In the short space of five hours, three people just happened to mention the difficulties they are facing in the care of people who struggle. One is the son of a man who has forgotten his own history. Dementia has robbed him of a lifetime of memories, and left him with little more than enjoying lunch. Another was a woman whose husband's mind has been hijacked, demoting her to his care taker rather than a life partner. All of the many decisions that impact both of them fall on her sagging shoulders. The third was a woman who watches a child with anger issues much like my own son. The day we spoke she felt especially ragged. 

 

No one connected the dots that I felt God was drawing in the sky. But I did. 

My experience is like that of many other people. Somehow that softens the blow.

 

In the same day I ran into a friend who is six months into a new job. I asked how it was going. 

 

"Well if I make it through the day without crying over the computer, that is a good one!" she laughed. I took joy in knowing that she is stretching into it, and blessing her family as well. 

 

That evening as I sat hunched over my own laptop modifying documents for teaching next week. I was trying to figure out how to access the printer a mile away. I clicked recklessly, like a field full of crickets, but nothing worked. I began to cry. 

 

Then I remembered my friend, struggling to understand her own duties. Leaking her own tears. And in that moment, I felt the warmth of her company. 

 

One of the pitfalls of hanging our heads in despair is that it keeps us from seeing the people all around us, who are carrying burdens of their own.