Today's Eucharisteo

I know some of my more sophisticated readers might turn up their noses at Ann Voskamp, but I happen to think she's incredible. Sure, her writing style is not one that I prefer, but good heavens. The woman speaks truth and grace and beauty and honesty.

We need more of those things in this broken, ugly world.

I follow her blog, not daily, but regularly.

Today's entry was a guest post by her friend Sarah Mae, author of Desperate.

I'm positive I am meant to read this book.

Desperate first came to my attention a few days ago. I don't even remember where I saw it. I just know I read the blurb under it and it shook me to my core.

"It’s for you, for the mama who has ever whispered, “I just can’t be a mother today.” It’s for those who love their little ones to the depths of their souls, but who feel like parenting is way harder than envisioned. It’s for those who have watched their ideals slip through their fingers like water, unable to grasp them." 

We just moved across the country, to a place where we have no roots, no community, no friends. Life is still unfamiliar. It has been lonely, and mothering well through all the transition has been hard. 

Eucharisteo has been hard. 

Source

I posted the link to Desperate on my FB page, saying (rather flippantly, because people don't really take these things seriously, right?): "I need this. Somebody buy it for me!" 

The miracle is, there was a somebody out there.  Another mom, one with two little ones and one on the way. Someone who, like me, moved here from far away. 

Someone who understands. 

So although I had another long and sleepless night, trying to soothe my child through the discomfort from coughs and a very stuffy nose, and although the morning got off to a rough start with cleaning up vomit and yet another load of linen laundry, I'm finding it a little bit easier to be thankful today. 

Source

Because even through this loneliness, God is here. He sees. He sees my frantic attempts to be the perfect mom. He sees my anger when I fail every day. He sees my desperation. 

And He sends me a book to read to remind me that there are others out there. 

And He sends me a friend who reaches out a hand when I've been feeling like there are none. 

And He reminds me, just a few days later, when I've had a hard night and a hard morning, that He's still here...
still seeing...
still ever-strong when I am oh-so-weak.