🧪 Growth Story 7.3: Sunday Afternoon Felt the Loneliest
Growth Story 7.3: Sunday Afternoon Felt the Loneliest
Marisol loved her children.
She loved the way eight-year-old Eli asked questions about everything. She loved the way five-year-old Ana wanted to help stir pancake batter. She loved bedtime prayers, even when bedtime took too long. She loved being their mother.
But Sunday afternoon still felt like the loneliest part of the week.
Sunday morning was busy. She got the children dressed, found shoes, packed snacks, drove to church, smiled in the lobby, checked the kids into class, and sat through worship. She tried to receive the sermon, but sometimes her mind wandered.
After church, families stood around making lunch plans.
A few couples talked about errands, grandparents, yard work, and afternoon naps. One father lifted his toddler onto his shoulders. Another husband put his hand on his wife’s back while they talked with friends.
Marisol told herself not to care.
But when she drove home with the children in the back seat, the ache returned.
No one was waiting at home. No one asked how church was. No one helped make lunch. No one took the kids outside so she could rest. No one sat beside her on the couch after the house got quiet.
She felt embarrassed by how much she wanted companionship.
That afternoon, after feeding the children noodles and applesauce, she sat at the kitchen table while they watched a movie. The laundry was half-folded. A school form sat unsigned. Her phone buzzed.
It was a message from Darren, Ana’s father.
He had missed the last two scheduled visits. His message said, “I might come by later. Depends on how my day goes.”
Marisol felt anger rise quickly.
She wanted to type, “Your day? What about the five years I have been doing this almost alone?”
But beneath the anger was grief.
She grieved that Ana still watched the window sometimes. She grieved that Eli tried to act older than he was. She grieved that she had become the calendar keeper, comforter, bill payer, spiritual leader, discipline giver, and emotional shock absorber.
She also grieved that part of her still wanted Darren to become steady.
Not because she wanted to go back to the relationship, but because she wanted her daughter to have a father who kept his word.
Marisol stared at the phone.
Then another thought came: “Maybe I am too much. Maybe this is why no man stays.”
The thought hurt more than Darren’s message.
At church that morning, a woman had said, “At least you have your kids. Some women would love to be mothers.” The woman probably meant to encourage her, but Marisol had felt corrected instead of comforted.
She wanted to say, “I am thankful for my children. I am just tired. I am lonely. I miss being loved as a woman, too.”
But she did not say that.
She smiled and said, “Yes, I know.”
That Sunday afternoon, Marisol almost answered Darren from the wound. She almost sent a long message full of anger, grief, and accusation. Some of it would have been true. But she knew it would not help Ana, and it would not give Marisol peace.
So she put the phone down.
She opened her notebook and wrote one sentence:
“Lord, Sunday afternoons make me feel forgotten.”
Then she wrote another sentence:
“I am angry because my children and I deserve steadier love.”
For the first time that day, she cried.
Not loud tears. Quiet tears. The kind that come when a woman finally stops pretending.
Later that evening, after the children were in bed, Marisol called Denise, an older woman from church who had offered to listen.
Denise did not rush her.
She did not say, “Just be strong.” She did not say, “You need to forgive him and move on.” She did not say, “Maybe God is keeping you single for a reason.” She did not make Marisol feel ashamed for wanting love, partnership, affection, and help.
Denise simply said, “That sounds very heavy. You can love your children and still grieve what is missing. You can be thankful and still lonely. God is not offended by the truth.”
Marisol breathed out.
Then Denise asked, “Would it help to think about what belongs in a message to Darren and what belongs in prayer or support?”
Together, they separated the feelings.
The grief belonged with God and trusted support.
The anger needed prayer, wisdom, and boundaries.
The message to Darren needed to be brief, clear, and child-focused.
Marisol wrote:
“Please confirm by 3:00 p.m. whether you are coming. If I do not hear by then, we will continue with our evening plan.”
It felt almost too simple.
But it was truthful. It did not attack. It did not beg. It did not open the door to a fight. It protected the children’s evening from being controlled by uncertainty.
Denise also asked, “What would help next Sunday afternoon?”
Marisol thought for a while.
She said, “I think I need a plan before the loneliness hits.”
They made a small hope practice.
Next Sunday, Marisol would invite another single mother and her children over for a simple lunch after church. Nothing fancy. Soup, bread, and paper plates. If that did not work, she would plan a walk with the children and call Denise afterward.
It did not solve everything.
Darren was still inconsistent. The children still had questions. Marisol still missed companionship. Sunday afternoons were still tender.
But something shifted.
Marisol realized loneliness did not have to make the decisions.
Anger did not have to write the message.
Grief did not have to become her name.
She was still a God-designed woman. She was still a mother of honor. She was still beloved in Christ. Her desire for companionship was not shameful, and her need for support was not failure.
That night, she prayed:
“Lord, I am lonely, but I am not abandoned. I am angry, but I do not want revenge. I am tired, but I am still Yours. Help me take one faithful step.”
The next Sunday afternoon was not perfect.
But it was not empty.
There was soup on the stove, children laughing in the living room, and another mother sitting at the table saying, “I know what you mean.”
Marisol still had grief.
But now grief had company, prayer, and a next step.
Reflection Questions
When does loneliness most often show up in this story?
What did Marisol almost do from anger, and what did she choose instead?
How did Denise help Marisol without shaming her or rushing her grief?
What feelings belonged in prayer and trusted support rather than in a message to Darren?
How did Marisol protect her children from adult uncertainty while still setting a clear boundary?
What small hope practice helped Marisol prepare for the next lonely Sunday afternoon?
Short Prayer
Lord Jesus, meet me in the hours that feel most lonely. Help me tell the truth about grief, anger, desire, and hope without shame. Teach me to pause before reacting. Give me wise support, clear boundaries, and gentle courage. Help me love my children without making them carry adult burdens. Remind me that I am not forgotten, not abandoned, and not alone in You. Amen.