Here’s what I find beautiful about the Internet.

You can write down your thoughts and feelings and worries, and a flock of kindred spirits will rise up around you in agreement, support, validation.

You can meet women (and men, I suppose) from all around the globe who resonate with you, in small ways and large.

You can pour out your heart and get something – kindness, advice, understanding – in return.

But this is just on the one side. The blogger side.

There’s another side. The side of the reader.

You can open a webpage and find entertainment, a piece of writing to make you chuckle or cry or nod along in agreement.

You can find a blogger who thinks and feels and acts remarkably similar to you… so similar, it’s bizarre… and who has gathered around her a community of people who all think and feel and act in ways remarkably similar to you.

You can read about the very pain that weighs on your heart. The same joy that floats you to the ceiling. The same drudgery that sometimes bowls you over with mundanity. And find the relief and acknowledgement that commiseration brings.

You can read some of the most beautiful writing I’ve seen anywhere – beautiful not only because of the quality of the writing, but because of the richness of the emotion behind the words and because of the depth of character of the person behind the blog. Because the writing isn’t in a book on a shelf somewhere; it’s often fully real, not fiction; it always comes weighted with the layers of the blogger’s life.

But most of all – whether you write a blog or read blogs, whether you comment on every post or never comment at all – the internet prevents you from being alone.

You’re not going through this by yourself. We’re in this together.

The blog world has given me that gift. You, friend, have given me that gift. And I hope, in some small way, I’ve been – or will be – able to return the favor.

* * *

I’ve been reading Jen’s and Amy’s blogs since before I had a blog, when I hung back in the shadows and admired their writing: the bare honesty with which they shared their lives; their lively humor; the way their love for their families came through in jewel tones, lovely, pure, and clear.

Jen is going through the brutal aftermath of losing a baby. Amy’s father just lost his battle with cancer.

* * *

If I’m being honest, writing this feels weird to me. These women’s stories are not mine; what right do I have to talk about their lives?

But I have cried for them. I have woken up each morning thinking about them, the way friends do.

Although I haven’t met them… have never spoken to them… I have learned to care about their struggles and their happiness through their words.

My heart breaks for each of them. And I have nothing to offer them but words of my own.

This, I think, is what our little Internet community is made for.  And knowing that the Internet can come together in unity, band around its members and lift them up in time of pain, I ask you to please go visit Amy at Amalah.com and Jen at Here We Go Again and leave them a comment of kindness.

Even if you can’t think of anything to say besides “I’m thinking of you” or “I’m sorry for your loss.” Even if you’ve never read a word of their blogs. Even if you’ve never once commented here. Even if there are a thousand comments, please leave one more.

These women are hurting and they deserve every kind word, every loving thought, every prayer of healing and peace they can get.