Safe with Me
The journey has been hard. Oh the things I didn't know. When those dark eyes pierced my heart I knew not what the future held. And now I see God was sparing. For had I seen it all perhaps I wouldn't have stepped out in faith. Perhaps I would have said, "This is too big for me."
I took a snap shot at the egg hunt. One snap shot, and I starred at it. The child in the photo was not my biological child, yet every time I looked at it I saw my daughter. I memorized her face, her grin, the short dark curls around her face. I prayed and asked God, "Is this really my daughter. Do you really want me to step out and move forward?" Was I to just be a friend, help out the caretaker, give play dates and opportunities. I could do that. But that was not all I was to do. I knew in my heart. I knew she was mine. I kept saying this is bigger than I know. God's doing something bigger than I know. My head thought perhaps he was going to bring salvation to her lost family, or perhaps bring companionship to her caregiver. Something sweet and smooth and glorious.
I didn't know that it would be ugly and dark. People were not what they seemed. Reality is so much messier than you imagine. But oh yes, God was doing something bigger than I knew. When I faltered, when I stumbled and lost my way. He would repeat to me. "She is your daughter. I will make the mountains into plains. I will do it. Not by your power, or might, but by my Spirit." When I rested in that I saw God move huge mountains and in the process uncover such darkness, such pain. Yet he is doing something amazing and beautiful and glorious.
It was bigger than I knew. It was a rescue mission. He saw her, he knew. He saw the hurt and the wounds and he knew. Though man failed to recognize, God saw. He heard her desperate cries and he plucked her out of the darkness and filth and set her into a family. And that is something beautiful and glorious.
I took a snap shot at the egg hunt. One snap shot, and I starred at it. The child in the photo was not my biological child, yet every time I looked at it I saw my daughter. I memorized her face, her grin, the short dark curls around her face. I prayed and asked God, "Is this really my daughter. Do you really want me to step out and move forward?" Was I to just be a friend, help out the caretaker, give play dates and opportunities. I could do that. But that was not all I was to do. I knew in my heart. I knew she was mine. I kept saying this is bigger than I know. God's doing something bigger than I know. My head thought perhaps he was going to bring salvation to her lost family, or perhaps bring companionship to her caregiver. Something sweet and smooth and glorious.
I didn't know that it would be ugly and dark. People were not what they seemed. Reality is so much messier than you imagine. But oh yes, God was doing something bigger than I knew. When I faltered, when I stumbled and lost my way. He would repeat to me. "She is your daughter. I will make the mountains into plains. I will do it. Not by your power, or might, but by my Spirit." When I rested in that I saw God move huge mountains and in the process uncover such darkness, such pain. Yet he is doing something amazing and beautiful and glorious.
It was bigger than I knew. It was a rescue mission. He saw her, he knew. He saw the hurt and the wounds and he knew. Though man failed to recognize, God saw. He heard her desperate cries and he plucked her out of the darkness and filth and set her into a family. And that is something beautiful and glorious.
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