I woke up at 3am, tried laying and sleeping and praying, the dark and warmth keeping me tossing and tucked in. But by 4am, I a was definitely awake. Attune. God was up to something. And I was bold enough to get up and join him on the move.
I rumbled in my robe downstairs, poured Gevalia into my mug, and plopped down into my prayer chair, settling for what I thought would be my routine time for reading and prayer. I thumbed the pages over again to II Kings 6 & 7, and stopped, propping it up next to me on the armchair, then leaned over and grabbed my worn navy copy of Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire by Jim Cymbala and clasped both sides of the covers in my hand as the words of story stirred, stroked the fire, and spread the power of God through the Holy Spirit through my heart, soul, and veins.
I knew I had to get down, fetal and fertile on the ground, barren and broken on my knees. Lumped over my ottoman, I began to pray.
Earlier that week, I had prayed with my sweet friend, through her weakness, our weakness'. In that Saturday parked-car, cell-phone prayer, I had the vision of her and I stripped down and broken, crumpled on our knees, face and hands bowed and tearful, before the empty, dark tomb. Both prayerfully begging God to come out of the tomb, to show us, in our great humility and humbleness, that He is still alive, that the grave-clothes won't cling forever.
Now, in a heap on my white shag rug, tears streamed down the sides of my cheeks, salty on my lips. I cried:
God! Please move the stone away! I feel like I can't do it! I can't! I can't, God. I don't have the muscle to push it on my own. Move the rock away because only you can! I keep trying. I feel like I'm having to do it for everybody else. For [I listed off the people, the problems, a litany of humans and layers and needs weighing down on me] But God I can't! I don't have the strength! I don't have the muscle! I can't God. I can't!
And I sat there, bolding begging and challenging God through my shaking body, bowed legs, and lifted hands.
Please God, give me a sign. Something to show me you can still move stones. That you can still open the tomb. That you can still push the rock away. Something, God. You've got to show up and move the rock!
I pleaded with him, in full belief and recognition that he could, but because I still needed the reminder that he does. But evidence around me speaks his nature -- a husband, my children, Amy Young like a rainbow that Saturday... Just the week before, I was praying for a little treat to make me smile - like a pink macaroon - on my mom's death day. Instead, I picked up the phone at 7:40 in the morning to the giddy joy of a friend, hearing that God had parted the Red Sea, made the rock water, and turned wood into a reptile, -- and now opened the schedule at Mayo Clinic.
I ended my morning praying with all heart and humility spread before the grave and my green room.
The day went about. Preschool and Storytime and Winghaven Gardens. Add sprinklers and and popsicles and watermelon and neighbors. BLTs and bacon frying, bread toasting, and fries cooking. Three kids, dinner mayhem, and needs pulling on every arm and leg and spatula. We sliced avocado, poured drinks, and hollered to the playroom to share.
The phone rang in the chaos and I tossed it to Mark to pick up. Matt. His brother. I watched his face, following the "hello."
"Wait! What! Stop! Put him on speaker phone!" I yelled commands. "Judah! Camilla! Come here! Switch to FaceTime! What?! AHHHHH!"
Matt had called to tell us they were picked. A baby! Boy. Planned C-section birth in two weeks.
Kids climbed all over us, pulled on our hair, yanked for spots on our laps, and pushed against each other.
Three and a half years of prayer for this adoption. More years praying for a baby.
The culmination phone call. The moment of sorrow and struggle turned to joy.
The stone rolled away.
I had asked that morning to see evidence of God's hand still at work, alive. That prayer was based on so many other situations, but God had a different way to open answer. A different strategy to open the tomb.
He opened a womb.
Pushed away the stone.
Removed the rock.
The grave clothes of suffering and sorrow slowly fall off resurrection Christ, just as they fall off the sadness and shame of friends, and the prayers said, some in unbelief, some in groaning, some in anger, some in hope.
But he lives. He hears. Forever the stone will be rolled away.
Amen!
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Just read this...had my own version of praying for the stone to be rolled away this morning. Some dark thoughts. Had a good day, not the treasures you did, but I know God saw me. And your treasures encourage me as I wait on Him. Thank you.
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