As I drifted off to sleep this weekend, I spoke the words aloud.
Spoke into the darkness of the light finding my soul.
For most this would be only a minor revelation, but if you know of the worry that I’ve been gripped by then you also know that these words were more than idle mumblings of a sleepy, pregnant woman. These were words of thanksgiving. Words of simple request. Words of freedom.
“Lord, I thank you for this perfect baby…”
“Lord, I’ve been carrying burdens that aren’t mine to carry…”
“Lord, would you open the doors for an internship for David and finances for our family?”
His still small voice whispered in my heart: “Daughter, you know all that matters is that you are pregnant, and you are going to have a baby, and that is enough. If you can’t set up the perfect nursery and your baby is in your room, it won’t be the end of the world. If you have to work full-time, then I will provide a way and the strength for that to be okay.”