Monday, 6 February 2012
The miracle I cannot see
She leaned in, touched my arm, opened her mouth and God spoke to me.
Right there in the middle of the party. Right there, drink in hand, after I had told her how difficult the last two months have been.
Praying so hard for the girl we thought was ours, asking others to pray, feeling the burden press down on my chest until my heart broke in the week before we heard it was over.
And I had to ask Jesus: What was that all for?
Why should I pray if this is the result? And what was that burning I felt to intercede if not for the miracle?
And then I shared just a sliver of this with a wise friend, and the Holy Spirit whispered to her and she said His words aloud: “You don’t know what your prayers did in her life. You just can’t see the difference they made.” She suggested that maybe we were matched with her, maybe all of it happened so that we could pray a miracle into her life at the moment she needed one.
Maybe the miracle happened, but it wasn’t for me.
And then we heard that the girl has been resettled, unexpectedly, with a family member. She is out of the orphanage. She is with family. And that’s all I wanted for her anyway.
Now instead of pain, gratitude. Instead of distrust, hope. Instead of disappointment, peace and awe that we could be part of her life at a time that mattered. That God would call us to love until it hurt, to intercede and see another sliver of his kingdom come.
And I wonder how many other miracles I miss because they don’t manifest the way I imagine? Because they’re not about me or in me or for me? How much more beauty and redemption could I be part of that won’t ever be about me? What a lovely, freeing thought.