A Facebook friend photographed two pages from a book she was reading and posted the image along with a pithy question. Who knew prayers could weaken faith? My interest was piqued. I mean, whether you pray or not, or claim to have faith or not, that’s a question that’ll draw a facebook comment showdown. Sometimes they’re amusing, those debates online where no one ever changes their mind.
But about fifteen minutes passed and nothing. So, with no comments to read to do my research for me, I went ahead and tapped on the image, zoomed in, and began reading the actual text. I skimmed both pages of words and wasn’t sure if I agreed or disagreed. Truth is – I was too tired to take it in. But still I felt strongly that the subject was important to me. I wanted to know the answer.
And that is when I did a very strange and brave thing. I commented.
Who knows why I had the gumption to invite myself over to her home? I’m an introvert. What’s the point? I’d had only a handful of face to face interactions with this Facebook friend ever. And I’m a self-help reader junkie. Tomorrow I could find the entire book online and read it over and over until I understood this thing. Maybe it was that I’d recently listened to one of Brene Brown’s Ted Talks on vulnerability? Or maybe it was God.
Don’t stop reading. Stay and hear me out. I know the cliché brings an eye roll. I know the mere mention of His name divides us. So if you need to, then call it what you will – the universe spoke to me or serendipity found me. We can agree to disagree on that particular today. But from one mama to another mama, you need to know this truth that I found.
Facebook is not enough.
You need to know it if you’re a facebook fanatic, like me. You need to know it if you’re an introvert, like me. You need to know it if you’re a self-help junkie, like me. You need to know it, especially, if you are in a bad place right now, like I am. You need to know that social media is not enough.
She answered, “Come, soon.”
I’d like to just bottle up the feeling that came into me when I read that. Can you feel it? It was an invitation for sure. But more than that, it came to me as a directive in my time of deep emotional need. There was no doubt that I was going to obey. And then she called me by a precious title that defined me and claimed me. “Come, soon, my precious trunk keeper.” I heard how welcomed that I really was. I heard belonging. And I went the next day.
I pulled up into her driveway only about halfway, an old chest cooler sat opened, blocking the rest of it. There were a few toys strewn around the yard and a big hole smack in the middle that was covered over partially with a wooden board. Another might wonder if she’d forgotten our meeting, but I knew otherwise, especially when I reached the front door. Through the glass I could see four children settled in for quiet time, piled in to one small room. Without knocking, I opened the door and let myself in. “She’s in the kitchen,” one of them said.
Rosie appeared with the softest, gentlest laugh for them. I made my way to her, stepping over books and pillows and one sleeping bag, and finally reached the kitchen, finding a seat at the table that contained remnants of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There were dishes in the sink, groceries on the counter, and pots and pans on the stove.
Do you know how I felt? I felt at home.
And in that home I dared to speak and she dared to wait. Her waiting was listening, not fixing. And her listening was the challenge and opportunity that my soul needed. It could not have been messaged. It could not have been texted. It was the silent comment that can only be when present. I told Rosie things and Rosie told me things, and those things are not the lesson for you, sweet mama whose soul may also be aching. You must find your things by inviting yourself or saying “come soon.” You must realize that while good and helpful for so many times, sometimes Facebook is not enough.
