Pain in the summer is never fun. Not that pain is ever enjoyable, but the summer just seems to compound the frustration. Everyone is supposed to be enjoying life and the weather, and you feel like crawling in a hole and never coming out.
During the summer of 2016, I sat on the back porch with a couple of friends after my kids had gone to bed and my pain spilled over to them. I looked at my life and wondered what on earth I was going to do moving forward. Generally I like to keep a tight lid on my stuff—opening up seems vulnerable and raw. But this night was one where the honeysuckle smelled sweetest, the warm air wrapped me up in its hug and the crickets sang from their little homes under the grass. It all came pouring out, and was received in such a gracious, loving way.
After I was done talking, my friends prayed for me, asking for direction and hope in the days ahead. And the most powerful piece of that was when one of the girls popped her head up and remembered the story I had told her earlier in the evening about my back yard.
