I lay awake hour after hour, tossing and turning between wrinkled sheets. I’d held it in all day until my eyes and nose finally spilled salty, dampening tissue after tissue.
The day before, I’d written about change for what seemed like the millionth time this year. I’d originally included a reference to Jeremiah 29:11 about God knowing the good plans He has for me, but cut it during editing. It seemed too easy, too much like trying to put a smiley-face sticker on a sad child in an attempt to make her all better.
Later that day, I was whining to a friend about all the changes, loss and grief. In the course of the conversation, my friend said something I tucked into my heart: I know what He has planned is good…deep down in your heart you know it’s true. In the middle of the night, God speaks it to you. I never mentioned the Jeremiah 29:11 reference I’d cut a few hours earlier.
I fell asleep easily and quickly that night, but was awakened in the middle of the night with these words repeating through my head so loudly they may as well have been audible: For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. It only lasted a couple of minutes, but I was awake enough to remember my friend’s words about God speaking to me in the middle of the night. Just as quickly as I was awakened, sleep overtook my thoughts.
The following day, I was filled with angst for no particular reason. Even after the middle-of-the-night verse. Even after hearing earlier in the week, once again, that this–whatever this is–is bigger than me. Still, as the day progressed, the overwhelming feeling that I have no purpose beyond the walls of my home grew large and consuming.
I crawled into bed late, finally breaking open the dam that had held me captive all day. My husband comforted and encouraged me until I quieted. Even as I heard the rhythmic breathing of his sleep, silent tears continued sliding down my cheeks. My youngest crawled into my bed to escape her nightmares, snuggling close to me. I wished it were that simple for me.
I grabbed my phone, and tucked my ear buds into my ears. I turned on my playlist titled Grace. I closed my eyes and let lyric after lyric extend grace to my weary heart. Somewhere in the middle-of-the-night songs, I found surrender to or acceptance of what is. I felt the presence of the One who is always present.
Hours later, I lay there awake, wondering what role I play in this story that’s too big for me to comprehend. I thought about the stories I’ve recently read of how God used the simple and ordinary to fulfill His plan:
I remembered how Ruth was collecting barley in a field when she first gained the gentle heart of Boaz, and how they were part of Jesus’ lineage.
I remembered how Hannah’s seemingly drunken prayer resulted in a long-awaited child…to whom God would deliver a message at midnight and who would be confirmed as a prophet.
I remembered how God had Saul looking for donkeys as He had Samuel prepare to name him king of Israel.
I thought about how hindsight is 20/20, and even Ruth, Boaz, Hannah, Samuel and Saul must’ve questioned the purposes amidst their individual circumstances. I longed for hindsight. And as the dawn hours drew close, I drifted off to sleep.
There’s been a semblance of peace with this new-found acceptance or surrender {or whatever it is}. A bit of hindsight crept in with the realization that this month marks two years since I began the journey in search of healing. And I think I’m closer to it than I’ve ever been…because grace and mercy and unconditional love heal even the shattered places.
But this story…of dreams, of healing, of change, of redemption…and my purpose and place in it is unfinished.
