Trey and I had a great week while the kids were at camp. We made a deal, he wouldn't make me cook and I would go to Six Flags and ride the new Texas Giant and the Titan with him. Sometimes, we make sacrifices so that we don't have to stand in front of an oven when its consistently 106 outside.
Earlier in the afternoon of our Six Flags visit, I had enjoyed a glass of wine and some guacamole with a friend. I remembered the guacamole just as we were cresting the first drop of the Titan. I found solace in the fact that I hadn't actually had to make the guacamole that might be making a second appearance.
We were thrilled to have our kids home but definitely enjoyed some time by ourselves. We were able to look across the table from each other often and much and remember what we loved about each other, what a complete thought actually sounds like, and why we do what we do. Maybe more what Trey does and sometimes, I get to be a part.
Admittedly, Trey is really the one in full time ministry here. The things he deals with on a daily basis floor me. When he comes home at night, sometimes, the weight of what he's seen, heard, and experienced really is written all over his face.
And sometimes, the weight of the homemade doughnuts I made "for the children" but managed to eat seven is written on my thighs.
Please. I'm trying to be serious.
The last night before the kids came home - Friday night - Trey and I were on day 6 of "Kids are all at camp. What are we gonna do tonight?" when he threw a curve ball.
There were a handful of people gathering at Mercy Street to pray. We had a little girl - she's 13 - who was pregnant and had scheduled an abortion for 8:00 Saturday morning. Actually, someone had scheduled it for her. But, between fear of that person and fear of losing the life she knew - be it tragic on so many fronts - she was going to be in that waiting room in the morning.
Y'all, I don't get to sit in on a lot of these kinds of spontaneous prayer gatherings because they happen during the workday, or when I'm driving carpool, or when I'm doing the dishes, or if I'm perfectly honest, when I feel like my plate is so full at home that I don't even try.
The weight of what we were praying for was heavy - would the Lord please intervene, please rescue, please change the course of this little girl's life overnight - because one more death of a child wouldn't fix the mess of broken pieces both surrounding her and clattering around in her own heart.
This little girl's mentor and her husband were there. They had called. They've walked with this child for years and now found themselves neck-deep in a trial they hoped would never come and at the same time suspected was inevitable because children in the inner-city grow up too fast. And their mettle was being tested - their promise of "faithfulness to this child" had to slip on flesh and blood in a bad circumstance.
There were no rose colored glasses in this group. They have long since come off. Instead, there was great faith and great heartbreak and great wisdom and in my corner, I'm sad to say, little hope.
Although I've read all summer about Israel and it's lack of faith over and over again in a Lord who parts seas, thwarts nations, and saves children, I doubted. And most recently reading the story of Esther - He worked in the smallest details and through a little orphan girl - to save a nation. But, could He right this?
Why would he right this?
Because He loves her ferociously.`
And He did. That little girl woke up Saturday morning and decided to carry her baby to term within the love and care of a home out-of-town that exists to build into her hope and worth and possibility.
Our continued prayer is that she'll place this baby with adoptive parents and that her entire family, along with all our families, will see and believe the power of redemption.
And my continued prayer is as I get to work alongside Trey in our community, I'll have more opportunities to witness great faith bowing not to impossible circumstances but instead before the One who says, "Be still and know I am God."