From my earliest memories, books were not just objects; they were portals to other worlds, cherished companions in quiet corners, and silent teachers. As a little girl, I was utterly captivated by stories. I’d often curl up with my beloved “Carebear” – a secret family nickname that somehow hinted at a nurturing spirit even then – eager to lose myself in pages filled with wonder. Sometimes I’d read silently, devouring every word, and other times, my mother’s gentle voice would fill the room, reading to us until her eyelids grew heavy and she’d finally doze off, a stack of unread adventures piled high beside her. It was a deeply cherished ritual, one that profoundly ingrained in me the joy and transformative power of storytelling, making it utterly natural that I would one day read to my own children, sharing the same comfort, magic, and foundational love for literature.
Childhood Dreams and the Call to Motherhood
Among the countless tales that shaped my early years, two books held a particularly special place in my heart: Robert Munsch’s “Love You Forever” and “I Like to Help My Mommy.” Both, perhaps serendipitously, revolved around the profound and unconditional love of a mother. “Love You Forever” painted a poignant picture of a mother’s unending devotion, the tender melody she sang each night resonating deep within my soul: “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.” This simple lullaby became an anthem for the kind of mother I longed to be – present, loving, and steadfast. The second book, “I Like to Help My Mommy,” featured a diligent little boy named Jaime who found joy in assisting his mother with every household task. Inspired by his example, I was determined to emulate him, helping my own mom with everything I possibly could, much to her amusement and occasional exasperation, I’m sure. These early narratives weren’t just stories; they were blueprints for my future, cementing a deep-seated desire to embrace motherhood as my ultimate calling.
Embracing an Unexpected Divine Calling
My aspirations were clear, deeply rooted in these childhood visions of nurturing and boundless love. Yet, life, in its profound wisdom, often unveils paths we never anticipated. I had made a solemn promise to God that this blog, far from being merely a means to pay bills, would be His platform – a space dedicated to His will and purpose. I committed to following His direction, wherever it might lead, even if it meant stepping outside my comfort zone. I remember one evening, kneeling in prayer, seeking affirmation for my cherished dream of being a devoted stay-at-home mother, believing it to be a righteous desire that aligned perfectly with my heart. I anticipated comforting words, a gentle nudge towards that path. Instead, I was met with a distinct, undeniable impression that we had a significant ministry to fulfill, that our work was far from complete. It was a revelation that shook my preconceived notions to their core, challenging the very blueprint I had meticulously crafted for my life.
This wasn’t my plan. It wasn’t the future I had envisioned! The internal conflict was immediate and intense. How could I reconcile my yearning to be a “hold you, love you, laugh with you” mom with the unexpected call to active ministry and work? The thought of becoming a working mother, when my heart longed for constant presence with my children, felt overwhelming, particularly as stress levels already ran high. This unexpected divine answer, though initially unsettling, ultimately became a pivotal moment. It compelled us to pause, re-evaluate, and prayerfully establish new goals and boundaries, aligning our lives more closely with what we felt was a higher purpose. We reaffirmed our commitment to follow Him, to diligently keep our covenants, and to pour our love and service into each other, our children, and everyone around us. This was not about personal fame or fortune; it was about embracing our calling to be a beacon of light in an increasingly darkening world, a profound lesson we had begun to learn through the crucible of unemployment.
Navigating Suffering: Hyperemesis Gravidarum and Divine Empathy
However, the clarity of this divine direction soon blurred with the onset of my third pregnancy. The challenges quickly escalated, pushing the blog and its nascent ministry far down my priority list. Life transformed into a relentless battle for survival as I grappled with the debilitating symptoms of Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). This severe form of morning sickness, far from the common queasiness, plunged me into a constant state of nausea, vomiting, and profound exhaustion. It mandated repeated hospitalizations, each absence tearing at the fabric of my mother’s heart. This image of our daughter, curled up on the floor, her small body wracked with tears, encapsulates the anguish of that period. I can no longer recall the initial spark of her tears, but I know without a doubt that my repeated returns to the hospital, battling #hyperemesisgravidarum, pushed her fragile emotions over the edge. The sheer agony of not being physically present to comfort your children, to dry their tears when you are fighting your own unseen battle, is a feeling that deeply scars the heart.
Despite the immense suffering, I found profound gratitude. This arduous journey forged me into the person I am today, enabling me to look into the eyes of all children, recognizing their innocence and showering them with unconditional love. It deepened my understanding of empathy and resilience in ways I never imagined. Christ’s suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane was not merely for Him to be the only one capable of perfect empathy, to comfort us, and to show us the way as He had already ascended similar mountains of pain. Rather, the very pain we endure in this mortal life is also a divine conduit, allowing us to better comprehend and know Him on a deeply personal level. He has truly felt every ache, every sorrow, every burden I have ever carried. Now, through my own suffering, I can glimpse into the unfathomable depths of His sacrifice, and with profound love, choose to stand with Him, to be eternally His.
The scriptures echo this truth, illuminating His agony: “Then saith he unto them, my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me… and he went a little further and fell on his face and prayed,” Matthew 26:38-39. And further, “Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” Luke 22:42-44. He experienced unimaginable hurt. He acknowledged His pain, sought solace from His disciples, pleaded for relief, and was ministered to by angels. This profound narrative became both my present reality and a beacon for my future. I knew it had already shaped my past, allowing me to cling with a death grip to the unwavering faith I had already been given.
I prayed diligently every day, consciously seeking out the blessings, however small, amidst the overwhelming challenges. I chose submission, holding on to hope when every fiber of my being wanted to let go. On the hardest days, as cheesy as it might sound, I would defiantly declare, “Go ahead and keep trying to break me, let Satan tempt me to anger or sadness; I am not giving up on what I know to be true. I do NOT stand alone.” And I never did. I opened my eyes and heart to see every “angel” in my life – those who ministered to me as Christ was ministered to – recognizing aloud and in my mind that their presence was a powerful witness that Christ Himself was there, ministering through them. He knew my pain, and He would never let me suffer without His divine presence. This profound realization, this deep connection to shared suffering, has the power to truly transform a soul.
The Crucible of Unemployment: A Tender Mercy
This understanding of divine empathy and ministering was not born solely from the trials of Hyperemesis Gravidarum; it had been meticulously woven into the tapestry of my life during an earlier, equally challenging period. I can vividly recall a time when my husband and I faced over a year of unemployment with two small children, leaving us feeling utterly broken and adrift. We were incredibly frustrated by our circumstances, yet beneath the surface of anxiety, there was a persistent, quiet certainty that there was a deeper reason for our struggle, and that our fervent prayers for employment would eventually be answered. We clung fiercely to the belief that everything would ultimately be okay, understanding that it was our deliberate choice to live and serve with as much happiness as we could muster, even in the darkest of times. And we did.
Certainly, there were moments when tears flowed freely and frustration boiled over at our situation. But by consciously choosing to hold on to faith and hope, those feelings of despair would quickly recede, allowing us to press forward, one small step at a time. The financial strain was relentless. Our savings account had been completely depleted, and we had even resorted to selling a beloved piece of furniture just to cover essential bills. We were living off our carefully curated food storage – provisions we had initially set aside for emergencies – and had only a few precious dollars remaining. The weight of our poverty was a heavy cloak I wore, especially on the day I ventured to the grocery store alone to purchase a handful of bare necessities.
As I navigated those brightly lit aisles, laden with food we couldn’t afford, I felt an intense, crushing self-consciousness, as if somehow everyone around me knew the stark reality of our destitution. It had been over a year since we had enjoyed fresh produce, and the very idea of casually shopping, buying whatever we needed or even desired, felt like an impossible luxury, a distant dream. With painstaking care, I selected milk, bread, a small block of cheese, and a jar of peanut butter that was thankfully on sale. At the checkout, the total flashed higher than my meager funds could cover. Anxious and mortified, I awkwardly avoided the gaze of the older gentleman waiting patiently behind me, who held just a single, crimson apple – a detail that etched itself into my memory. “Oh,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, “I actually didn’t need that peanut butter.” I paid for the remaining items, my cheeks burning with humiliation, and hurried out of the store, feeling utterly degraded and alone.
In that moment, I honestly felt lower and more worthless than I ever had before. We had strived to do everything right: managing our finances meticulously, adhering to a strict budget, earning our degrees, living faithfully and prayerfully, and continuously seeking opportunities to serve others. Yet, it seemed that people whose lives appeared far more chaotic and less disciplined were somehow blessed with more abundance. It was the first time I had ever truly questioned my own inherent worth.
As I reached my car, still reeling from the shame, a young bagger came running toward me. He explained that the older gentleman from the checkout line had insisted that “no one should ever be without peanut butter” and had purchased it for me. I can’t even recount this story without tears welling in my eyes, just as they did on that day. That compassionate man, a true angel in disguise, saw beyond my outward struggle. He could have easily judged me as lazy or worthless for my inability to afford a simple jar of peanut butter, or indeed, a million other things. Instead, he saw a fellow human being in desperate need of a tender mercy, an unsolicited act of kindness. He didn’t need to ask intrusive questions; he simply needed to act, to extend compassion.
We didn’t miraculously get a job at that grocery store; there was no grand financial turnaround in that moment. But that man’s simple, selfless gesture was a profound tender mercy, a tangible sign that Christ truly walks with us through our darkest valleys, and that He manifests His light through the kindness of others. It was a powerful reminder that even when we feel most alone and unworthy, we are always seen, always loved, and always supported by divine grace, often channeled through the unexpected compassion of strangers. These experiences, though painful, forged a deeper understanding of empathy, resilience, and the enduring power of faith, shaping my journey in ways I could never have planned, but for which I am eternally grateful.