I was sitting in my “creativity nook”, the junk room I repurposed this summer. Autumn breezes blew through the open window. I listened as it whispered through the tree, and rattled the boys’ art hanging on my “family” wall in this new, peaceful room.
My heart was heavy with all that is going on around us. And then, I read a post on those miracles you don’t pray for.
I thought about friends who are fighting for their lives. About the boy who committed suicide recently. I thought about the angst our own boys are going through as they step closer to manhood. And about family members who are sick.
Prayers have been lifted for all of these, and yet, it seems like God isn’t answering. He’s not working those miracles we read about in the Bible and hear about from friends’ lips.
I listened to those papers respond to the wind sneaking in through that open window . . .
And I knew.
For years, I prayed for children. I walked about in numbed disbelief after we lost our first and only pregnancy. I pleaded with God. Begged really. Told Him how we would raise any children He gave us to know Him.
I raged at times, at the unfairness of it all. How come He gave children to women who used drugs and didn’t want their babies, but not to one woman who desperately wanted a child?
I grappled with what faith really was (“If you believe hard enough, you can get pregnant.” Yeah, right). I wrestled with God about if He loved me less than others (He’s shown me, again and again, He loves me completely, perfectly, and passionately). I idolized the dream of holding a baby in my arms.
And I came to the place of surrender. If He didn’t have motherhood in His plans for my husband and me, I would accept that.
And then the miracle.
A call to my husband from a coworker. A few days later, the asking if we would adopt a baby.
And a sleepless, joy-filled, tear-filled night.
Children truly are a miracle. Ours came to us through adoption. Children of our hearts. Others are given to a husband and wife in the more traditional manner.
The miracle was that—in spite of my doubt, my questions—God knew the deep desire of my heart. The desire He placed there . . . and He gifted it to me. When hubs and I were ready.
He gave the gift of motherhood in His way, and in His time.
Miracles . . .
God’s open doors sometimes become those miracles we don’t think to pray for. Or we pray for but expected Him to answer differently.
A relocation from a large city to a place we had always said we would move to . . . one day. We didn’t know how it would happen. We weren’t actively praying for it.
He opened doors to move us to a beautiful place to raise our boys.
These miracles aren’t the write-it-up-in-the-medical-journals kind.
These miracles are the kind that shows God knows us so well.
He knows how to minister, to heal, to restore, to strengthen in the most unexpected of ways. He meets us where we are. Pours His love over our lives, reminding us He is always with us. Always loving and caring for us.
It’s amazing what some flapping papers push-pinned to a wall can remind you of . . .
What about you? What miracles have you seen or experienced in your life? How would you describe miracles?
By the way, Susan Shipe has coordinated The FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY BOOK with a number of Five Minute Friday posts in it. It released on Monday, September 26th! If you choose to purchase one, all the funds go to support two ministries in South Africa: The Vine School in Cape Town, and The Ten Dollar Tribe. Please consider helping these ministries and being blessed by the words of many wonderful writers!