It is to you, my sister, my tired, unappreciated, weary sister, that I write this letter.
I know you are tired. I know you wonder how much longer you can continue doing what you’re doing. I know there are days that you doubt yourself. You doubt your strength. You doubt your ability to accomplish everything you need to accomplish and do so with grace and efficiency. I know you, because I am you.
I, like you, wonder if I’m letting my light shine in such a way that others can see it. Can they see my candle, with it’s wax dripping sloppily down the candlestick, the wick exposed from wear and tear? Can they see my flickering light, sometimes so blown about by the winds of life that it threatens being darkened if just one more breeze whispers by?
We work because we want to be workers for our Lord. We are faithful in attendance to worship and mid-week Bible study. We persist in personal Bible study though our precious time is so limited. We sing hymns to our children. We help them learn to love God’s word by helping them memorize and understand its precious contents. We go to Ladies’ Days and VBS and Gospel Meetings. We help with the youth group. We, sister, are the core, the very heart of our congregations, and we are tired.
Why do we do it? Why do we speak out against sin publicly, knowing we are subject to the cynics and skeptics who deem us unintelligent because we hold to such beliefs? Why do we suffer ridicule and public denouncement on social media and other platforms for refusing to label sin as “normal” or “acceptable” for the sake of tolerance?
Why do we make unpopular decisions and abstain from popular behavior, knowing the world will see and hate us for it?
We persist because we know. We know this world is not our home.
If we aren’t tired, we aren’t doing enough. We’ve been given talents to use, not to bury. We’ve been promised our time on earth will be troubled if we choose the strait gate.
Sister, I know it’s hard. Sometimes I lose my way and wonder why I keep doing this. Sometimes I think about how easy it would be to keep my three small children home tomorrow rather than go to worship; but then I think of you, sweet sister. I think of you, a few pews over, contending with your own struggles and pushing through them anyway. I think of how, one day, when our lives are over, we can rest in paradise and not regret one single day of the life we led because we can honestly say we fought that good fight. We finished our race gracefully and with honor because we put in every ounce of effort we could muster for our heavenly father.
Thank you, my sister, for being beside me in Bible study. Thank you for being on the other end of the phone when I need someone to help me bear my burdens. Thank you for getting in the trenches and holding my hand as we face the trials the Wicked One throws our way.
One day, it will all be worth it, dear sister. One day, when our Lord looks in our expectant faces and says, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” we can smile and enter our place of rest.
But not yet. Faint not. Our time has not yet come. For now, fight with me, sister. I need you so.
In Christian Love,