Twenty-one years. Twenty-one long years of praying, crying and waiting on God with expectation.
Twenty-one years of unchanged sameness.
Some days it is hard to believe. HARD. When doubt beats down stronger than the prairie sunshine and seeks to evaporate those last dew-drop of faith IT IS HARD.
How does a broken heart keep believing?
The faith required to keep on keeping on isn’t conjured up inside of me. It doesn’t depend on my strength or ability. This faith springs not from accomplishing or obtaining the what but in knowing the Who. The author and perfecter of faith, Jesus Christ. It’s about Him. God will do what He said He will do. It’s His name on the line. His glory.
Any faith found in me is written by Him. Even the faith to keep taking Him at His Word.
So twenty-one years later, I trudge onward. Acting on the faith I don’t always feel, but believe and know to be true. This lifetime of waiting doesn’t mean God is not acting. I must believe. I must believe. I must believe in the God who loves me, saved me, and hears my prayers.
And His heart beats harder, aches deeper, and loves his lost children even more than my heart does.
My broken, desperate, invested heart.
I must believe.
He is good.