With a Cracked Spirit

The front gate cracked... the same way my spirit does every time I’m met with an “I’m sorry, I don’t have good news” from the doctor. I looked up and it was Sarah, the mother of Isaac, entering.⁣

The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet but the birds were prophesying about new mercies of the day.

“Well, Good morning. Aren’t you an early riser.” ⁣

She smirked and said “I can’t help it. His voice is clearest when it’s dark.” I smiled at the way she is always able to resurrect hope before she even took a seat. ⁣

We talked about how it is the five-year anniversary of being pregnant with Joshua Bleu and how every year on this day the cracking is loud, and it’s messy, and it wakes you up to the sound of birds chirping because even though it has a weight to it, it’s still beautiful... ⁣

My phone vibrated and we both looked at the notification, “Today you will find out if you're pregnant.” Sarah leaned in and set her head on my shoulder knowing the sting was different today... ⁣

“You know, I’m not sure there is anything more special in all of this life than holding out for God’s best. He’ll redeem it. He always does.”⁣

I’m learning when we hear cracking, Heaven hears healing.

We see broken pieces, Heaven sees new wine. ⁣

We feel disappointment, Heaven feels anxious anticipation for what will happen next. ⁣

The gate cracked again as Sarah left and I was reminded of the sacred evidence that I’m never alone, not even for a moment. ⁣