Faith, Peace, and a Cup of Coffee

I remember those summer Sunday's in that little baptist church as a kid…

The doors open, the fans waving, the choir rising, and someone starts the hymn:

“I need Thee, oh I need Thee.. every hour I need Thee..”

And man.. that song has been ringing in my spirit lately.

They gave us a number.

They told us that if Gabe didn’t speak by age six, then he never would and, that by six we’d see “more signs.”

And here we are, the week before he turns six.

A week I’m supposed to celebrate… but my heart is sitting between joy and the silent ache of milestones we still haven’t reached.

God, keep my baby young!

It's not because I don’t want him to grow, but because growing means facing the things I still pray we will overcome.

They thought I was a fighter before but Year 6…

Year 6 will be a different kind of battle.

Not a battle for perfection, milestones, or these timelines…

But a battle just for peace and, the kind of faith that says:

“Lord, if where You want me is exactly where I am, then help me stand firm here!"

Not tomorrow’s answers.

Not explanations for what we can’t see.

Just enough strength, grace, wisdom, and hope for what we have in the right now!

Recently, one of Alex and I's conversations referred to whether our prayer was something we are supposed to keep requesting every day… or, is this just the moment where we finally let go and trust Him?

Maybe the answer is both!

I remember watching one of the TBN Women podcasts..

One of the ladies shared about a season so hard that her husband asked her to write down everyday what she was thankful for.

I remember her stating that for days the only thing she could write was the word "coffee."

Nothing deep.

Just coffee.

And I felt that.

Because this season?

It’s heavy.

It’s stretching me in places I didn’t even know existed.

I do have hope. Real hope.

I have hope that Gabe's disability will improve.

God will move, heal, strengthen, and also reveal whatever “better” looks like but, I’m not going to pretend that this isn’t hard.

This is running a race you didn’t train for, on a course you didn’t choose, with directions that nobody actually knows.

We are all out here trying to figure it out, trying to advocate, trying to get help, trying to understand diagnoses that feel bigger than us.

It is so, so easy to grow weary.

It’s so easy to feel like you’re falling behind but even in that.. even in the heaviness..

There remains a joy, as my God continues to provide my daily bread.

Sometimes it resembles peace.

Sometimes it looks like strength.

Sometimes it looks like an answer and sometimes…

Sometimes... it just looks like coffee.

But He gives it.

That’s why we don’t quit.