The saga of our as-yet fruitless search for answers, in honor of Undiagnosed Diseases Day.
In which I offer lame explanations for not writing here, because of all the other many kinds of writing that is happening in my life.
This is not a simplistic “God never closes a door without opening a window” speech. It’s just a reminder that a negative (or absent) response does not have to mean the end of a relationship with God.
Staring into the abyss without clinging tightly to the hand of God is a dangerous game. He’s calling me back to his side now. Take my hand, dear daughter. It’s time to cling again.
I believe now, in my bones, that God is in control and will order all these scary moments into a beautiful whole, someday.
Don’t I? I think I do. Right?
I wish I could say I am secure enough in my trust of God’s plan and providence to voluntarily move deeper into the hard and messy stuff that is this life. That appears to be what He is asking of me in 2018.
Sometimes it’s easy to get so busy looking for the big miracle that we miss the little ones. God answered a very specific, longstanding prayer of mine in a delivery of food: a miracle in a pot of soup.