We walk in hope of light but often we find ourselves in darkness. We at times walk in gardens, in our own backyard, happily with our smiling children, laughingly at a water park, peacefully on our couch with a good book. And, then other times, we have the metaphorical desert times, which often are not spoken of except furtively across the table to a friend at a coffee shop. Or, sulkingly to a husband who nods and listens, not knowing how to fix it. Or, perhaps we speak of it only to the pages of our journal, which only boomerang our own misery back to us (although therapeutic). I will try something new on Tuesday night, though, which is called a support group. One for parents of wayward teenagers. There, I will find other parents who are looking for oasis and for honesty from other parents who struggle. I can't relate to the parents who only speak of their good efforts with good rewards forthcoming. I'm tired of the braggy Christmas letters. The glossy images which hide. I confess to being in the desert, despite my good intentions and efforts which I painstakingly enumerate. I confess that the world is stronger than me (yet not stronger than He that is in me) and has captured one who is dear to me. I confess that I need to release anger and jealousy and sharp-tongued responses to provocation and to judgment that severs. I confess I need reliance as in:

He who walks in darkness, to whom no light appears, let him trust in the Name of Yahweh, let him rely upon his God. Isaiah 50:10