It’s that time again!  Time for a grace-washed group of brave writers to band together and create.  5 minutes, 1 prompt, 0 editing.  If you want to play, you can find all the specifics at  And here we go!


When I saw this morning’s prompt, I knew where a lot of the FMF posts were going to go.  There would be lots of posts about Mama, and how she was such a source of comfort, and how home was such a safe and loving place to grow up.  And that made me a little sad, because I don’t have that kind of story.  If that’s not your story either, it’s OK.  Our stories still have value because they are OUR unique stories.  Here’s a piece of mine:

My mother loves me, and I know she loved me as I was growing up despite my conviction that I was left on the doorstep by Gypsies – which I believed because we were so different in looks and personality.  She was not a toucher because (I believe) that conflicted with her desire to avoid forcing herself on others (part of her shy nature), so once I hit school age I cannot remember a single instance of my mother hugging me.  There were a few times that *I* remember hugging *her* but for the most part we just don’t touch.  I tried to convince myself that didn’t bother me, but really it does.  As an adult I used to avoid being hugged and pretend I didn’t enjoy it, but truthfully I did.  I’ve gotten better about it and lately, I notice that *I* am even sometimes initiating a hug.  There’s just something about the comfort of a hug from a friend or loved one.   I want to be able to offer that comfort to those I love.

Maybe because I didn’t have that kind of comfort growing up, I’ve looked for comfort in lots of places, most of them inappropriate.  Growing up with divorced parents does not help a child to feel safe and secure, however loving the parents might be.  There’s still a void there, still a space we are left longing to fill.  And so we try to fill it with “stuff”.  Food.  Friends.  TV.  Books.  Rushed relationships.  Money.  (Sadly, I must tell you that comfort cannot be found at the bottom of a tub of Peanut Butter & Chocolate ice cream)  But it wasn’t until I found myself a divorced mother of a 3 year old that I discovered I had had the ultimate comfort all along.

So many people love Romans 8:28 that it’s almost become a cliché, but it still rings so true for me.  God works ALL things to the good of those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.  No experience is wasted – He works them all for good.   I’ve been through some rough times in life and if I hadn’t been able to hold onto the fact that HE could work it out for good, I might have been tempted to give up.


4 thoughts on “Comfort

  1. My mother was not a hugger either, and I remember feeling so envious of those girls who could snuggle up next to their mother at mother-daughter events, or who gave and received hugs so freely at celebratory times. It still hurts sometimes to think about it.

    But my mother has Alzheimer’s now. She doesn’t remember my name. But, oh, how her eyes light up when I walk in her room! It’s worth the thousand hugs I never received, because I know that she loves me even though she has always had trouble expressing it.

    Beautiful post. Thanks for sharing.

    (I came over from FMF)

  2. I love your raw honesty and bravery here. I am so glad that Christ has been a comfort to you through this all. Insanely beautiful post.

  3. At times a mom’s culture prevents her from being a hugger – as did in the case of mine. However she did give comfort in other ways – though talking, and being there whenever I need her.

  4. I’d hug you and I was never really a hugger before I became a Christian. I love that no matter our story or our path, there is only one true comfort. Only one thing that truly fills every ache and hole in us. Sometimes he fills those aches with loved ones and community and the Jesus in the flesh hugs of a great friend but sometimes He just steps down and wraps us up in Him and it’s always enough. Thank you for your honesty and grace here.

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