Email Brenda

~It’s January, it’s gloomy, and it’s a lonely time for Jessica. To whom can she turn?~ 

Because of the storm raging outside, Jessica didn’t hear the indoor drip at first. When the drip-dripping sound finally captured her attention, Jessica assumed that one of her children had neglected to turn the bathroom faucet all the way off. She carried her freshly laundered towels down the hall to the bathroom in order to put them away and stop the leak. She flicked on the bathroom light --

“Oh no, oh no,” she moaned, dropping the towels on the counter. The sink was dry, but the floor was not. She gazed from the puddle to the ceiling, where a large damp spot the size of a dinner plate had formed. It was brown around the edges and bulging down.

“Why this, why now?” Jessica asked as she ran for a screwdriver and a pot. It had already been a horrible day. The cold, dreary weather that had lasted all week had driven the kids wild, and Maggie, the oldest, had been obstinate and sassy. She placed the pot under the leak, moved the bath mat out of the way, and stood up on the toilet lid to poke a hole in the ceiling for the water to drain out, as she’d seen Sam do once a few years before. The water ran down her arm and dripped off her elbow. “What am I going to do?”

What would Sam do? Probably climb up into the attic and fix the leak, or call somebody, but who? Maybe a plumber? No, it wasn’t a plumbing problem, it was a roof problem. Do you call roofers when there’s a leak, she wondered? One thing was certain, and that was that there would be no crawling around in a dark attic during a thunderstorm at 9 o’clock at night for her.

A tension headache was building up as the water plopped into the pot. She dropped a wash cloth into the container to muffle the sound, and then headed for the phone in the living room. She would call Kate and ask for her husband’s advice.

Thunder boomed, causing the dishes to rattle. Jessica gripped the phone tightly and dialed. The line was busy. Frustrated, Jessica counted to ten and tried again. Still busy.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she tried to calm her anxious thoughts. There had to be someone she could talk to. Wasn’t there a man at church who worked in construction? He’d know what she should do. His name was ... J. D. Tucker, that’s it, and his wife was Amelia.

She found the church directory and flipped through it until she found their number. Quickly she dialed. It rang once, twice, three times, again, and again. After ten rings, she gave up, near tears.

Loneliness swept over her, loneliness and a feeling of isolation. Even with three children in the house, Jessica felt all alone. Brianna and Caleb had been sent to bed early and were asleep; Maggie was allowed to read in bed and was probably still up, but her door was shut. How Jessica missed her husband at that moment, had missed him ever since the day he had been called away to active service.

“I’ll call Sarah Little,” she thought to herself. “Sarah has to be home. I’ll tell her how awful this day has been, and she’ll sympathize with me and say things to make me feel better.”

Dialing Sarah’s number, Jessica whispered intensely, “Please answer, please answer.”

The phone rang three times, and suddenly Sarah’s voice was on the line. “Hi there! You’ve reached the Littles, but we’re a “little” unavailable at the moment. Leave your message at the beep!”

That was the last straw. Worn out from the struggles and stresses of parenting and running the house all alone, Jessica began to tremble. She wrapped her arms around herself as tears started streaking down her face.

She lifted her wet face to the ceiling. “Oh God, what am I supposed to do? When I try to call someone to talk, no one is home. When I try to pray, the words won’t come. I can’t do everything by myself. I can’t take it anymore. Please help me.”

Jessica dropped to the couch, muffling her sobs in a pillow so that the children wouldn’t hear her and be alarmed.

“I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally drained,” she choked out. “I don’t know what to do, God. Help me! It’s just too hard. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I don’t want to feel like this. God, please send help! Please!”

She cried until she could cry no more, pouring out her heart to God. Her swollen eyes made it hard to see; her stuffy nose made it hard to breathe. Her breathing came in rasps. She sat up and reached for the box of tissues. As she blew her nose and mopped up her face, thunder rolled faintly in the distance. The storm was moving away.

The loneliness that she had felt earlier was replaced by a sense of peace. A feeling of calmness seemed to sweep over her. Somehow, everything would be all right, if she simply trusted the Lord to meet her needs.

Suddenly the phone rang, startling Jessica, who then hurried to answer it with eager anticipation.

“Hello? ... Sam! I can’t believe it! Oh honey, I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

As she spoke with her beloved husband, Jessica realized that our God is the God of answered prayer. We can rely on Him to move on our behalf, to be with us during the darkest times and to carry us through the fiercest storms. His promises are true. We are never forsaken.

Thank you, Lord, for your presence in our lives.

Copyright 2001 by Brenda B. Covert