(other people's moms)

She felt it.

Again.

That feeling that overcame her in Chile. In Virginia. In Mississippi.

The darkness, the sadness, the despair.

Oppression.

When all that is comfortable is ripped away, there are lies that creep in.

Worthless. Unclean. Pathetic.

She slips away from the group before they head out to the impoverished neighborhood where they will be conducting vacation Bible school. She grabs her Bible and sinks to the floor. The weight on her heart is heavy. The ugly voices in her head are loud and persistent.

Her fingers shaking, she opens to the Psalms. Surely David and his cries could silence the sinister.

As everyone else assembles to caravan to the empty parking lot that will become a worship space, she grabs hold of a family friend, a friend of her mom's really, the closest thing to home.

"Please pray for me," she whispers.

This woman, another girl's mom, gladly whisks her to a private corner and proceeds to pray, prayers of freedom, truth, light, joy.

And my daughter not only learns about the blessing of service, the blessing of prayer, but the blessing of community.

That come-unity that happens when even other people's moms care about you and love on you enough for you to count on them to help you break through the darkness, trust with your fear and woundedness, leading you to the light because they know the way.

This mom is grateful for a friend standing in the gap. And I wait my turn to serve in the body of Christ.