Maybe it’s the fact that Father’s Day was Sunday. Maybe it’s reading posts from friends who lack a father, husband, etc. But my heart has been tenderized to those who don’t have a father. Those who’s husband abandoned them this year, last year, thirty years ago. Those who’ve never known their daddy. And those who don’t want to spend another moment in his presence.
I’ve been reminded that God is the father to the fatherless. That He is the champion of the widow (in this day, I believe that includes single mothers). The children who walk by the bank of Father’s Day cards and gifts and cry in their hearts for a man who will love them like a father.
What will we do to meet that need? To be the practical hands and feet of Christ to those in need?
I was humbled this week by neighbors who took in an essentially homeless young woman. I looked at my husband and asked if we would have been willing to do the same. I hope so. I truly hope so.
I think of the men willing to pour into the boys at church through a weekly program. A chance for men to teach boys how to be men. We need that so much in our world.
I think of how I am that mom at the gym, the one who hugs on the girls who don’t have daddies. Does it matter? I’m just a mom. But I see the shadows in their eyes. The question about whether they are lovable. And my heart screams yes, even as my heart breaks for their pain.
I think of my friends mentoring young women who find themselves in unplanned pregnancies. The families that open their hearts and homes. My friends who no longer have husbands and are facing the task of moving…alone. Parenting…alone. Breathing…alone.
And I think: What would Jesus do?
How would He reach out with love to the single moms battling every day to do a job for two on the resources and emotion of one? How would He love on the children who wonder if anyone cares? How would He bring light into a situation that isn’t easy?
This is where the rubber meets the road. This is where Christianity becomes real. This is where I am to be His hands and feet. And I wonder: am I?