The Pity Party

All the tribes of Israel—the LORD’s people—make their pilgrimage here. They come to give thanks to the name of the LORD, as the law requires.

ON THE WALL IN MY KITCHEN is a sign that is six feet long. It says: Thou Shalt Not Whine. My kids think it’s there for them, but it’s really there for me. Serving women for more than thirty years and being a woman myself, I know how easy it is to fall into a pity party.

When days get blue, one of the things I like to do is read about women who have gone before, those with great odds to overcome. I especially like to read about women who came west, selling nearly all their possessions, packing up their children, and braving the hard, long trails. Many of these women lost children to disease, the enemy, or wild animals. These brave women then held down the frontier: cooking, baking, washing, and sewing with the most primitive of tools in dugout homes made of sod.

At first these pioneers staked their claims a great distance from one another, but soon the settlers learned that when they built their homes on adjoining properties, neighbors were close enough to gather for quilting, canning, and the birthing of babies. The pity party seemed to turn into a time of rejoicing as women shared their lives and supported one another.

Look at the early church’s example: “All the believers were together and had everything in common. . . . Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts” (Acts 2:44, 46, NIV).

Loneliness feeds the whining—friendship divides the sorrow.