A Letter to the Weary One

You're not alone. You're not alone. You're not alone.

Writing hasn’t been easy this week. I’m humbled and grateful to be working on a manuscript for my second book this summer, but in all honesty, my heart has felt entirely too heavy to come up with any words.

I shared this Prayer for Gun Violence in Schools from To Light Their Way. I had to turn comments off. I vowed not to make peace with violence. I turned off my phone completely for awhile. I got backpacks ready for the end of the school year. I thanked teachers. I kept loading the dishwasher. I told God I was angry. And scared. I cried. I made dinner.

Like you, I continue to grieve with the parents who grieve, who are living nightmares no one wants to imagine. Just last night, two college students were shot and killed in a church parking lot, at a campus ministry event here in Iowa. How much more, Jesus?

How can I write a book of hope when my heart is so heavy? How can I look my four children in the eye and tell them everything will be okay when nothing seems okay?

I guess that’s why I’m here, writing you a letter. (Don’t worry, I have another newsletter in the works with fun things like updates about the brand-new Liturgies for Parents podcast and signed book giveaways.) But for now, I’m going to tell you the words I need to hear. Because maybe you need to hear them, too.

And maybe then I can work on this book again. It’s a book I hope serves you, that speaks into your soul as a parent or caregiver.

But for now, a letter.

Dear heart, you have been carrying a heavy load. I’m so sorry.

I know it hurts to hold the pain of this aching world as you cut crusts off sandwiches for your toddler and text a check-in with your teenager.

But don’t become numb. Your tender heart is a reflection of Jesus. We need you to stay soft.

Your community, your family, needs your strength that rises up because of your anger against injustice. The kids in your life need you to keep caring, to keep guiding them.

Don’t make peace with the violence of word and deed littering the lawns of our communities.

I know it’s not easy. I know showing up and continuing to care, to follow Christ, can feel like tossing a pebble of goodness into an ocean of evil.

Does it matter? Does it, really?

I know you’re asking those questions. You’re not the only one.

And I know you worry. I worry, too. It’s hard to hear ourselves think over creation’s groans, isn’t it? Maybe you’re afraid of what might happen if you speak up. Friend, I’m afraid of what might happen if you don’t.

If you’re angry, if you’re sad, if you’re filled with a million emotions and just trying to get through the day? You’re not alone. You are seen. Your children are seen.

The scaffolding that is holding up our country is rusted and broken. All around, even in our churches, we see idols of greed and power worshipped and called good. In case you haven’t heard anyone say it aloud — this is wrong. This is not of Christ. We can not put shiplap over rot and call it good.

Jesus says blessed are the poor but we toil to become rich. Jesus says blessed are the peacemakers but we worship weapons of war. Jesus says blessed are those who hunger for justice but we think that’s the work of someone else.

Does that make you angry? Does it leave you convicted? Beloved, Jesus has given us a new way to engage the world. To bring peace where there is violence, to bring hope where there is despair, to bring love where there is hate.

Dear heart, I know cynicism is easy to fall into. But it’s a trap. Don’t succumb to the alluring lie that says things will never be better, that all hope is lost.

You know those things you think you can not say to God? That you dare not utter aloud? Say them. Write them out. Scream them into the void.

God will hear your prayer. You can’t scare away your Maker. Keep pounding your fists into God’s chest like a toddler hot with sticky tears. And, friend, rest when you need a break. God will still be there tomorrow.

Be steadfast against injustice but gentle with the hearts of others — and yourself.

I mostly want you to know that you are not alone. That suffering is real but so is hope. When people or systems let you down, Jesus won’t. Me and you, we were made for such a time as this. The way we are parenting, the choices we are making for our families — it all matters. It’s all connected. Nothing is wasted.

There’s a popular adage that stems from Micah 6:8. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Maybe it’s worth repeating again and again until it sticks: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

Will you cling to that hope with me? Will you imagine a better way for our children, for our neighbors, for ourselves?

Keep showing up. Bring your wounds and your weary bones. Your presence in this world is very wanted. The God who created you loves you. The God who created your child loves them.

I’m so sorry these past couple years have been impossibly hard for a million reasons. I can not fix things, but I will sit with you here in this pain.

You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.

I’m honored to show up alongside you, even if we never meet face-to-face. That gives me a little hope, knowing that you’re out there, living in rhythms of grace, doing your best to show up and raise a family who refuses to accept that it has to be this way.

If I keep showing up, and you keep showing up, and they keep showing up, maybe our little pebbles in the ocean will cause bigger ripples than we know.

May the compassionate love of Christ surround you in the days ahead,

Kayla

If the above letter resonated with you, please feel free to share with a friend.

It’s a privilege to pray with you.

Here is an excerpt from “A Prayer for the Overwhelmed” from To Light Their Way:

O God, we don’t have to tell You

That we live in a reality with so much need,

Both in our homes

And in our broader communities,

And it’s easy to feel like whatever we do

Is just a pebble in the ocean.

O God, remind us that You are present

To each individual heart

And every communal cry.

Give us strength for the day

And bright hope for tomorrow.

Thanks for being here. Take good care, friend.