I can hear his soft melody of grace amazing as I take the few steps into our bedroom, and I pick up the moniter.
I'm struck, suddenly, at this miracle I'm watching through a tiny little moniter's screen. I see the chair rocking back and forth, two sets of eyes wide and bright in the camera's night vision. I see the little legs crossed, the hand resting on her cheek. I see all the things that make up the faithfulness of God and I'm dumbfounded.
Sometimes we get so caught up in life that we forget where we've come from. We get so trapped in what's happening in our small world that we miss the bigger picture. We lose sight of the important, precious, tender gifts that flow all around us like the melody of a song.
It wasn't all that long ago that I wondered - no, worried - if we'd ever have children. I feared I couldn't carry a baby full-term and felt so trapped in my desire. I hurt for my husband, this wonderful man who I knew in my soul would make the greatest Daddy, feeling as if I was letting him down somehow. As if my ability or inability to have children was the only gift I had to offer his life.
And now here we are. Soul-deep in poo poo diapers, bathtime, little feet learning to take steps, and a little heart whose care has been entrusted to us. Here we are, learning more and more every day what exactly this thing called love really is.
The season of doubt and fear and waiting - so, so much waiting - it took to get us here feels like a lifetime ago now. Like the page of a book that hasn't been read for some time. But it's there. The words are written, the story played out. Life goes on, but the memories remain. They remain now as a reminder of the unimaginable gift we've been given. They serve to tell us that God is good, God is faithful. They whisper of His love, how deep and wide it goes.
Waiting is hard. It's one of the hardest parts of living a life in love with Christ. But it's also an integral part of that relationship with Him. As we look to promises to be fulfilled, we also find ourselves waiting for some sense to be made. Waiting for a nod that we're moving in the right direction or a hand to pull us back if we're moving too fast. Waiting for the waiting itself to be over.
As much as we wait, much is also made of God. It is without fail that these seasons prove His love for us, His love of the Father who wants the very best for His children: Himself. We can't possibly know a life of freedom and joy and eyes to see gifts without seeing that HE is the best part about life. HE is the joy. HE is the freedom. He is the gift.
I look at my daughter and I see His hand. I see the details of her face and know He designed it.
Gift.
I see the unbreakable bond that grows deeper every day between my husband and his cherished daughter.
Joy.
I see a reflection in the mirror of a woman who once felt helpless, useless even. Who wondered of her purpose. Who now knows she is daughter of the King, co-heir with Christ. Made in His image and loved without measure or conditions. Who knows that her identity isn't determined by what she does or who others say she is but what HE calls her: beloved.
Freedom.
I see the details that make up my life; our family, our home, our friends. Trips to the grocery store, dishes in the sink. Clothes to be folded. Strawberry Shortcake by day and Netflix by night. Toys on the floor and Dr. Seuss books galore. I see the details and I know that it all adds up to one thing: God's faithfulness.
I look back only to remind myself of where I've come from, where I've been rescued. Where God gave a promise and carried me down the crooked path that lead straight to it. Straight to Him. Straight to His faithfulness.
Waiting is hard. Yea, no denying that. But the arrival? It is worth the wait.
It just is.
Hold on to your hope, even if what remains is just a shred. Look to the Father, your Father, who takes you down a road leading to His pure love. A road that leads to fulfilled promises. A road built with bricks of freedom and love and more gifts than you can count.
So just hold on. Your joy awaits.
