There's an empty baby bassinet in Don's office. I planned on recovering it with new fabric and making it as adorable as possible, but I don't need to do that now. It takes up space, and I should probably move it into the attic, but I don't want to do that either.
I am waiting.
And thanking God, hard as it is sometimes. Thank you for taking my child before I really knew her, thank you for sparing her a life of heartache and soul-searching. Thank you for letting her be big enough that I know how it felt to hold her.
My hands have been so busy that I know it's time for my heart to be still. Does that make sense? Just like a baby cries the loudest when he is exhausted, my hands work the hardest when they are running from stillness. Because if you take away the innumerable play dates, the lunches, the bakery that is my kitchen, the restaurant that is my dining room, there should still be reliance on Him. And I am sad to say, but saying honestly, there isn't. Right now, there is fear of the unknown, discomfort in waiting, and impatience.
So it's time for me to do what I know I must. What I must because I choose Him, because I believe in Him, because I know so deeply what I am without Him. It's time to seek Him first. Yes, first. First, before my morning cup of coffee, before I check younghouselove, before I turn on the news at 6:30 am, before I plan dinner or go on a run.
I cannot offer Him a knit hat, or a carefully curated Pinterest page. What I can offer him right now is an empty bassinet, hands that keep kneading bread and typing away when really they should be empty and lifted high.
So here goes.
Here it is, God.
Take my empty bassinet and my searching heart and make them Yours.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.