Saturday, August 1, 2015

When the Going Gets Tough, Hit Your Knees

My God,

It was a year ago today that I first laid eyes on her. She was so tiny, so sad and beautiful, and leaping right off the page at me. We loved her even before we knew she was ours.

It was a dangerous proposition, but we trusted You. Now she’s officially a Hicks, and we are so incredibly grateful for this wonderful, indescribable blessing. Thank you, God.

I know it’s Your will. You’ve told us that care for orphans is “pure religion.” And by adopting us all, letting us call You “Father,” You demonstrated exactly what it looks like when love makes a family. 

But even more than this, I know that adoption is Your will for our family.  We have seen You move through every step of this long, winding process with us. We’ve watched You direct our steps as we navigated the sometimes rocky path, as You brought us to this point in our journey.

We’ve trusted You through the long years of waiting for the unknown, and now through the year of waiting for the known—a call that we can finally go pick up that tiny piece of our hearts 8,700 miles away.

We’ve prepared our home; we’ve prepared our daily lives, our friends and family. And oh, how we yearn for the day we will finally stop preparing, and start being.

I know that Your timing is perfect—things happen when they should.  I know it, but that doesn’t stop my heart from aching or the tears from falling. Why must we wait so long? I’m struggling to see Your plan. I don’t understand.

I can enumerate the long list of reasons she should be home now, but You know them all (and not just because I’ve told you a million times!). If “not yet” is the answer, I know the reason is good. Help me believe that. Help me really believe it, when I say it.

Give me peace, oh God. I need peace. More patience; greater trust in You. Help me lean on You. Help me loosen my Type-A stranglehold on the situation before I drive myself mad.

Help me get outside of myself and serve You while I’m waiting. Help me let go of how things “should be,” so that my heart is open and ready for the things that will be.

Help me wake up each morning and push through the ache in my heart for what’s missing, so I can focus on what’s here and now. I don’t want to miss it!

Most of all, help me remember to be profoundly grateful. She is ours, wherever in the world she is. She is loved, and will be all the rest of her days.

And when the time comes, when the call comes to finally bring our missing piece home, help me remember where every good and perfect gift comes from, and say “thank You.”

I offer this prayer for my daughter in Your sweet son’s name,