This Sacred Fight

I've wanted to feel overwhelmed. The pain of my children, the heartache my friends are experiencing, the seeming hopelessness of families we're fighting for. . . it's been getting the best of me.

I've complained to Jamie over the uncertainties. I want to know the how longs; I want to know the whens; I want to know the whys; and the ways my labor will be worth it. I want to know what my Christmas card will look like a year from now, and the little handprints that will line my walls and windows. I've pouted and wept over it.

We began to wonder if we're too "in over our heads." Everyone else seems to think we are. Do we need to get back to what's "reasonable?"

Can we limit the pain of others that we encounter?

Then God shut me up.

The story is hers. But I've said all along, that my journey with Big Sis could be one of the greatest stories of grace that God uses to change me.

I was doing a quick tuck in, because I seriously needed a break.

Then she said it.

I just want to know where I'll be next month, and six months from now; this summer; where I'll be in school next year; who my friends will be; where I'll sleep. Sometimes, it's just not fair, you know?

And just like that, a wall was broken. We held each other and wept.

No, sweetheart. I really don't know.

And I thought I had something to pout over.

The thing is, this life is overwhelming at times. If I look at it through human eyes, we're doing too much.

But my God is not overwhelmed.

These children, these times, these families and pains, were known by Him before my mother knew my name. Before my first cry, He handpicked me to be holding these hands, wiping these tears, and interceding for these hearts.

The truth is when we ask God to capture our hearts, He's going to give us more than we can handle, because that is where He begins.

I've had control. I've had order. I've had plans and dreams.

But, I want Jesus.

And so, I'm going to be overwhelmed.

I want my eyes to be stripped. I want my heart to be naked. I want my hands to be dirty.

I want Jesus. That's what I'm learning from a nine-year-old. I want to be incapable of loving, because I need to see my Savior who loves her, who loves me, perfectly.

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