, too. Tracie gave her the phone, and Lea reminded me that she loves me and wants me to smile and that everything will be okay.
And I smiled. And laughed through my tears, because how could I do anything else? From the mouth of a babe, truth came. I was loved. I could smile through the tears. And everything would be okay, even if I didn’t know when or how.
I just needed a child to remind me.