Today, I ran out of love. The great tidal surge of energy that has sustained me over the past three weeks has dissipated, and I’m left stranded on the rocks of indifference, judgement and lack of understanding.

I’ve also been processing and absorbing emotional pain, not only to do with the loss of Elijah and David’s imprisonment, but also as I realise that others don’t want to respond with love because — as they say — “it’s not that simple”. After weeks of successfully processing the pain, I reached my full and couldn’t take any more.

This is why I turned off the comments option on this blog, and also why I fled the last remaining family members who have been at my side. The weight of a shared past prevents some from seeing how free I really am, and although it appears that my world has fallen apart, my faith is not shaken and nor is my determination to demonstrate that love wins.

But in my diminished emotional state, I reacted to the children — bullying them in an unlovely way — and I realised I needed to find refuge within a relationship where spiritual insights are exchanged and reciprocated, love is offered without condition and our family is accepted regardless of what we look like or how we behave. We have many such friends around the country, and I’m blessed to know that I can arrive in a needy state and be welcomed with open arms and full hearts.

In memory of Elijah Rainbow Fisher

Such is the generosity of these friends, that I know that I can also arrive without spare clothes or food to offer, and our needs will be met with love. Just knowing that these people are here for me — as I would be for them — is enough to restore my hope in the Kingdom of Heaven — a community of loving individuals that co-create our world into a better place.

So I take refuge in the countryside, watching our girls play with their friends and hearing stories of life and transformation, and I remember why I do so love to be on the road. Everywhere we go, we meet extraordinary people who befriend us and encourage us on our way. Even a five-minute stop at a friend’s revives me, as we embrace and cry together for what we’ve lost and what we’re going through. I’m reminded that I am not the only one suffering, and I can offer comfort from all that I’ve received and what I’ve learned. This is what I can do.