I looked into her eyes and felt troubled.  Perhaps it was because of something her son shared with me prior to our conversation that caused me to really look at her … to look beyond the tired smile and more deeply into her  shadowed eyes.  Eyes that were red-rimmed and wet from unshed tears with dark bags underneath that spoke of exhaustion and perhaps, something more?  I approached her with a question but I don’t remember her answer because I was so focused on what I was seeing.  Once she finished speaking, I hesitated a moment before asking if she was okay.  Her response was classic.  She hesitated herself and then stoically replied that she was fine and her watery eyes were due to allergies that she didn’t know she had.

I simply smiled, made a comment about her lovely appearance, and then moved on.  I don’t believe what I saw was simply due to allergies but I had to accept her words and give her the space that she clearly was desiring.

I have seen those same eyes often as I have encountered various women over the years.  Eyes that are tired and only able to focus on what is directly in front of them.  Eyes that have seen hard things.  Eyes that are guarded due to a hidden fear.  Eyes that are confused, wounded … and maybe even, defeated.   Eyes that show deep weariness from years of continually choosing to live in a way that she believes is honoring to the Lord, even when the cost is high.  Eyes that speak of the friends who have turned aside and the loneliness of an isolated journey.  Eyes that have known betrayal.  Eyes that are grieved by the sin of others … as well as, their own sin.  Eyes that are exhausted and unsure how they can possibly make it through another day.

I have seen it in the eyes of others.

I have seen it in my own.

Eyes carefully holding back the words they cannot speak.

The words that whisper, ‘I can’t do this.’

 

 

 

Thirteen years ago, I was living in an isolated cabin on top of a big hill with a mile long, extremely rough, dirt lane.  I had two young boys, one of whom was profoundly impacted by autism and was having significant sleep and behavioral issues … the other who was highly emotional and anxious.  I was also expecting my third child.

What I remember the most about this pregnancy was the overwhelming exhaustion. Between my autistic son’s various therapies and schooling, I seemed to be running non-stop.  I rarely slept and every moment of my day and night was consumed with the many needs of my boys.  When I did sleep, it was wherever I crashed after my oldest son finally drifted off into a restless sleep … sometimes on the couch but often, on the floor.

After one particularly long and rough day, my body went into labor very late in the night.  I wasn’t having typical contractions but somehow I knew my baby was coming and there wasn’t much time, so I called the midwife and thankfully, she trusted my instincts enough to tell me to head to the hospital.  I distinctively remember the horrible drive down that bumpy lane and can still point out the exact spot a brutal contraction ripped through my body as we hit bump after bump.

Once at the hospital, the midwife wasn’t there to meet us;  Instead it was the doctor on- call within the same practice.  A nurse did a quick check and told him that I was not in labor and wasn’t even barely dilated.  I didn’t believe this but the doctor dismissed my concerns and said that he needed to head next door to deliver a baby that was ready to be born.  He said he would come back later to check me again but planned on sending me home … WITH a sedative so I could sleep.

After he left, I had a contraction that lasted for several minutes and seemed to nearly tear me into pieces.  By the time it was over, I was emotionally spent and exhausted beyond compare.  I had already been awake for well over 24 hours because of my son not sleeping the night before and being told that I would likely have to make the 45 minute drive back home while having such long and severe contractions was overwhelming.  The nurse stepped back in to tell me the doctor would soon be back to send me home but she checked to see if there had been any progress.  She informed me that nothing had changed … I was not dilated (of course, I knew otherwise).  When the doctor finally came back, he checked and discovered the nurse had been wrong.  I was, in fact, completely dilated and it was the bulging water sac the nurse had felt … not an undilated cervix.

Everything moved quickly after this … fortunately, even though the doctor had called the midwife and told her to not bother coming  in, she couldn’t rest easy.  She chose to believe my instincts and came to the hospital anyhow and arrived right after the doctor realized the reality of my situation.  She broke the bag of waters that held my child and my job at that point was simply to push out my baby.

Except, I couldn’t.

My strength was utterly depleted.  Physical strength, mental strength, emotional strength  … gone.  There was nothing left.  Tears slipped down my cheeks as I whispered that I couldn’t do this … I could not push my baby out.  The midwife was calm and gentle at first, but soon she realized that I was completely fading and not far from shutting down completely.  She began to yell at me and telling me I had to push … over and over, she kept yelling until somehow, God granted me just enough strength to push my long-anticipated, beautiful baby girl into this world.

 

Sometimes it is difficult to keep doing what we do, whether it is working long hours at a stressful job, staying home and caring for our children, serving within a ministry, staying in a dysfunctional, broken marriage, or even raising a special needs child.  Sometimes life feels very much like labor and childbirth and it simply seems as though we cannot push through one more time.

My midwife saw the bigger picture and recognized what I had lost sight of in the weakness of complete exhaustion … I absolutely had to persevere in order for my daughter to be born.  God knows an even greater picture.  He knows the reasons for the sufferings of this life, He knows what lies ahead, and His will is for us to persevere through whatever we are facing.

We can never allow ourselves to lose hope because we have a Heavenly Father whose heart is tender towards us in our seasons of suffering.  He can be our source of strength when the days are long, our comfort when the burdens overwhelming, and our constant hope in light of eternity.

 

  ^“Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we do not grow weary.”
Galatians 6:9