A few days ago, Rob and I, on a rare occasion, found ourselves riding in the car alone. (If only the occasion hadn’t been spurred on by our very old washer leaking water into our basement, it may have been downright romantic. But I digress.) On our quick trip with trailer in tow to the hardware store we passed a bus for sale. Rob, in jest, asked, “How many kids did you want to have again?” My response was immediate, cynical and followed by spontaneous tears riddled with guilt over my unrelenting doubt.
The next morning I found a necklace in my jewelry box I had all but forgotten. A gift from my husband in our dating days. Its soft blue stone is suspended on a simple, delicate chain. Lost in nostalgia at the cool touch of the metal, I clasped it around my neck. As I did, a thought struck: What if all those years ago, unbeknownst to my future husband, I was gifted a promise? I ran for my phone to confirm my suspicion. The color is indeed the birthstone for the month of March.
That necklace hung from the light over my bathroom sink all last week. I put it there as a precious little reminder in front of me. Hope erected and kept in clear view. Hope in which this thirsty, drought-wrought heart has been longing.
What had begun with a spark of hope last week ignited this weekend when we were asked again as to our willingness to have our profile book presented. In faith we said yes. In faith I pulled down that necklace and clasped its tender chain and blue stone around my neck.
Then yesterday after an afternoon lunch with friends, we stopped at a store just to wander. While shopping, we found a flower girl dress our little princess will need for a summer wedding. It’s a beautiful mix of soft pinks and gold shimmer. The boys, in their element, found the toy section but my sweet little girl tugged my hand to the next aisle over. Baby clothes stretched out before us. Soft and welcoming. And there, on a rack aside from the mass of colors, was a dress that complemented Elle’s in the approximate size a child born in March would most likely need in July.
Caressing the little blue stone, I couldn’t resist. Faith requires action. So as I watched, the teller took up the small pink ruffles with gold flecked lace and matching bonnet, scanned it and carefully laid it in the white plastic bag homeward bound.
Waiting is hard. But the longer we’ve waited, the more keenly aware I am of the waiting that happens around us daily. I’m an adoptive mother waiting for her arms to be filled; an author waiting to be published. I’m waiting for financial goals to be reached, relationships to be mended and broken hearts to be healed.
And you’re waiting too.
Maybe yours looks different. Or maybe it looks all too similar. But if I’ve learned anything in this season it’s that waiting is not stagnant. It takes active participation to raise the pillars of hope that stand before you to shout the someday you’re waiting for WILL come. And every painstaking day it takes to lift your eyes to the pillar rather than allow them to drift to the shadows that taunt, “That dress will never be worn“, is worth the fight dear friend. It’s worth it for me. It’s worth it for you.
So I challenge you: Hold on.
Raise the pillar.
Clip on the necklace.
Buy the dress.
Then lift your eyes.
God is still moving in your stead and in mine.
And if you have something you’re waiting on, I’d love to pray with you. Comment below or send me a message. Or if you know someone who’s in a season of waiting, feel free to share this with them.
Our profile book will most likely be shared this week. We’d love to have you circle with us in prayer this mother, father and baby girl. And we’ll do our best to keep you posted.
TeamRead 