put you in debt.”
But Megan felt God had supplied the finances—through the possibility of a second mortgage. After all, they were borrowing from the equity in their home, which God had generously provided.
She threw off the light blanket that covered her, then hugged her knees. How could she be certain she’d found God’s will? As a child, she had relied heavily upon her parents for guidance, knowing that the biblical command “honor your father and mother” resulted in blessing. Even in college, when her parents tried to encourage her to make her own decisions, she had begged to know their preferences in difficult situations.
As a wife, she believed God often spoke through her husband. Dave trusted her to make most decisions regarding the household, but in important matters she always sought his opinion. In rare situations where they didn’t agree, Megan always shared her feelings and convictions, knowing that Dave would respect them even if he decided to follow his own inclinations.
But how were they to decide what to do about Danielle? They had witnessed so many little miracles—Joe’s unexpected and unsolicited phone call, the INS paperwork falling into place, and answered prayers regarding Danielle’s family registry and availability. Surely the hand of God had manipulated those situations! So how could He now lead them away from this child?
Too burdened to sleep, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall and into the baby’s room. The freshly-painted crib sat against the far wall, gleaming in the light from the streetlamp outside the windows. Her old bureau, also awash in a fresh coat of paint, stood next to the crib. Adjacent to that stood a bookcase she had discovered in another secondhand furniture store. With a new fabric cover and three inches of foam padding, the bookcase made a perfect changing table, with room for baby wipes and diapers on the shelves beneath.
Shivering in a draft from the air conditioning, Megan rubbed her hands over her arms, then sank to the carpeted floor. She had planned to put a bentwood rocker in this corner. On many a recent night she had soothed her anxious heart to sleep by imagining herself rocking Danielle and reading the soothing cadences of nursery rhymesand Goodnight, Moon .
The thought now made her throat ache.
Rubbing her arms again, she glanced at the dark shape at her right hand, then recognized it—the box from Dave’s sister, Vicki. Upon hearing the good news about Danielle, she had cleaned out her attic and boxed up all of her daughter’s baby things.
Reluctantly, Megan lifted the cardboard flaps. A note lay on top, illegible in the semi-darkness, so she dropped it to the floor. Then her fingers parted tissue paper and pulled out a beautiful smocked dress with lace at the hem and sleeves. The lovely little white dress seemed to glow in the silence of the empty room.
A new anguish seared her heart. What should she do with this box of beautiful things? Keep it in the hope that all would be well, or send it back with a thank you note and regrets?
Her throat tightened, and it was only when she tasted the salt of tears did she realize she was weeping. “Lord,” she whispered, her gaze lifting to the silent night outside the window. “What are you asking of me?”
The answer came, slowly and surely, on the wings of lessons learned in a lifetime of Sunday school. Jesus asks us only to follow Him . . . to be obedient.
“Obedient?” she choked on the word. “I would obey, really I would, if I knew what You wanted me to do. I want this baby, and I think You want me to have her. If You want me to give her up, You’re going to have to show me clearly.” She lifted her chin. “It wouldn’t be easy, but we could do it.
Follow me.
“Follow You where ? Follow You how ?”
As Megan battled her raging emotions in the silence, a realization began to take shape and form: in all the winding length of her life, God had never failed to guide her.
But Megan felt God had supplied the finances—through the possibility of a second mortgage. After all, they were borrowing from the equity in their home, which God had generously provided.
She threw off the light blanket that covered her, then hugged her knees. How could she be certain she’d found God’s will? As a child, she had relied heavily upon her parents for guidance, knowing that the biblical command “honor your father and mother” resulted in blessing. Even in college, when her parents tried to encourage her to make her own decisions, she had begged to know their preferences in difficult situations.
As a wife, she believed God often spoke through her husband. Dave trusted her to make most decisions regarding the household, but in important matters she always sought his opinion. In rare situations where they didn’t agree, Megan always shared her feelings and convictions, knowing that Dave would respect them even if he decided to follow his own inclinations.
But how were they to decide what to do about Danielle? They had witnessed so many little miracles—Joe’s unexpected and unsolicited phone call, the INS paperwork falling into place, and answered prayers regarding Danielle’s family registry and availability. Surely the hand of God had manipulated those situations! So how could He now lead them away from this child?
Too burdened to sleep, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall and into the baby’s room. The freshly-painted crib sat against the far wall, gleaming in the light from the streetlamp outside the windows. Her old bureau, also awash in a fresh coat of paint, stood next to the crib. Adjacent to that stood a bookcase she had discovered in another secondhand furniture store. With a new fabric cover and three inches of foam padding, the bookcase made a perfect changing table, with room for baby wipes and diapers on the shelves beneath.
Shivering in a draft from the air conditioning, Megan rubbed her hands over her arms, then sank to the carpeted floor. She had planned to put a bentwood rocker in this corner. On many a recent night she had soothed her anxious heart to sleep by imagining herself rocking Danielle and reading the soothing cadences of nursery rhymesand Goodnight, Moon .
The thought now made her throat ache.
Rubbing her arms again, she glanced at the dark shape at her right hand, then recognized it—the box from Dave’s sister, Vicki. Upon hearing the good news about Danielle, she had cleaned out her attic and boxed up all of her daughter’s baby things.
Reluctantly, Megan lifted the cardboard flaps. A note lay on top, illegible in the semi-darkness, so she dropped it to the floor. Then her fingers parted tissue paper and pulled out a beautiful smocked dress with lace at the hem and sleeves. The lovely little white dress seemed to glow in the silence of the empty room.
A new anguish seared her heart. What should she do with this box of beautiful things? Keep it in the hope that all would be well, or send it back with a thank you note and regrets?
Her throat tightened, and it was only when she tasted the salt of tears did she realize she was weeping. “Lord,” she whispered, her gaze lifting to the silent night outside the window. “What are you asking of me?”
The answer came, slowly and surely, on the wings of lessons learned in a lifetime of Sunday school. Jesus asks us only to follow Him . . . to be obedient.
“Obedient?” she choked on the word. “I would obey, really I would, if I knew what You wanted me to do. I want this baby, and I think You want me to have her. If You want me to give her up, You’re going to have to show me clearly.” She lifted her chin. “It wouldn’t be easy, but we could do it.
Follow me.
“Follow You where ? Follow You how ?”
As Megan battled her raging emotions in the silence, a realization began to take shape and form: in all the winding length of her life, God had never failed to guide her.
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