Life has a funny way of teaching you lessons, sometimes through the heaviest burdens. This past week, I learned one of those lessons, both literally and figuratively. It's a story about family, good intentions, and the sometimes-painful reality that even when you offer a hand, not everyone is ready to take it.

My husband and I have always tried to be there for our children, even our adult children, through thick and thin. One of our children and his girlfriend have been struggling to find stable housing, and we've been hearing for a while about how no one would let them stay together. Our hearts ached for them, so when he said they were ready to come to us in Indiana from Washington State, we jumped into action.

I had just had surgery two weeks prior and was cleared to go back to work this morning, but our focus shifted entirely to getting their space ready. We decided to transform our youngest son's room, which meant a major reorganization of our own living space. This included moving my office into my bedroom and shifting a massive, 600-pound computer desk into the living room. It took hours of back-breaking work, and both my husband and I were hurting. I was especially mindful of my recovery, but the urgency to create a safe, welcoming space for them pushed us through the pain. We even started planning to cut back on groceries so we could afford their bus tickets, knowing that every dollar counted. We asked them over and over if they were sure, if their minds were made up, and each time the answer was a firm "yes."

The tickets were in the cart, ready to be bought with my paycheck, the rooms were ready, and our hopes were high. We imagined them here, safe and settled.

Then, right before the tickets were purchased, he messaged.  They weren't ready. Maybe Friday, their original intended travel day, would still work, but maybe not. He was vague, ignoring our attempts to understand the sudden change.

My heart sank. My husband's hopes, which he gets so easily invested in, were crushed yet again. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion or the financial sacrifice of those tickets. It was the feeling of our effort being dismissed. It was the disappointment of having our good intentions, our hard work, and our sacrifices seem to mean so little in the face of a last-minute decision.

This experience brought up a familiar frustration. This isn't the first time plans have changed so abruptly, leaving us scrambling and disheartened. We want so desperately to help, especially knowing how hard it's been for them since we moved from Washington. But we're learning a tough lesson: while our love and support are unconditional, our resources—our time, our energy, and our finances—are not limitless. We can't keep pouring ourselves into plans that are constantly shifting.

It's a delicate balance, offering help without enabling a pattern. We've had to communicate clearly that while our home is open, we need firm commitments. We can't buy tickets that might go unused, especially when last-minute purchases come with an extra cost we can't afford. It's a big decision for them, yes, but it's also a huge commitment for us.

This situation reminds me of how important boundaries are, even within family. It's about respecting each other's efforts and the sacrifices made. It's a difficult conversation, but one that is necessary for healthy relationships. My prayer is that we can find a way forward where help is truly received and respected, and where communication is clear, even when it's hard.

---