Hands and Feet

I’ve done a pretty good job of picking myself up by my bootstraps after my divorce. I was a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom with a part-time job that I lost because of the pandemic. I found a new job in the middle of the pandemic and an ugly, unexpected divorce, continued to homeschool my kids, and continued to pay the mortgage. I got myself and my kids into counseling for the trauma, I found a supportive church, and I showed up at my kids’ events, even volunteering my now very limited time. I became more bold, more outspoken, and more confident, and I grew closer to Christ.

Unlike widows, who get a grieving period, meal trains, and emotional support/sympathy, women who are left by their husbands or who leave abusive marriages must hit the ground running. Many of us didn’t have jobs when the abandonment happened, often for several years to more than a decade. We are like middle-aged people going into the career force as entry-level workers. While we watch our friends plan their retirements, we wonder what our futures hold. We often have high legal bills because for some reason the men who abandoned us fight for custody of their children and insist on changing everything that was normal to the family pre-divorce. We carry our own emotional pain, as well as that of our children. We make bricks without straw and we far exceed the quotas.

When people see a single mom working two jobs, managing her children, getting dinner on the table, helping with homework, and going to all the meetings, they see strength. What people don’t realize is that everything is exponentially harder for us. We quickly become poignantly aware of the Biblical principle that two are better than one because when one falls the other can help him up. We look strong because giving up on our kids is not an option, so we do what we have to do. We endure criticism about our post-divorce parenting, when previously it was lauded. On all fronts, everything becomes exponentially harder, and support becomes exponentially less.

Three weeks ago, I broke my arm, and last week I had surgery to fix it with plates and screws. I am a single mom. My daughter went back to college two days after I broke my arm. I could not do dishes, tie my shoes, walk the dog, cook dinner—minor daily chores that required somebody to be in the house with me. When I was told in the doctor’s office that I needed surgery, tears ran down my face. “I can’t have surgery,” I said. “I live alone, and I have a big dog.” The kind doctor gave me a few minutes to compose myself, then suggested that I call a friend.

I did just that. I called a friend who is like a sister. She reassured me, rearranged her schedule with her own family to come and stay with me, sat with me until I was under anesthesia and was there when I woke up. I was afraid and she allowed me to be afraid. She took herself away from her own responsibilities to care for me. Over the course of the week while I recovered, no less than 10 people came to help me. They walked my dog, washed my dishes, helped me get dressed, sat with me while I agonized over my frozen arm, and watched stupid TV shows with me to get my mind off things. Multiple people and multiple families sacrificed to help me, just as Jesus instructed us to do.

None of these things go unnoticed by the single mom. We know what others sacrifice to help us. It’s partly why we don’t ask. When normal life struggles happen, we are reminded again of the loss, the pain, the struggle, the questions. Maybe those of us who had terrible marriages didn’t have real support in the first place, but at least there was a person who was obligated to us and had to save face by helping out in some way. Now, our vulnerabilities come to the surface with even minor challenges.

In Biblical times, the Church was expected to take care of widows and orphans. That is not the case today, so we have to be intentional about it as a body. It is good that the Church takes care of orphans overseas, but there also needs to be those who are walking out the mission of Jesus by caring for orphans, widows, and the abandoned in their own church communities. The Church at-large is right to give money to people we don’t know in countries we’ll never see, but the hands and feet of Jesus feeding those right under our noses, both spiritually and physically, are needed, too. Single moms need the body of Christ.

Women in our society can earn a living and are usually fairly capable at some skill. The family court system expects capable women to go to work and support themselves post-divorce, no matter what the situation was beforehand and no matter what the children are used to. In no-fault divorce states, like Michigan, everything, including the children, is split down the middle like property. It is painful and unjust. Children are not resilient. They become resilient because of this. Resiliency means they are able to move forward after trauma, not that they aren’t affected by it. Abandoned women and their children need care like the care I received last week. I’m holding these people up as an example of how to approach single moms.

If you know a single mom who seems like she has done a great job of picking herself up by her bootstraps, remember that her life takes double the amount of effort, planning, and probably finances as yours. If you know a woman going through abandonment, be the hands and feet of Jesus like those people were to me last week. Make her a meal. Ask how you can help. Don’t assume she’s got it. She may have a smile on her face, but I guarantee she will appreciate your practical help.