I stumbled across some old binders filled with notes to a loved one struggling to hang on to God. I knew her exhaustion. I undetstood the temptation to give up. And I felt her longing for escape. I'd been there.
Someone needed to encourage her before she tip-toed into oblivion. The possibilities scared me into writing to her each day.
I became her coach. Sharing what I'd learned while merely a stroke ahead in the struggle to stay afloat. The notes became a lifeline between us, offering hope in digestible bites.
She did exactly as I suggested. Memorized the verses I gave her, and avoided the snags I encountered.
As I grew stronger, I knew she would survive.
In time I no longer needed to write the words to her. She lived them. I could let go of begging God for her tomorrows.
I know because the words were notes to myself.
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