February is nearly over and we've spent it in the Waiting Room. We dared to pray big prayers and we are trusting that Father has been working, even when we can't see it. Today is the 26th and it feels different somehow. I think something is going to happen today. But as I was laying with Grant last night, I reminded him that February might pass without our LOA, likely will, but that doesn't mean God hasn't been working. We may, I proposed, receive our LOA weeks from now and find out it was approved in February. We may, I proposed, never know what God was doing during this month but, by very definition, "faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see". We are claiming that. Holding on to it like starving people to a crust of bread. Asking for eyes that see things with certainty, even when they are invisible. Sure in our hope and certain in what we do not see.
And in the meantime, her bag has arrived from Land's End with her name on the front, joining the six others like it in the basement. And I'm up to my eyeballs in choosing colors and approving fixture heights and brushing drywall dust off Lulu's clothes. I had my third Chinese class last night and can now properly ask someone their name, a skill I'm not sure I'll need to use in China and certainly not with our daughter. Why do they start there always? Why not with some useful phrases like, "Where is the bathroom?" and "is this gluten free?". Instead, I'll wander around Beijing, starving, and only able to say Ni hao. Wo jiao Vos Megan. Dan, ipad in hand, sat on the couch last night watching me throw a mini temper tantrum over how much stuff was laying around (small spaces amplify it, I swear) chortling as he made his new translation app mimic me with such phrases as, "Why can't they make invisible toothpaste?" and "You let her drink cranberry juice in here?" and, my personal favorite, "There is crap everywhere. I hate this condo." And if those things sound bad in English, they sound much worse in Chinese, all choppy and angry. Chinese is a language rife with staccatos.
And so I'm taking my first world problems and choosing to fix my eyes on Jesus today. Lucy is heading back to preschool and I'll have a precious couple hours to run errands without her so that the guilt of dragging her from one trade supply place to another doesn't compel me to buy her another Barb or feed her junk. This is a season, and likely not my favorite, but it's sweet too. It's been filled with long (no, seriously long) hours laying on floor, placing teeny perlers in place while my phone reads stories to us and winter blows itself out on the other side of the glass. I don't love it here, but here is where I am for now and as long as the Smalls and Dan are here, and as long as we are moving toward China and as long as Meijer continues to stock perlers, we'll be more than ok. Because we are sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. And that is everything.
This is me being real. Wondering what you're sure of this cold morning?