When the Ladder Rattles

It was a warm summer afternoon, and we were out enjoying the sunshine and the pool. To this day, I distinctly remember the rattling of the pool ladder. I was annoyed because the rule was that we didn’t play around the ladder. I reminded my two children of that and went back to reading my book.

And the ladder rattled.

I asked who was by the ladder; my son said, “Not me,” but my daughter didn’t answer. I walked over and realized she was underwater, her hair caught on a screw in the ladder. Adrenaline kicked in and I was over the side, lifting her and the ladder above the waterline so she could breathe. She first went limp, and then started gagging as water gushed from her mouth and nose.

I was not merely overwhelmed. I was undone. She settled down and stopped crying; I started and couldn’t stop.

What if? What if the phone had rung and I had gone into the house to answer it? What if I had fallen asleep on the lounge chair? What if I had left the enclosed area to pick some raspberries? What if? What if?

That night, as she slept, I knelt by her bed and wept—for what almost was, and for what wasn't.

Some kinds of overwhelming arrive all at once. Some just wear you down, day after day, until you can't remember what it felt like not to be tired.

Gentle Leading

No race comes with a finish line you can see from where you're standing. That's part of what makes it hard. You can't know how far you still have to go, so you just have to keep on. Isaiah 40:11 gives us a tender picture of God:

"He protects his flock like a shepherd; he gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them in the fold of his garment. He gently leads those that are nursing."

Leads.

Not pushes.
Not prods.
Not sets a pace and expects you to keep up.

Gently leads.

The word gently implies that God already knows what you're carrying. He doesn't need you to explain why you're tired. He's not surprised that the load is heavy. He tends the flock, yes, but He pays particular attention to those who are tending someone else at the same time. That's you. That's every parent reading this at the end of another hard week.

In Due Season

The Apostle Paul knew something about weariness, too. In Galatians 6:9 he writes:

"Let us not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don't give up."

That verse indicates that getting tired is not only a possibility, but a real probability. Paul doesn't say if you get tired; he says let us not get tired. That's the kind of admonishment you give when there is a real temptation to despair.

Paul could have been writing about the years our third-born was tangled up in rebellion and bad choices. Years that asked for endurance in a hundred ordinary moments, with no end in sight. Paul is writing to people who are worn thin. He's writing to me. He's writing to you.

But notice what he doesn't say. He doesn't say the harvest comes when you feel like it will. He says it comes at the proper time, in due season. That phrase matters for parents, because so much of parenting operates on a timeline you don't control. You plant. You water. You say the same thing for the fourteenth time. You pray prayers that feel like they're disappearing into the ceiling. And you do not always get to see what any of it is adding up to.

The promise isn't that you'll see the harvest tomorrow. The promise is that the harvest is coming. And it's coming precisely because you did not give up on the days when giving up seemed reasonable.

Parenting will ask more of you than you planned to give. It will find you on your worst days and require your best effort anyway. It will make you doubt yourself in ways nothing else quite does. But you are not doing this alone, and you are not doing it unseen.

God is not watching from a distance, clipboard in hand, keeping a tally of your shortfalls. He is the shepherd who adjusts His pace for you, who gathers the lambs and gently leads the ones carrying them. He knows what parenting costs. And He is not unmoved by it.

So, take a breath. You are more sustained than you feel right now. The harvest is coming. And the One leading you there is doing so gently.

In the years our son wandered, when exhaustion wasn't a single night but a whole season I couldn't see the end of, these words penned by Bill Gaither became my prayer:

Gentle Shepherd, come and lead us, for we need You to help us find our way; Gentle Shepherd, come and feed us, for we need Your strength from day to day. There's no other we can turn to who can help us face another day. Gentle Shepherd, come and lead us, for we need You to help us find our way.

And He did. He led us and helped us find our way. He fed us and gave us strength. He helped us face another day. And another. And another.

I'm not the only weary parent this song will resonate with. There will be days when this prayer for guidance and strength and courage is all you have energy for. Pray it anyway. Remember: you are being watched over as closely as you're watching over the ones in your care. Be tired. But don't give up. The harvest is coming.