Click here for Part 2.
Click here for Part 3.
I wait. Little grains of time brush over my face.
Blink.
And Craig all the while continues life as if he never knew of a trip to Kenya, as if God hadn't closed the door because of me. I am jealous. His burden is light. He laughs easily.
And I wait.
Wait.
A weight inside of me, now porous and rough, has rubbed angry spots smooth. Pumice. Bit by bit, a cavern of desire grows inside me all around the fear of him going to Africa. Somehow the wearing away has made a space inside larger. Still I wait. I release the extra lung full of air I've held in reserve. I breathe, awed at the deference God has given me.
I wait. Weightless.
Now, I see my move. It is an offering.
Child, do you want your name on something great?
Crescendo.
Click here for Part 5.
The last line says everything.
ReplyDeleteIt makes me cry.
Beautifully put. :)
ReplyDeletePeople can tell me God loves me and that he is a kind and merciful God, but the words are stone cold dead to me until someone paints me a picture. You paint those pictures for me Bethany. And when I am working to think on what is pure and lovely and virtuous, I will now gaze at the picture you have drawn for me of God waiting, waiting patiently,not forcing your hand. Not mowing you over. Just offering. . . and waiting.
ReplyDeleteYour transparency is remarkable.
ReplyDeletePrevail.
I love the story through the pictures of Emma. Great post!
ReplyDeletePhew! ~deep sigh~ My dearest, dearest Bethany! So real. Raw. A beautiful example of what it means to be... His.
ReplyDelete