“I don’t want to be your friend. At least not this year. And probably not the next year either.”
My brokenhearted, 11-year-old daughter came home from her volleyball practice in tears after hearing these words from a girl on her new team.
Can’t we just be so mean (even now, years past middle school)?
And truth is, breaking into new groups isn’t easy. Sometimes they feel threatened and lash-out to protect their territory.
Ugh… few things hurt more than feeling rejected.
And so for the next little bit – as she climbed into my bed – we talked about the messages those hurtful words spoke deep into her heart.
The ones that assaulted her self-worth.
The ones that triggered some of my own woundings.
The ones that she will encounter – I will encounter – you will encounter – again.
Then I whispered this into her weary soul:
“Sara, it doesn’t matter what she thinks of you. Because the One who created you, delights in all of you. Sweet girl, you were made on purpose. Don’t let anyone make you doubt it.”
Simple words to hear, but complicated words to believe.
It was a good moment between mother and daughter.
A moment of hard-earned wisdom being transferred from one generation to the next.
A moment of revealing deep hopes and hurts we’re so programmed to hide from the world.
As moms —as women — don’t we look for “open doors” like these?
… those opportunities to peek inside the heart of another.
… those times we’re given to speak just the right word at just the right time.
… those chances to bless a wounded heart with encouragement and affirmation.
They’re rare and precious, and often appear when we least expect it.
But God showed up.
And He helped me bandaged her bruised little heart with Truth – Truth we both needed to hear. Truth that dried the tears and breathed life into some deflated places.
Don’t we all have… places?
As I tucked her into bed—snug as a bug in a rug—I looked into her big brown eyes and saw a restored confidence.
And I inhaled God’s goodness.
Where do you need the breath of God to revive you?