Have you ever prayed for something for so long that you didn’t even realize God had already answered your prayer? And all you had to do was open your eyes and see that the answer was right there in front of you?
I’m sitting around the long wooden table in our dining room, celebrating my 40th birthday with my favorite people: my husband and six kids. We’re tucking into our slices of ice cream cake beneath a black and white banner that simply states, “It Is Your Birthday” (which fans of The Office will appreciate). I’ve opened my gifts, read the cards, and now it’s that awkward time when everyone takes turns saying what they like about the birthday person (me).
My 6-year-old starts with, “I like it when mom plays games with me.”
My 10-year-old says, “I love that Mom is patient with me. She doesn’t get all stressed and excited when I mess up.”
My 15-year-old says, “I like that she puts up with me.” [He’s referring to an ongoing friendly feud in our family where I find his noises and jokes amusing, but my husband is sometimes annoyed by them.]
My 16-year-old son says he appreciates that I’ve always carefully considered what I say yes or no to, saying it would be so much easier for me to say no to more… and that he realizes it’s harder to say yes.
Yet—I can’t take any credit for this praise because it hasn’t always been this way. Ten years ago, my sons were five and six, and they were a serious handful. One was a fountain of constant questions, and the other liked to climb to the top of tall things and jump off. Every day was an adventure raising those boys.
In addition, I also had a toddler and a new foster baby. I’d had a miscarriage the year before, and without knowing it at the time, I was dealing with postpartum depression. Most days, I barely clawed my way to the day’s finish line. I tried so hard to respond patiently to my small kids, but I often failed.
I thought my lack of patience was a spiritual or character issue. I spent my morning prayer time begging God to make me a more patient mother and to enjoy my kids. But each day, I continued to fail. And then, each morning, I would wake up and pray for patience again and fail again—the motherhood version of Groundhog Day.
Without me even realizing it, God gave me patience. He didn’t sprinkle it down from heaven. He didn’t flip a switch. He gave me thousands of opportunities to practice patience.
These days, when a child spills a cup of water at dinner time—the same child that spills their cup nearly every meal—God reminds me that I also mess up, and when I do, I appreciate when someone helps me instead of criticizing me. When my daughter with ADHD forgets to do her chores every single morning for years, I can gently remind her again every morning. When my toddler draws on the wall with a crayon, I can teach her how to wipe it off rather than get angry.
And the bigger things—like when our foster baby cried incessantly for the first year she was with us and would only stop when I carried her. When we fostered another baby and the adoption process took two years longer than we expected. When our daughter landed in the hospital, we didn’t know what the future looked like with her, and we were forced to take one day at a time. When I was unexpectedly pregnant and was forced to slow down. So many lessons over the years.
The thing about having a large family is that the kids don’t take turns with their issues. Often, their problems arrive all at once, like seagulls swarming a bit of food. Leaning into the chaos and learning my limits of control were the things God used to teach me patience.
One of my favorite Bible verses is “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9 NIV). What a humbling reminder that it is when we let go of control that we gain God’s peace and strength.
If you are praying for something, keep going. Keep asking God for wisdom, or faith, or patience, or whatever it is you need. He delights in answering our prayers—and he may just answer your prayer while you’re busy living life.
Autumn's Writing 