Forty Weeks

Forty weeks ago I became pregnant. I cried when I found out because, in all honesty, I didn’t feel ready for another baby. I wasn’t ready to give my body up yet again within four years. But things change, like when the scariness of it weathers away and baby kicks become persistent, the miracle of a baby becomes a whole lot of joy and lot less fear. 

Forty weeks ago (plus a few weeks) my husband started doing freelance graphic design. Since then we’ve never been poorer and richer. Poorer because we stretch the pennies in ways that really aren’t possible, and richer because we see the tremendous glory and value in doing what God calls. It changed us. Our marriage, our boys, our day-to-day life. I’m on my knees most days, not out of anguish, but because I see it now:  God is a true provider, especially when we seem to have nothing.

Forty weeks.

You know, life is not easy when my resources are exhausted on believing God’s promises. When I say I spend my days on my knees, I mean I am metaphorically surrendering to God’s plan over and over and over. Because our plans were shattered forty weeks ago. Our plans were lit on fire and flew with the wind because our Father wanted something even more for us, even though I have spent days upon days falling on my knees thinking this cannot be it, can it? This is exhausting. My faith feels like it’s only a whisp. 

We have a choice every day to be here or to be elsewhere. We don’t have to be present for this. I could go get a job. Evan could go find something that offers a paycheck every two weeks and benefits. We can walk away. But it’s been forty weeks, you guys. For 280 days, God has been real, alive, and faithful. We don’t have to be present for this moment where our faith is strengthened because our knees are hitting the floor, and we praise with open hands. But there isn’t anywhere else in the world like this. There is no other place that offers the richness of the poor and the joy of the needy. This place, where our faith becomes sight, is worth the wait. It is exhausting. Forty weeks is a long time to be pregnant, to wait on the Lord, to believe that whisps of faith are more than enough to power us into truth.

My third son might be born later today. He may not arrive for a few days, maybe a week. And I hate that; I hate that I have to wait when my patience is already thinner than a wire. But if I’ve learned anything in forty weeks, it’s that God is faithful and His timing is impeccable. Forty weeks. We’ve arrived at the end and beginning of a new season, and it’s a crazy place to be. But there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than here, on my knees, open hands and surrendered. Praise Him for His perfection in my imperfect thinking, my whisps of faith. He is good, and that is enough for me.

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