Sometimes I pray crazy prayers. Prayers that I mean at the time but then later I wonder. What was I thinking? Three years ago I prayed a crazy prayer. At the time it made sense to me, I had just went throughout the hardest thing of my life.
Spring is finally starting to spring up around here. I love the winter, and snow is my favorite, but even I am ready for warmer days and signs of new life.
I’m learning that it’s a lot easier to believe something with your mind than with your heart. For example, if you’re a single woman on Valentine’s week it’s really hard to make your heart believe that Jesus is better than any earthly man you could ever meet or fall in love with.
We walked through the dark valley together, Jesus and I. It was the hardest two years of my life, the two years after my husband decided he didn’t want to be married anymore. The two years when nothing was stable except the Rock of Christ Jesus.
Sometimes warriors wear high heels and tiaras and carry flowers. Last week my friend Jennifer and I had the honor of getting to help celebrate the accomplishments of some of our favorite young women at Saving Grace.
Waiting sucks. (I'm not quite sure I'm allowed to say "sucks" here but "waiting is hard" didn't adequately describe how I'm feeling. ) I hate waiting, and I'm not really good at it. Patience is not my forte. It seems as if everyone I know is in a holding pattern right now. Waiting on new.
I ordered a London Fog, she ordered an iced mocha. We sat across from each other sipping our respective drinks wondering if it was safe to just unload or if we needed to do the whole "small talk" thing first. Thankfully, neither of us are all that good at small talk, so we just jumped in.
When I brought you home from the hospital you each weighed just a smidge over 4 pounds. You came home needy. You needed to be fed every 2 hours round the clock and needed to be weighed every 24 hours. Heart monitors and home health nurses were constant companions.
I don't know about you, but my life feels like I just move from one crisis to the next. Oh sure, some moments would probably better be defined as irritating interruptions to my schedule than a full on crisis. But still. It. Never. Stops. So I pray for a break.
We sat across the table from each other in silence; me with wounded pride, her with fear that she'd offended. In the silence I asked myself some hard questions.