Help Wanted: Divine Domestic
If there had been an organization called Moms in Distress, I’d have surely been its poster child that spring day in 1978. My postpartum world had begun unraveling ten days earlier, as I shuffled through the door of our little base house in Woodbridge, England—fresh from the hospital, with a screaming newborn, her energetic fifteen-month-old sister, and a U.S. Air Force pilot husband who would soon don his flight suit, fling his large duffel bag into our 1949 Ford Poplar, and wave good-bye as he left on a six-week military deployment. Family and friends were an ocean away. I felt desperately alone.
I’m cheerful by nature, so this was uncharted territory for me: the waves of despair, the heaviness of heart, and the unyielding weight of responsibility.
If I can just make it through this one chore, things will get better, I kept reasoning.
But for every task I completed, three more surfaced. I sank slowly into a recliner that had seen better days and tried to soothe a disgruntled infant and satisfy a needy toddler. Then I surveyed my surroundings and sighed.
Every room looked as if a tsunami had hit. Demands on my time and energy piled up almost as fast as the dirty cloth diapers in the pail. Needs. Everywhere, needs! Needs of my newborn daughter, whose flailing arms and shrill, round-the-clock cries baffled doctors and unnerved me. Needs of my lively fifteen-month-old, who wandered from room to room, knocking over toy boxes, dumping out hampers, and persistently petitioning Mommy to “weed me a ’tory.” Needs, relentless needs, of daily life—the cooking, the cleaning, the toppling mountain of laundry calling my name.
Not just outwardly, but inwardly, a gnawing sense of hopelessness prevailed as I became physically spent, trying to recover from a difficult delivery and sleepless nights; emotionally drained, missing the moral support of husband, family, and friends; and mentally overwhelmed, spiraling downward without anyone to catch me.
Finally, I just lost it. Loud sobs ushered in a sense of utter despair.
“I give up!” I cried. “Somebody please help me! I can’t do this!”
Within moments, over the din of a wailing newborn and babbling toddler, I heard a knock at the door.
“Umm, who’s there?” I managed to halfheartedly coax the words out of my mouth, swiping at tears with the back of my hand.
I couldn’t imagine who it would be, since surely no one this side of the Atlantic would be paying me a visit. Nor could I imagine anyone seeing my house or me looking like this—the girls and I were far from hostess mode. In fact, I wished that whoever it was would just go away. Reluctantly, I navigated through the sea of debris.
Before I could reach the door to unlatch it, it sprung open. A round, rosy-cheeked woman with speckles of gray in her hair and sunshine in her smile invited herself in, latching the door behind her.
“Halloo! Top o’ the mornin’!” she chirped, removing her woolly green sweater and multicolored crocheted scarf, carefully draping them over the chair by the door. She put on the teakettle and made herself quite at home, as if we were longtime girlfriends and I was expecting her visit.
I don’t recall her exact words, but I do remember the sense of relief I felt when she insisted that I sit and rock the baby, who instantly quieted down and drifted into a blissful sleep—a rare treat for both mother and child.
Before I could gather my wits or utter a word, this stranger started in to work, swiftly and effortlessly, humming as she went.
Her first order of business was to lovingly sweep my sleepy toddler into her arms, kiss her on the cheek, and gently lay her down for a much-needed morning nap. My mother heart melted as my newborn baby snuggled peacefully in my arms, her colicky screams replaced by contented sighs.
Another transformation was taking place around us—at lightning speed. I watched in awe as the mystery woman swiftly tackled the sink full of dishes, the laundry, the sheets, the rugs, the floors—washing, polishing, sweeping, mopping, and even pulling freshly baked meals from the oven. How could a stranger possibly know where everything was, and where everything went—cleaning supplies, pots and pans, clothes, toys—as comfortably as if she lived here herself?
From my little corner of the world, a comfy wooden rocking chair, I watched this amazing metamorphosis unfold.
How surreal! Never could I have imagined such a scene—a stranger taking over my home, and I, totally at peace about it. I don’t remember even questioning who she was, where she had come from, or why she was doing this. I just remember an extraordinary calm cascading over me, refreshing and renewing me, as I witnessed my crumbling world returning to order.
In no time at all, I had been given the gift of a sparkling home, sleeping children, scrumptious meals, and peace—“peace that surpasses all understanding.”
Then she was gone, as suddenly as she had come.
“Wait! Please!” I called as she closed the door behind her.
Seconds later I stood on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. But she was nowhere in sight. I turned to three people who were standing by my house, chatting.
“Which way did she go?”
“Who?”
“The woman who just came out my door!”
They looked at each other, then back at me, and shrugged. They had been there the whole time, yet not one of them had seen anyone enter or leave my house.
Wow. I walked back into my pristine, orderly home, peeked in on my precious babies all snug in their cribs, and marveled, trying to process what had just happened. It would be a while before I could share this story with anyone, or acknowledge what I ultimately came to believe.
God heard my cry and sent an angel to revive my spirit, meet my needs, and above all, to bring Him glory. For they were needs that no one knew about but me. It was a major turning point—not only in my practical need of the moment, but in my spiritual need of a lifetime. I began to realize and confess how far I had drifted from the Lord, not by blatant rebellion, but by busyness and worldly distractions. I could not imagine God loving me that much, listening, caring, providing, in such a dramatic way. It was the first step in my journey back to God’s heart.
Who would have thought that a perky woman in a green sweater could play such a critical role in bringing me back to the Lord? It all remains a great mystery. It’s unexplainable apart from God’s grace and His supernatural response to the plight of a young Mom in Distress and her desperate plea for help.