On waiting, stirring and heart’s desire? Waiting, because this earthly measure of time is nothing to the Lord. We are impatient people. Scared to respond, procrastinating people until we aren’t. And then we are simply impatient and ancy and controlling. Or maybe that’s just me?
On stirring, the stirring in one’s soul when it’s about to explode with passion. When you’ve found the thing that fills you up. The thing you feel God created you for.
On heart’s desire because our hearts are fickle and cannot be trusted. And when we feel that stirring, we must shove it through the filter or our misguided hearts begin to lead. My prayer, Lord, break my heart for what breaks yours. And, Lord, make my heart’s desire yours and not my own. The mountaintop and the valley, the highs and lows, the feel good moments and the despair moments, our emotions and hearts are not evil. God created us with emotions and feelings, passion and desire, but if left to their own devices, become unholy. Because we are humans, selfish and greedy. Passionate and tender and easily swayed.
We laugh about it all the time, all the times I’ve said this is the last one. Our family is complete. Last baby. Last adoption. We are done.
But, each time I believe it. I think I couldn’t possibly have more love or more energy to give. I am full, busy, spilling over.
And then weighing heavy on my heart are the little eyes, the little cries, the abandoned and alone. The smell of a sweet babe. The legacy, the Christ-warriors to raise.
“Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? “ Psalm 127:3 MSG
And truly they are, whether your heart is full with one or ten. Whether the Lord gives you your own children, or just little ones to love, they are the greatest gift.
If your heart is hurting right now, if your desires are for more children or for your first child, for a marriage or a husband or a church, or a friend.
Take your desires to our Lord, filter them through his grace and his love. And pray, cry, sob and praise.
December 12, 2019 - Journal Entry
I no longer feel as if all you say is no to me. I don’t feel forgotten or forsaken. I feel like you let me down with Thao. His life was the answer to my prayer, my dream, my hope. And then you allowed such bitter suffering and shortness to his life. His last breath felt as though it was mine, too. And I just can’t quite catch it again.
Am I seeking healing through other things or people?
Why do you put these desires on my heart? When I seek you, I find you. you ask me to wait, to trust, to fast, to be patient.
Yet, here I am, Lord.
I am impatient, doubtful, undisciplined, controlling and pushy.
I see you though. You answer my prayers anyway. Why must I be so greedy?Am I not content? Not satisfied? Not thankful? Why does my heart desire more?
Why am I possessive and greedy, holding so tightly to everyone and everything?
Lord, I asked and you answered.
With Thao’s very life you gave me beautiful and abundant gifts.
I asked and you answered.
With Ava’s fierce, reckless, independent, free-spirited love.
I asked and you answered.
Two times you gave life in my womb and two times you saw fit to take away. And still we praise you.
I asked, Lord, and you answered.
I pleaded and cried and you gave me Liam. My brave warrior, fighter for justice.
Lord, I mourned and my heart shattered and you heard me. You gave me courage to walk into more love, to wake up each day.
And again, I asked, but loosely held and again you answered with big brown eyes and spice and spunk and a shy, timid but beautifully brave smile.
And, God, you whispered to my soul, “one more” and led me straight to open hands, bent knees, to a sick little boy with a heart so huge and forgiveness so deep and compassion so much like yours.
But my heart count’t quit, Lord. Why? As I cried tears of sorrow and joy, why do I long for more?
Isn’t this enough? But my heart ached to fill a void I didn’t know I had.
Lord, when will my morning come? Where is the joy you promised? And nine months later I delivered joy, a baby boy so full of light.
And each night since he’s come home, I wake to meet his needs, to greet his arms raised up with mine, to hear his cries and gently pray, praise for his life and mine, for our family intertwined, for the hope of Jesus, shone, sewn, through like thread. As I gently greet my baby boy with a kiss, I say a prayer for the tender hearts of my children, my husband. I say a prayer of thankfulness for our family, our love, this beautiful bringer of light.
and yet.
My heart breaks. My soul aches.
for little arms reaching into the dark
for cries to be met with something other than love. for eyes that stare into a void, alone, scared, for tiny babies, needy precious souls, knowing nothing but emptiness and rejection, the echo of their own cries, of hunger and pain and loss, alone.
Lord, why can’t I do something now? Today? Tomorrow? When is that time? My heart breaks or what is breaking yours. My love is abundant because your love sustains. But my heart aches for ones just like my own. When, Lord? When? When is the time? How long do I wait? Will you speak the words? Or is this all in vain?
Lord, where is my Isaac? to love and lay down, to wait to trust, to see fulfillment of dreams and hope and answered prayer and redemption.
The gospel come alive.
Lord, bless the foster babies, the ones not found, the ones in the wait.
