There is a darkness that descends on me at 2am. Sometimes it comes at midnight. Sometimes it lingers until the morning.
It’s heavy. Ugly. Messy.

It pulls me into lightless places.

I can’t even glimpse a hint of the morning.

It’s stifling.

It snatches my patience, my compassion, my love… Exhaustion chases out all that is lovely and pure until I am left with a shrivelled unchecked hideousness. Anger and frustration come gushing out.

I’m ashamed at how quickly this heart usually so plump with deep affection for my child can so quickly dissipate into this.

Why doesn’t anyone talk about this part of motherhood? The part where you lose control? The part where your love which you believed to be unbreakable and overcoming all is revealed to be quite finite. Unable to stretch into all the far corners of exhaustion. Limited. Fraying. Not enough.

And I feel like my soul has been wrung out. Sitting in this darkness. Alone.

And I remember One whose soul was wrung out. One who hung, bleeding. One who was exposed to all the anger, frustration, hideousness, darkness that is home in my heart. And He forgave. And His love stretched – like those arms nailed to the cross – flung wide open. Stretching to all those places where there is mess: gruesome ugly human waste. Stretching so far without tearing or fraying.

Stretching and never ending.


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