“Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him.” ~Psalm 126:5-6
Father, I don’t know how to pray right now. From the very beginning of this adoption process, I’ve resisted asking You for speed. You’ve taught me time and again that Your timing is better than mine, and rarely does it resemble my mach-10 tendencies. Perhaps by now I should’ve mastered the virtue of patience, yet here I sit, literally aching with eagerness.
You know my soul, so You know I want this baby in my arms now. You know I want You to shred red tape, fill vacancies, move hearts, and perform whatever miracles are necessary to bridge the gap between dream and reality in record time.
But I’m near-sighted, and You’re not. I’m weak, and You’re strong. I’m confused, and You’re omniscient. I’m anxious, and You’re sovereign.
I’m not asking You for speed; I’m not even asking You for patience. I’m asking for a new mind. Help me to focus not on what You’re doing, but on who You are. Not on what I long for, but on what You’ve given.
You knit my first two children together in my womb, and now You’re knitting another into my heart. It hurts, but I welcome the pain, because I trust that when the labor passes, a treasure will remain.
So thank You for what You’re doing. I don’t understand it, and I can’t see the end from the beginning. But I know who You are…Calmer of the seas, Giver of life, Healer of the broken, Lover of the lost.
Author of my days.
May my weary heart embrace the masterpiece You have already written, trusting that the finale will be more breathtaking than anything my finite mind could ever dream.