Almost thirteen years ago, in my purple bridesmaid dress, I gave a speech in front of 100+ people at my best friend’s wedding. The reception hall was full of joy-filled faces. My heart was a mixed bag of emotions.

My dear friend, and roommate of 5 years, was off to the rest of her life. I was about to live alone for the first time (EVER). And as I encouraged the couple in the next chapter of their life with a healthy mix of jokes and endearing words, my ex-fiancé sat there watching me.

I can’t recall exactly what I shared, but I know the emotions behind the words were those of exhaustion, frustration, and utter uncertainty of how to handle this child of mine. She and the others listened with tender knowing looks—looks that told me they understood. And then, she said it.

“Remember, God chose you to be her mother. No one else but you.”

We sat in a circle, each woman a bit timid and seemingly uncertain of what to share. This is a new group. Roots have not been established. Safety hasn’t been demonstrated. And it is apparent in the hesitation.

After an awkward and somewhat long pause, one took the courageous first step and began to share her story. After a pause, another shared what God was doing in her life. And then another, and then another. As each woman shared, she brought out of darkness the things that may have felt safer unsaid.

Recently I read again in Luke about Jesus calling Levi, the tax collector, to follow him. I’ve heard so many times that tax collectors were considered awful humans—willing to shake down old ladies, essentially steal from anyone as they saw fit, and rule their territories out of fear. The Jewish people considered them traitors.

Social Media is a funny thing. I can get sucked into other peoples’ highlight reals and lift my head up 20 minutes later ashamed I just wasted that time doing nothing. Literally nothing.

But then there are other times when I get sucked into someone’s story and it’s one in which I praise God for this tricky social experiment. Because with the murkiness of the social space comes also the opportunity to put prayer needs out there in ways that otherwise no one would ever know.

This morning as I sat on my back porch in the cooler summer air, I was drawn into one families fight for their daughter. She needs a miracle. Apart from it, medicine says she will surely go home to Jesus. She is the same age as my son. Seven. Seven little but strong years old.