Now we’re suddenly raising teenagers and the baby-years are over and I felt like I just needed to get my head in the game and let go.īut my own words were convicting me to my core. My husband and I prayed for a baby and God brought us two eight-year-old babies through adoption. I’m just tired, you know? Tired of hoping. I don’t feel like believing for miracles anymore. I nodded, then shrugged a little, letting my gaze follow the pattern of my feet crunching on the dirt road. My feet moved and the miles passed and I started piecing the two events together.Īnd it was like God said, “That was good advice. We’re going to pray for healing in all these painful places.”
We’re going to pray for salvation-for hope-for freedom. I just stared at them on the screen, then set the thought aside because I didn’t have time to figure it out.Ī month later I was sitting across from a dear, dear friend and telling her, “I know things are rough with your family right now but the story isn’t done yet. What? I didn’t even understand my own words. “The idea of ‘hope’ seems a bit petrifying right now.” Months before I had been texting a friend and a sentence fell from my fingers. Two hundred and fifty miles passed under my feet over the next couple months.Īnd while I was walking, all the thoughts I hadn’t had time to process over the season-of-hard began clarifying in my mind. Not just that day, but the next and the next. Yes, that’s an extreme way of putting it, but if you talk to anyone who has dealt with exorbitant trauma-related behavioral issues in a child/children, I’m sure they will all agree that during the worst it feels like a prison sentence.ĭuring that time period I couldn’t turn my back on my child to wash the dishes, let alone leave the house for an hour.īut here we were, in the summer of 2018, and while I was weeding the radishes the realization hit me that my children were all okay and my husband was right in his shop working and I could just put on sneakers and walk three miles down the road if I wanted to.
I understand if that sounds a bit elementary to you, but let’s look at the full picture: for almost a year I was basically a prisoner in my own home. Used by Permission.I guess we could blame it on the radishes.Īfter all, I was out in the garden weeding them when the thought hit me. © 2019 Bethel Music Publishing (ASCAP) / Cory Asbury Publishing (ASCAP) (admin by Bethel Music Publishing) / EGH Music Publishing (BMI) / Be Essential Songs (BMI) (admin at ) / Shout MP Brio (BMI) (adm. Jericho walls are quakin’, strongholds now are shakin’ Love is breaking through when the Father’s in the room Miracles take place, the cynical find faith Prison doors fling wide, the dead come to life Love is on the move when the Father’s in the room
Prodigals come home, the helpless find hope My story isn’t over, my story’s just begunįailure won’t define me, ’cause that’s what my Father doesįailure won’t define me, ‘cause that’s what my Father doesĪrrival’s not the endgame, the journey’s whereĪnd the story isn’t over, if the story isn’t goodįailure’s never final when the Father’s in the room What looks to me like weakness, is a canvas for Your strength Sometimes on this journey, I get lost in my mistakes