I prayed for my son Elijah for years. I poured over 1 Samuel. I grasped at Hannah’s promise for a son. My hands would tremble as I touched every word and clung to the hope that I would one day have a child of my own.
I cannot count how many times I cried with my palms pressed upwards, whispering, “God, I give it to you. I pray for Your will and not mine.” I cannot count how many times I cried with fists clenched, screaming, “Have you forgotten me?” Through my wavering faith, however, God continued to gently tell me, “Just wait.”
And I waited.
Now I sit silently, without moving, barely breathing to watch my son. He will be 3 this spring. He is silly and gentle. He is loving and energetic. He is adventurous and cautious. His innocence and sense of freedom is magical. He is…
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