I'm standing in the kitchen with Joseph when I hear a deep voice in the hallway. We've been in the process of building our house and trying to get the punch list knocked, so I expect my youngest son to reply that a contractor is here fixing his bathtub. Instead, a silly grin emerges on his face, and looking at me out of the corner of his eye, he says, "Mama, that's Jacob."

"It's getting harder and harder for me to give," I confessed to myself. Clayton and I sat across the table from a couple who needed a listening ear. We listened while they talked. We comforted them through their struggles and tears. I was obeying my calling to ministry, but my inner soul wished I could be the one talking and crying.

It was in this moment I realized how dry and empty my own soul felt. I'd just become a mother, and it was proving harder than I thought. Because I didn't love my new calling, I was carrying far too much shame and guilt. I was desperate for help myself. Still, I sat listening and praying to the only One who could help these people because I felt completely incapable.