A prayer for our, and perhaps your, children…
I love this time of year: My feed is full of first-day-of-school photos. Bright-eyed littles holding sign-boards showing their grade, new clothes and combed hair and eager anticipation of the year brimming with opportunity. I admit, homeschooling is a little anticlimactic in that department. No new clothes nor combed hair (ha!), and my kids are never quite sure which grade they are in. 😉 BUT, I still love this time of year, and no matter how you educate, it is a sacred season for considering the year ahead that is, without a doubt, brim-full of opportunity.
I recently had a sweet conversation thread going with a dear group of ladies–my college roommates. We shared a house, and there was no shortage of laughter, clothes-swapping, male-visitors (I married one!), and chocolate chips cookies. We’ve stayed in touch over the last 20 years and we now have 33 children between us (!). It is no small miracle we have managed to stay connected over the years.
Recently, one girl suggested we share with each other our prayers for our children’s upcoming school year. Another Mama went first, and just reading her precious heart-felt prayer for her children re-lit a fire in my own heart to earnestly intercede for my kids this year. I realized that because I don’t send my kids “out into the world” each September, I don’t sense the same urgency, or keen sense of need (or whatever you might call it) to pray for my children. I mean, I pray for them, but they’re also RIGHT BY MY SIDE EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF THE DAY and so… just sayin’…sometimes they’re so close it’s easy to neglect covering them heavily in prayer.
I’m also re-reading one of my favorite prayer books, A Praying Life, by Paul Miller, along with my sister-in-law. I was struck afresh by this page:
I think perhaps, because I’m with my kids all day, I can often look to my own resources, ingenuity, or methods to modify their behavior or address some issue. But when I acknowledge the truth that only God can change their hearts, then I will tackle these issues more effectively: In prayer.
So, I wrote out my 2018-2019 prayers for my children, sent to my sweet sisters in an email, and thought I’d just copy and paste with y’all too, in case it can be encouraging to you as well as you pray for your own children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or any other children God has entrusted to your care.
The only way to really be ready for what’s ahead…
Perusing my planner is like a form of therapy for me. I love planning. I love calendar squares (I’m a paper girl), and blank spaces (and an introvert), and scheduling out school years and Bible studies and populating those pages with neat-and-tidy plans.
Of course the actual days ahead aren’t neat-and-tidy at all, but I still enjoy the process.
Over the last few months, I’ve been meditating on a shift in mindset that just might be what keeps us sane, and, Lord willing, faithful and effective, in the days and years to come:
Shifting from PLANNING to PREPARING.
Perhaps this is already clear to you, but just in case this might be helpful to someone, I’ll bear the risk of stating the obvious:
In late pregnancy, my midwives asked me to create a Birth Plan. This is a standard practice for every expecting Mama—creating a document that outlines your desires for the birth process, so that all the care providers can reference it and carry out your wishes.
With my first two births, I didn’t do this, because quite frankly, I didn’t care what happened. I wasn’t prepared at all, so I sort of threw myself at the mercy of my midwives and doctors, and decided that whatever happened was okay with me. Thankfully, everything went fine, and I honestly think God graciously gave me a pretty easy experience because He knew I couldn’t have handled anything more. Not kidding—I was so unprepared!
So that’s one philosophy: Skip the planning, skip the preparing, throw up your hands and say, “What will be will be!” or “It is what it is!” and celebrate your own indifference.
We see this at work in permissive parenting—really relaxed parents with really wild children. It’s cool and all that Mom’s so chill, but everyone around them wishes she wasn’t quite so laid back!
See, this mindset exalts flexibility above all, and while it’s certainly more attractive than white-knuckled control, it also falls short of walking out God’s good plans.
On the other extreme, you have the hard-core planners. The Birth Plan is a blow-by-blow uber-detailed document that outlines everything from the temperature of the room to how many candles should be lit and what volume the Enya music should play. I’m joking, of course, but we can go pretty hog wild planning out our perfect birth!
This parenting style seeks to control everything—from the kids’ environment to their every bite of food to what they wear, etc. While this can work for awhile, eventually that outward control will be eliminated, and these kids haven’t been prepared to make their own wise choices in the world.
When I followed my midwives’ orders and wrote my document, I titled it, “My Birth Requests” and I chose to only write out things that were reasonable responses to various scenarios. I’ll admit, part of it was hard to do—I didn’t want to specify which hospital to transfer me to, in case of emergency, but the reality is emergencies happen, so rather than try to control every outcome, or ignore the possibility of undesirable outcomes, I could prepare my heart, mind, and caregivers for what was ahead.
As I shared in the birth story, I found that Psalm 131 was what brought out a critical shift in my mind: A switch from PLANNING for this birth and baby, to PREPARING.
By God’s grace, I feel like I went into the event prepared, which involved tossing all my plans out the window and choosing to focus on the one thing I could control: My own self.
My mind. My heart. My perspective.
We see this at play all the time in life. How many dozens of times have Jeff and I counseled couples,
“Don’t just plan a wedding, PREPARE for marriage.”
We can plan nursery color schemes and birth plans, or we can prepare to be parents.
We can make grand retirement plans, or we can prepare for the unknowns of the future.
As I look around I see several examples of people doing this well:
My parents: I guarantee you my Dad did not plan on spending his “free” years of retirement “stuck” at home as full-time caretaker for his disabled wife. The years when he has all the time and money he needs to travel and do whatever he wants, instead he is faithfully and humbly cooking and cleaning, caring for all her personal needs, sitting with her for hours on end as she tries to string together sentences, devoting his days, thousands of them, to her daily needs.
Why can he do this so well? Not because this was his plan.
Because he prepared. Because when he said, “I do,” he meant it. Because he counted the cost and has spent nearly 48 years making right choices to love and honor. He has, every day of his marriage, prepared his heart to be faithful, over and over and over and over.
This was not his plan, but he was prepared, and the result is a beautiful godly example of true love.
My dear friends whose daughter was tragically killed in a car accident. Of course that horrific situation was not their plan. But they were able to respond with supernatural grace, forgiveness, and love, they were able to weather this horrendous storm, because their hearts were prepared. How?
The preparation of the gospel of peace (Eph. 6:15).
Every time we meditate on the gospel, re-tell our hearts the gospel, re-learn the gospel, re-focus on the gospel, every time we choose to live and think in line with the gospel, we prepare ourselves for the future that only God can see.
This is so much more than just “plan for the best, prepare for the worst.”
This is a complete reorientation of our lives, minds, hearts, around the truth of who Jesus is and what He’s done for us, so that what naturally comes out of us is strength, grace, patience, forgiveness, love, kindness, endurance.
This is becoming like Jesus so that when your cross comes, you can respond like Him.
“‘Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.'” (Luke 23:34)
“He opened not His mouth.” (Isaiah 53:7)
“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 2:23)
This is so much more beautiful than detached indifference or white-knuckled control. This is the preparation of the gospel of peace, this is how the Heavenly Father prepares His children for the future only He can see. This is refusing fear, denial, or mere positive-thinking. This is how the Proverbs 31 woman “laughs at the days to come.”(v. 25)
You too can have the uncanny ability to smile at the future, because you’ve let Christ prepare your heart. Confidence is yours.
{On this journey of the unknown, with you. Thanks for reading.}
How Justice Came: Delivery (2 of 2)
Continuing from part one » How Justice Came: Preparations
After sleeping soundly through the night, I woke at 7am Saturday morning with a contraction.
Not painful or intense, but definitely a contraction. I had never had them during the day, so that was a bit different from usual. Dutch had just crawled into our bed on Jeff’s side, and since he doesn’t snuggle with his body but rather with his words, I curled up close to him and listened to his latest lecture on some aspect of Lord of the Rings. Something about Smaug.
Another mild contraction.
I got up. Now let me tell you, after having hundreds of contractions and a dozen false-alarms, I didn’t even want to think about announcing labor unless it was well underway. I went along the morning as usual, mild contractions coming about every 6-7 minutes. I went out to the garden, pulled weeds, ate peas, and periodically timed squeezes.
At 10am I told Jeff that I’d been having mild, regular contractions, so thought I’d go lay down and rest and see if they’d stop. At this point I didn’t want to “try to get things going” because I’d done that so many times, I just wanted to try to make things stop, and see if true labor might actually progress.
Sure enough, I laid down for a nap, and they slowed way down. *sigh* I rested for an hour, thinking that was probably the end and we had another normal day ahead.
But as soon as I got back up, they began again. Slowly over the next hour, they intensified a little and were consistently 3-4 min apart. By 12 I just wanted to be alone. They weren’t overwhelming, I just found myself irritated by any interactions with the kids, and kept wanting to close my eyes and be alone. The kids were eager to get to my parents’ house and play with cousins, so I asked Jeff to take them there so I could have some time alone. Even if this wasn’t real labor, they’d get to play and I’d get to relax.
While he was gone, things ramped up a bit. When he got back at 1pm I had my earbuds in and was outside on our patio, listening to soft nature music and breathing through contractions. My back hurt so he pressed my back with each contraction.
From that moment on, for 7.5 hours straight, Jeff never left my side.
At 2pm, I texted my midwife to see if I could come into the birth center. I knew I wasn’t super far along, but I felt uncertain about how to even know how far I was. The contractions weren’t super strong but they were close together and consistent. I knew the “labor at home as long as you can” rule, but we also live 30 minutes from the birth center, and after so many false alarms, I found myself wanting some sort of check point. She agreed to meet us there.
After arriving, she confirmed I was only 3.5 cm, so would need to labor some more at home. She also suggested doing three 30-minute Spinning Babies techniques to get baby spun around to a better position. She said things usually pick up more at night, so perhaps by the evening time things would progress more.
Gratefully, I wasn’t discouraged (though Jeff told me the next day that he was!). Even though I had to go home, Justice WAS coming. This wasn’t a false alarm. I was dilating. This baby was coming, and God had perfectly prepared me for exactly this moment.
On our drive home, I texted a few praying friends and asked them to please pray that things would progress.
Pray they did!
By the time we got home at 3:30, things were already much more intense. I did the forward inversions for 30-minutes straight and YOW! that got things moving! The next 30-minute stretch was even more intense, this baby was most certainly moving! Before I could finish the last 30-minutes Jeff called the midwife back and she could hear me 😉 so she said it was time to come back in.
I’m not sure how descriptive of a birth blow-by-blow y’all want here on this blog, so if you love birth stories and want more details I’m happy to share. 😉 The short version is we arrived back at the birth center at 5:30. I labored to Hard Love in my earbuds for an hour and a half.
Jeff was right beside me and held my hand through every single contraction.
With my hand in his, it was so awesome to just completely block everything out and focus on those amazing lyrics. It was the perfect picture of embracing pain, struggle, of setting oneself aside for the sake of giving life to another.
It was intense, it was hard, but it was a hard love.
My water broke and they thought I was fully dilated at 7pm, but strangely enough I felt like God had impressed on me that Justice would come at 8-something. So I knew it couldn’t yet be time. Besides, it didn’t seem difficult enough.
Yep, turns out I still had a little ways to go.
Then things ramped up and I needed a change. So I turned to Resurrection Day. Yes! THIS, this was my resurrection day. This was the day of redemption.
This was the day God rewrote those words above my head, changed them from WEAK to WARRIOR.
Not in my strength. Not in a pride, puffed up way. In a way that recognizes that in myself, I am nothing. In Christ, everything.
This wasn’t about having something to prove, it was about HIM PROVING HIMSELF to me, and showing His resurrection power in me.
I broke into a huge smile and praised God. Four midwives standing around, I was able to close my eyes and worship God.
Resurrection day!
The end was …*ahem* intense. No music. At 7:30 I sensed my spirit weakening. I was slipping…the thought slowly crept into my head,
“I can’t do this…”
NO. I knew that I couldn’t speak that out. Yes, the thought was there. The feeling was there. That’s legit. But I didn’t have to speak it. I didn’t have to give it life. I didn’t have to give power to it.
If I learned anything during our difficult year, it was the absolute necessity of taking every thought captive. Yes, we have them. They are legit feelings. But we can CHOOSE whether they get to take residence in our hearts and minds.
God’s exhortation to take every thought captive isn’t a sweet little suggestion—it’s necessary for survival in the life of faith.
So instead I wrapped my arms around Jeff’s neck, squeezed myself into his chest as hard as I could, and whimpered into his ear,
“Please…pray for me. Please.”
And He did. And, unbeknownst to me, so did several dear friends—all around 7:30 struck with an urgent need to pray for me.
That gave just the breakthrough I needed.
At 8:15, we stalled again a bit, and again one of the amazing midwives did some techniques to get over that last hump and BOOM, there he quickly descended.
Leaning on Jeff, with my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, my face right next to his, holding each other…
WE, TOGETHER, AS ONE, brought Justice into the world.
“Oh Justice! Justice! Oh Justice! I love you!”
Tears and exhaustion and relief and sweat and blood all mingled up into inexpressible JOY and triumph. Justice was here! We did it!
And yes, I may have said to Jeff shortly thereafter, “I don’t know if I want to do that again.” Haha!
BUT, it was worth it, and although I want this little boy to be able to just be a little boy—no expectations, I know that God has a special plan for his life. And I continue to hear interesting tidbits about God’s JUSTICE coming. Just one hour after Justice’s birth this was shared on Facebook. I don’t know this person, but it was sent to me by another, and is certainly interesting. No matter what, we are wise to line up with God’s Word and pray for His justice on this earth, for truth to surface and sin to be found out, for mercy and justice to be extended to the poor and marginalized, the helpless and voiceless.
I have no idea if Justice will himself be part of this. (We won’t occupy ourselves with anything too great and marvelous for us, just reveling in this moment.) For today, we just cheer when he poops and takes a good nap. We celebrate his perfect squishy goodness and kiss his cheeks and lips and LOVE HIM to pieces, just for being the little boy that He is.
Just how God is with us.
And honestly, even more than my joy over Justice, I am overwhelmed with joy over Jeff. Yes, I love this baby. But Jeff will be by my side long after Justice spreads his wings and flies.
I’ll tell you what: The most difficult part of last year was a low-point in our marriage that was completely my fault. I allowed thoughts to take residence unchallenged: negative, critical, selfish, undisciplined thoughts that caused my heart to cool. But Jeff fiercely fought for my affections. He pursued me when I was distant. He served me when I was selfish. He was undaunted by my indifference and won my heart back over more fully than ever before.
This experience, of laboring together to bring Justice into this world, was the glorious culmination of our hard-won love. In my previous labors, I would have said, “I could never have done it without my anesthesiologist!” (Nothing wrong with that, just sayin!) This time I can honestly say, “I could never ever have done it, without my husband.”
So, dear friends, that’s the story. Of course it’s not over, but I’m putting my feet up for a moment and just thanking God for His faithfulness. Thank you for following along on this journey. Until next time…
…thanks for reading.
How Justice Came: Preparations (1)
Yesterday, I drove a familiar route and a flood of memories filled my mind.
It was the first time on that road since September 16th of last year, when I drove home in a wild mess of bewildered, angry tears.
It had been a long 9 months. We’d lost two babies through miscarriage (I wrote about HERE), and walked through an incredibly intense season of trial. There was outward grief and hidden, inner grief. There was sorrow and shame and then, after the miscarriage on Aug 7th, my sweet friend’s precious 16-year-old son passed away. A team of us had prayed, fasted, interceded, believed…and now I sat in silent shock.
September 16th was his memorial, and that seemed to break the dam of pent-up grief, anger, fear. I already wrote about it HERE, realizing that He holds a map I cannot see. Little did I know, when I wrote that post, that just two days later Jeff’s dad would die tragically, suddenly, and the river of grief would deepen, widen, for us both.
But friends, as you know, sorrow may last for the night, but joy DOES come in the morning.
Our morning came in early November when two little pink lines confirmed my suspicion. I was pregnant. Hope is an indefatigable thing, and it swells quickly into a wave you can ride forward into the future. I felt it. I felt certain, somehow, this baby would live.
But there were bouts of fear to overcome. I shared HERE about the scare on Christmas day that brought the blessed dream of our boy, and was later confirmed that indeed, Justice was coming.
And so, we eagerly anticipated the arrival of this child. One of the interesting things I sifted through was how many prophecies seemed to surround his coming. For example, there was reason to believe he might be born on May 14th. Though this seemed unlikely, I felt obligated to prepare myself in case this was a reality (NICU, etc.). It also seemed that somehow Justice’s arrival had something to do with justice coming to the nation of Israel, to the Jews, God’s people. In my own heart and mind, I prayed that his birth would bring Justice for Oma, and that perhaps she would be healed. I won’t go into them all, but it seemed everywhere I turned there was some layer of significance seeming to surround his birth.
While this is most certainly wonderful, it was a lot to process. I found myself trying to figure out just why God would so clearly call us to birth a child named Justice, I analyzed and evaluated, sorting through so many dates, ideas, verses, prophecies. I share this because I want to paint a realistic picture of following God. Usually, we don’t get a clear and detailed explanation. I did not want to despise any prophecy, but test all things and hold fast to what is good (1 Thess 5:21), so I tried to hold these things loosely. Believing God, but not putting too much stock in my own ability to figure things out.
That was good, because I figured exactly nothing out. 😉 Which is totally fine. Usually God shows us things in the rearview mirror.
Alongside the spiritual aspect of Justice’s coming, there was the physical aspect. Not only had it been almost 10 years since birthing a baby, we were opting for a natural, unmedicated, birth-center delivery. This was most certainly a new experience, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Friends generously dropped two key books into my lap (Mama Natural’s week-by-week guide and Hypnobirthing) and another friend invited me to a 10-week video course and FB community on natural childbirth by Karen Welton. These things were hugely helpful! I watched the videos and read the books, although I admittedly spent way more time thinking about the spiritual aspects, than the physical.
In other words, I didn’t have a clue how hard the labor process would be. 😉
Not only that, but I still very much saw myself in control of this process. I had clear expectations and requests on how I wanted things to go. And some of that is fine, Karen Welton talks about relating to God your heart’s desires for your labor process. That’s part of intimately relating withe the Father. I don’t regret a bit of it. I prayed for a specific day. I wrote out an idea of how I’d like it to progress. All of these things were fueled by a desire to make it as stress-free for others involved in our life. I didn’t want to put strain on our church, on Jeff, on the kids, or on my parents. I didn’t want to make others work around me.
I wanted Justice’s coming to slip seamlessly into our life, without a wrinkle.
(You’re smiling, right?)
As you all know, this didn’t happen. When prodromal labor began at 39 weeks, the unraveling began. But each point of frustration was a critically important adjustment, and I would soon realize, a necessary preparation for what was ahead. First, I learned HERE that Our labor is never in vain, then HERE that the certainty enables us to wait joyfully, and finally, the most critical lesson, How to calm and quiet your soul. This one was especially key because it freed me to relinquish any and all expectations and release myself into His care and perfect timing.
That very next night, I had the most intense false-labor yet. I really thought it was real. My kids went to my parents, and I labored for almost 4 hours before everything stopped. Monday morning I was at an all-time low. For some reason I was left super puffy and sore from the previous night’s labor (I learned more about this later), and delirious with fatigue. I went for a walk, and let loose the torrent of tears to God.
“What do you WANT from me?! Haven’t I already died to myself enough?! Am I not dead enough for you?! Why are you doing this to me?”
Silence.
Thankfully, our visiting family for the week was the most kind and compassionate you can imagine. My sister-in-law went 2 weeks overdue with her 2nd child, and she was the perfectly empathetic friend, genuinely understanding and sharing some of her own journey. Another friend called and shared a significant insight–suggesting that perhaps there was an underlying fear or anxiety that was somehow halting the labor experience. I didn’t know what that was, but I instantly cried at the suggestion, so I knew perhaps there was some underlying current of anxiety.
That afternoon, Jeff and I sat lawn chairs in the river and had time to process and pray. As we prayed, I realized that, indeed, I had some fears and anxieties. The bottom line of it was–every false-labor experience had seemed to erode my confidence in God’s willingness to carry me through labor successfully. Each day, my supposed pillar of faith wore down, farther and farther, until now it was barely visible. Further, my mom’s deterioration in health seemed to mock my faith at an even deeper level.
The voices mocked, God hasn’t answered your prayers for your mom, why on earth would He answer your prayers for this birth?
See, I knew, deep down, that I was not a tough person. Some women are. I would never have made it in the pioneer days. I would have died, or I would have complained so much they’d have left me behind. 😉 I like to think I’m tough but I’m not. I was begging for an epidural at both of my first births. I knew, deep down, that I could not do this, and I doubted whether God would miraculously come through and provide me a birth story that would be anything other than traumatic.
That was it. The voice mocked: Why would God ever do this for you?
Like a broken dam, all the grief and insecurity came rushing out. I sobbed, choking out finally-honest prayers to God about how I really felt. Why I doubted Him. I told Him the truth about myself–that I knew how weak and wimpy I was and unless He came through for me I couldn’t do it.
And then, of course: Peace like a river.
From that point on, I can honestly say, I felt peace. I didn’t feel comfortable–Justice wasn’t born for another 5 days, but I had peace. At least everything was out in the open.
And, I realized, I had learned something else. During that night of false-labor, I had listening, non-stop, to one song on repeat: Hard Love by Need to Breathe, with Lauren Daigle. Everything about that song makes me want to rise up and overcome. As I began to reflect more on the lyrics, I realized–God had given me that song. I would need it for when true labor came. Especially the lines:
Trading punches with the heart of darkness
Going to blows with your fear incarnate
Never gone until it’s stripped away
A part of you has gotta die today.
And I knew it did. In order for me to bring Justice into the world, I would need to die. Then:
It’s not enough to just feel the flame
You’ve gotta burn your old self away
Yes. Essentially, you have to embrace every agonizing contraction and let it wash over you, burning your old self away to make way for new life. Then:
Hold on tight a little longer
What don’t kill ya, makes ya stronger
Get back up, ’cause it’s a hard love
You can’t change without a fallout
It’s gon’ hurt, but don’t you slow down
Get back up, ’cause it’s a hard love
Gah! I start crying all over again just re-reading. I knew this was key:
I would need to die, but this process would not kill me. It would make me stronger. It would hurt, but I had to not slow down, but press forward, get back up, because labor-techniques aren’t what would ultimately bring Justice into the world.
LOVE is.
Hard love. Only if my strength was fueled by a hard LOVE for my son, would I be able to endure bravely.
That night, driving home, another song came on that I instantly knew would play a role in this process as well. Resurrection Day by Rend Collective.
Because You’re living I’m alive
Because Your cross is powerful
Because You rose invincible
I can get up off the floor
Nothing’s gonna hold me in the grave
This is my resurrection day
Nothing’s gonna hold me down
Say goodbye to my yesterdays
Ever since I met You I am changed
This is my resurrection day
Nothing’s gonna hold me down
Because my debt has all been paid
Because You stand in victory
Because You crushed the enemy
I can get up off the floor (get up off the floor)
This would be my victory song. Christ’s resurrection power IS at work in us. Because of His power, I can get up off the floor, so to speak, and bring Justice into the world.
In the four days that followed, I spent time every afternoon listening to worship, meditating on these truths, and practicing sinking into myself and focusing on God. On Thursday, I curled up with my earbuds, and again began relating and worshipping God. As I did, a flood of gratitude welled up in me. God had been preparing me all this time. All these “false alarms” were His generous, kind, gracious, tender advances of love, preparing me and helping me be ready for something that I was not prepared for in my own strength.
His delay was sheer grace, love, and mercy.
And then, after weeks and weeks of silence, I heard so clearly:
“You’re almost there. You’ve done such a good job.”
(And I’m sobbing again just remembering!) Tears fell as I felt the Father’s reassurance and loving approval wash over me. That was all I needed to know. My Dad was pleased.
I went outside and walked up and down the driveway for a long time, the joyful happy tears streaming down my face. Like a movie playing, I could the past 18-months play before my eyes. The wrestling and struggle and the eventual choice for vasectomy-reversal, the waiting and anticipating, the miscarriage, the months of personal struggle, the next pregnancy, the gazillion choices to trust, then losing that baby, then all the months of pregnancy–the thousand choices to trust, smile, choose faith. The morning sickness, the fear, the anxiety, the days and weeks and months of saying yes to God again and again and again. And as Lord of Hosts by Shane & Shane blared over and over on repeat I just poured out gratitude to God realizing:
Lord of Hosts, You’re with us
With us in the fire
With us as a shelter
With us in the storm
You will lead us
Through the fiercest battle
Oh where else would we go
But with the Lord of Hosts
And especially the line: God who makes the mountains melt, Come wrestle us and win.
Yes. I want God to wrestle me and WIN. I want His way. And He is WITH us in the battle. There were some battles during those 18 months. God dealt with some significant sin in my life. But He won. He won me. He won my heart.
He rescued me from me.
And so, I went into the weekend, somehow sensing that the work was already done. Yes, the actual labor would need to play out, but in a sense, it was complete.
I went to sleep Friday night settled, secure, rested, at peace.
{We’ll finish next time. Thanks for reading!}