All of this stuff in Oklahama is tugging on my mama heartstrings with an intensity that can only come from wearing your heart on the outside of your body.

I can’t remember where or when I read it, but when I was pregnant with Sarah, my first child, I glossed over these words:

“When you become a mother, you officially begin to wear your heart on the outside of your body.”

Precisely why watching the news is so often more than I can bear.

Or why, when I drive through the Big Ten campus in our city, I don’t look at those boys like I did in my early twenties – I look at them like they’re someone’s son. And they look like they’re twelve, for the record. I know I didn’t look that young when I was in college.

And why, when I hear of a mother out there who can’t find her child because of a tornado that whipped through her community, it’s all I can do to not put myself on a plane and just start looking.

There’s a mama out there who can’t find her cub and since we mothers wear our hearts on the outside of our bodies, the missing is just as much our own son or daughter.

Not technically, no.

But in this sisterhood of mothering, we’ve got women down.

Glennon Melton once wrote about being first responders – I wish I could find the post, but I can’t.

As I listen to reports of the Red Cross and the Salvation Army and the United Way and Convoy of Hope rushing-in to begin helping, I’m in awe of their ability to respond at the drop of a hat.

And it got me thinking about being a front-line responder again.

I’m not in a season of my life where I can drop everything and go to those mama’s with their hearts on the outside of their chests though trust me, the desire is strong.

Yes, we can donate money to help the above organizations more effectively reach and help the victims in Oklahoma (for a great list of where to donate, click here.)

But this front-line responder mentality doesn’t have to exist just where there’s disaster.

We can be front-line responders every. single. monotonous. day.

While I won’t even try to suggest the needs in my own community rival those of Moore, Oklahoma at the moment, I can suggest that in honor of those bleeding heart mothers, we commit to being front-line responders right here, right now.

As Glennon said in the post I can’t find, may we be people who run towards those who are hurting and not away.

May we be front-line responders of the minutiae of life, may we reach those who are hurting beyond what we could ever imagine, and may we run to them and show them a little bit o’ Jesus.

Speaking of Jesus . . . He was the ultimate front-line responder, wasn’t He?

Today, I challenge us, tired mama’s with baskets of laundry peppering our living rooms and children who have said our names over 1,000 times before noon, to be front-line responders. Maybe it’s as simple as really listening to our child’s hurts instead of the flippant “You’ll be fine” I often choose to mutter. Or maybe it’s calling the friend who is going through a rough time. Maybe it’s hugging your husband a little bit tighter than usual and thanking him for what he contributes to your family.

Because you don’t have to work for the Red Cross or Convoy of Hope to be a front-line responder.

You just have to GO.

And our destination is usually right under our own noses.

Will you please join me in praying the hours for those in Oklahoma? Particularly the mothers?