The sun came up and she walked downstairs cat-like, eyes half turned down with a silent crawl to the couch. She curled up with blanket and watched silently as I ran around the house trying to get everyone out the door.

Breakfast made. Lunches packed. Heels by the door. All the signs that we were almost ready for the day to begin.

Ryen, it’s almost time for summer school. You’re going to have to go upstairs and get dressed, okay? She popped her head up from the blanket, looked at me, and resumed her role as the Persian cat of our leather couch. She huffed a whimper and buried her face into the throw pillow.

Sweetheart, I think you need to change your baditude. There is no reason why you should be upset right now. You have two minutes to head upstairs and get dressed before I do your hair. Her eyes met mine in a look only a moody cat could give: I’m pretending I don’t understand you. Ryen Blake, upstairs, now!

Whimper. Huff. Sigh. Whine. I saw the shell of my kind, sweet, loving step-daughter walk across the living room floor it was as if she was over-taken by some hormonal force of emotional nature. It was like… like… she had turned into me.

Not a word had been spoken to me since she awoke, but there was obviously something wrong. From the moment she slid off the couch like a half-dead zombie to the painful slapping of her naked foot on the wooden floor, I knew there was something wrong. But she said nothing.

Ryen, what’s wrong? Her lips whimpered. Ryry, baby, what happened? Are you okay? I saw tears forming in her eyes and a sincere sob building in her chest. Ryen, it’s okay lovey. Don’t cry. Just tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen to you? 

She shock her head no, but began to cry and cry and cry.

Ryen, use your words. If you want me to help you darling, you need to use your words. 

She slowly opened her mouth and whispered through sobs why she was sad. The moment she expressed herself and communicated her need, I was able to lovingly and patiently help her process her emotions and find a remedy to the chaos of her seven-year-old world. Oh the drama!

As we prepared for the day, I brushed out her hair and laughed as I saw her slowly compose herself. Everything changed when she used her words.

On my drive to work I heard the phrase over and over again in my head: Use your words. If you want me to help you, use your words. 

God has a funny way of speaking to me lately. Life is in 3D when you have mini-people who depend on you for everything. As I replayed Ryen whimpering, stomping, and breaking down sobbing in the stairwell, I saw a picture of myself. The little girl who I love and drives me crazy couldn’t receive the help she needed until she verbalized her need.

I arrived to work and sat in my car and did something I asked Ryen to do. I used my words. In the driver’s seat of my car I poured out the issues that seemed trite and trivial to someone who could lovingly and patiently help me process through my emotions.

It was in the verbalizing of words that formed my emotional surrender to the One person who could help. And it did.

Psalm 91:15 “He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him…”

Use your words. He hears. When He responds the weight of the world is removed and the smile He created is placed back where it belongs.