Prayer

My Great-Grandma, Ole, used to have this print above the table in her sweet little kitchen in Iowa. I can vividly see her kitchen ... the old fashioned phone, the green jello in the "ice box", the swirling smells of laundry soap and grassy outdoor breezes. This is one of my most favorite paintings, ever. I wish I had one in my own home. It says so much about living prayerfully and simply, which is difficult in our day, and it brings me back to times with my Gram Ole.

We have found ourselves consumed lately with the triumphs and the struggles of our adoption. We pray deeply and fervently for our path to be made clear to our little boy, who has been waiting eight months this week in an Ethiopian orphanage. Each new photo of him steals our hearts, makes us more desperate, and draws us nearer to Jesus. Our prayers lately have been sorrowful. Setbacks have stretched our faith and our positivity. This got me thinking. What am I praying for, exactly? A miracle? A shorter wait? A court date? A little boy free from hurt and illness? An obstacle-free path to him? I'm not sure our prayers are filled with the light and hope that either Jesus or our boy deserves.

Especially during this time of Lenten reflection (I am currently reading Reliving the Passion ... you MUST read it this season) I am brought back to the beauty of prayer that is simple, intentional, and holy. Not stemming from our sorrow or frustrations alone, but from the light that emanates from the very blessing of our adoption, including the snaffus and heartaches. There is a family who so selflessly gave up this child. I cannot fathom for one moment their anguish and hurt. We are humbled to be so honored to have been chosen by God to be the family for this little boy, in partnership with his family and his story.

Our prayers are shifting. Our hopes are more raw each day. We are so close yet so far, but each day we wait we will pray for the grace to continue to be blessed by this child and for the grace to be his gentle and kind advocate, using our prayers and words sensitively and thoughtfully and with him in mind at every step of the way.

Two saints of tremendous character and goodness, St Francis and St Clare, have helped guide me through the last difficult week. St Clare followed in the tradition of St Francis and devoted her life to Christ. She loved him passionately and wholly. She lived in the poorest of conditions, did not eat meat, subsisted without money, and vowed silence. Yet, she was happy. Completely joy-filled because she always felt the Lord's presence at her side. She did not become lost in the details that can consume our time because her life was so centered and simple. Her time was for his glory alone. She never believed herself to be poor or worthy of sorrow because she loved Jesus and was loved back. Her name means light and bright and she is the patron of sore eyes.

This resonates with me on another level. Our little boy has big, clear, dark eyes that are full of sorrow, but they shine. He has witnessed more than any child should ever see, lived and lost in ways that make me ache, but there is a light, charm, warmth, and mercy that emanates from him, even through pictures.

We have chosen Sinclair for our little boy's middle name, which means "prayer", and as a reminder of St Clare of Assisi ... in darkness she found holy light through prayer. Just like we are trying to do ...

Because of Him.