Twenty-two months ago, I was mourning what I then believed to be a reality: I was convinced I would never have children. And oh, how I longed for children. I woke one morning in the hotel room where I stayed nearly every week and my heart was buried deep in the ache. I had a full work day ahead of me, but I sat for a long time at the little desk I’d never found a use for before and I emptied out my longing on the page.
I could not know then, of course, how soon my Jesse would make himself known as a life the size of a coffee bean in my belly. I should have known how often, how readily, how abundantly God answers prayer.
Tonight, my heart is once again staggering beneath the weight of something too big for me to fix, too heartbreaking for me to shake. So, I return to a lonely morning nearly two years ago and I remind myself that there is a God who answers prayers. He is able. He is good. He is.
This morning, one thought breaks like a cool, heavily slanted ray of sunlight on my heart:
I will wait on the LORD.
The cadence of the words, the spirit of their meaning, is a refraction of the dancing Magnificat of Mary. “I will wait on the Lord” and “My soul magnifies the Lord” both look to the same creative, restorative Power, only one looks forward and the other back. Both trust, both rest, both depend utterly on the God Who Saves.
I will wait on the Lord in His silence and my doubt. My soul magnifies the Lord in His silence and my doubt. So thrives my soul.