Darkness has played itself into pinks and now mellow golds and blues out my window. After my 5:30 a.m. bathroom trip, my body refused to sleep any longer, and I lay in bed, enjoying Abigail’s movements, catching up on social media, and periodically wondering what it would require to slip back into slumber.
By 7 a.m. I was too hungry to remain curled up any longer.
It’s the rhythm of my days. The rise and the fall of rest and wakefulness, of wonder and mystery. It’s prayers answered and prayers prayed. It’s miracles begged for and miracles witnessed. It’s the whisper of Heaven twirled with the beatings of a very real heart.
I wonder what new song Abigail will inspire this year. Surely, my rhythm won’t be the same. As surely as the sun rose today, a new season has dawned this year. Perhaps slower in some ways and much, much faster in others. Perhaps interrupted by more nighttime feedings and daytime naps. Perhaps wrapped in pink and in hope and in healing.
These were the words the Lord spoke to me, as the New Year was celebrated and feted.
I’ve been the walking wounded for far too long.
True, the deep depression that robbed my joy several years ago is now just pages and pages of my journals. The deep sorrow that took my breath away when one after another pregnancy attempts failed is no longer a daily struggle. I don’t wonder what it would be like to feel a baby kick anymore. Now, I wonder how I will raise her and provide for her and protect her and give her the world. How will I help her dream…big dreams…and love…love lavishly…and believe…with all of her heart? How will I do these things?
With dreams of my own. God dreams. With sweet love coming from a healed and whole heart. With TRUST. Trust that even if I can’t give her the world, I can give her the same Savior who gave up the world for me.
It’s time to step out of darkness into the pinks and the mellow golds and blues of dawn. As surely as the sun rises, it is time.
In the Gospels we read of 10 lepers who were healed by Christ. Of the 10, only one returned to Christ to give thanks. It was to him that Christ said, “Your faith has saved you.” Yet, all were healed. However, not all were made whole. Nine still bore their leprosy in the wounds of their heart. Only one gave thanks and found the rest he so desperately yearned for.
Only one leper truly came home.
And, so, I give thanks. Overwhelming gratitude for the miracle of the dawn when I wondered at times if some of my dreams would always belong to the night.
Join me and come home…
You have caused gladness where grief resided. You gave life where death claimed victory. And, you did this all on my behalf.
I am so unworthy.
Abigail is not mine, nor will she ever be mine. No, she is Yours. I feel her baby kicks, but You see her life dance. I grin when she hiccups, but You smile at her destiny. Thank you.
Thank you for answering this prayer. Thank you for healing. Thank you for the REST of this coming season. Maybe not physically, but soulfully. A time and a season for my spirit to find peace and my family to nest in the place that You provide. For these things I will have to trust You.
As surely as the sun rises, You have never failed nor left Your words unfulfilled.
May the night rejoice in the pinks and golds of dawn.
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