“But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a child quieted at its mother’s breast; like a child that is quieted is my soul.” – Psalm 131:2
We received a case.
Obviously, I won’t disclose details, but it sent me down a rabbit hole of trying to understand God’s will.
Of trying to understand what is supposed to come of this adoption.
Of trying to just understand suffering, desire, and what the Lord is asking of us.
Of trying to understand how you’re supposed to know the answer when a case comes along.
“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
Sometimes we can hear the voice of the Lord so clearly.
And sometimes it feels hidden in the fear, the noise, the situation, the stress, and the desire to hope that this is the one.
God’s will is where there is the maximum of love, but not necessarily where there is the maximum of suffering.
And sometimes, it is in these difficult moments that hearing the Lord feels hardest.
It’s difficult to know whether we’re being invited to take a step in one direction or another. We wonder if choosing one path means going against God’s will. We wonder if this is the moment He has been leading us toward all along.
So where do we look?
We pray. We discern. We seek peace, while also being honest about our fears and our limits. We remember what we already know about our lives, our responsibilities, and what we can realistically take on.
We ask where there is consolation and where there is desolation, not as a simple formula for deciding yes or no, but as a way of paying attention to what is happening in our hearts as we bring the decision to the Lord.
The question isn’t simply, “What is God’s will in the abstract?”
It’s, “Lord, where are You leading me in this decision, with the life and responsibilities You have already entrusted to me?”
You can have a heart that wants to help everyone.
A heart that wants to love every child.
A heart that wants to be there for everyone who needs you.
But you also have a reality.
You have a life God has already gifted you. You have responsibilities, relationships, and places where He is already at work.
Those things aren’t meant to be abandoned simply because another opportunity comes along that asks something more of you.
And so, sometimes, you find yourself wrestling with a decision that feels impossible to make.
Father Philippe says, “God can make very beautiful fruits grow through trials”.
And perhaps this is one of those moments.
Not necessarily because God is asking us to change our lives, but because He may be inviting us to trust Him more deeply. To become more aware of His presence. To let Him teach us something through a situation whose outcome we cannot yet see.
God is a teacher.
Not a vending machine.
Not a schedule.
And certainly not indifferent.
He is forming our souls through every experience, including the ones that feel like detours or dead ends.
And perhaps these moments, when viewed through the eyes of faith rather than only through our human understanding, can become opportunities to grow in holiness.
Do I have this all figured out?
Not even a little bit.
But I am learning through this process?
Absolutely.
I keep finding myself going down rabbit holes, trying to understand the why behind every situation. Trying to find answers. Trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do.
And those rabbit holes are teaching me something about surrender.
Today, I realized that even in all my attempts to surrender, I haven’t fully understood what that means.
It isn’t the desire for a child that is unholy.
It isn’t wrong to want to be a mother. It isn’t wrong to hope, to pray, or to long for the child we will one day welcome into our family.
It’s the attachment to the timeline.
The grasping at when.
The need to know how soon, how long, and what comes next.
I thought about Zechariah, who questioned the angel when he was told that he and Elizabeth would have a son. He wanted to know how he could be certain this would happen.
And I thought about Mary, who also asked a question when the angel came to her, but ultimately entrusted herself to God’s word.
I don’t think asking questions is wrong. God invites us to bring Him our questions.
But I wonder how often I am asking because I want to understand, and how often I am asking because I want certainty before I am willing to let go.
How often am I trying to grasp the future instead of trusting the One who already holds it?
The grasping that closes the hands that are meant to receive.
The clinging.
This is what I am learning to let go of.
To become more like Joseph and Mary in their trust and obedience, and to learn from Zechariah’s struggle to believe what he could not yet understand.
I thought I had surrendered this before. And perhaps I had, in the ways I understood surrender at the time.
But now, I think I’m beginning to understand it a little more deeply.
Will it be easy?
Absolutely not.
But maybe the first step is opening my hands to the Lord instead of reaching for my phone to check my email again.
Maybe it’s remembering that God holds this.
Not me.
I wish that were easy to live.
But not everything in life is easy, and surrender certainly isn’t something we master in a single moment.
The bread in the Our Father is daily bread.
Not next week’s supply.
Not next year’s.
Today’s.
And so, God will continue to give me the grace I need for today.
Tomorrow, He will give me the grace for tomorrow.
I don’t have to grasp at the future to make sure it arrives.
I don’t have to know the timeline to keep walking with Him.
I just have to open my hands.
And receive the grace He is giving me today.
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