"Order My Days, Oh, Lord."

How can I complain when I ask, and He answers<

I woke up at 6 a.m. Sunday morning. I spent a few minutes in prayer, read a chapter in Obadiah, showered, woke everyone else, slipped on a clean apron, made bottles for the calves, and started making breakfast. I scanned the items at the ready by the front door: food for the afternoon’s gathering, a bag full of 6-12 month sized clothes shopped from the bins of Alice’s outgrown outfits in the attic. I sent my eldest daughter a quick text that read, “Taco seasoning for the party? Gluten-free for Simon or should I throw some together to bring?” My husband was pouring my coffee, and the day was going exactly, perfectly according to plan.

The first sign that there was trouble brewing came when Alice seemed, shall we say, a bit more emotional than her normal morning self. This was easily chalked up to the early rise time, though. She’s usually comfortably in bed until closer to 8 a.m. Two hours less sleep than normal sure makes me feel emotional!

The second sign came when she requested her Daddyman rock her and read her a story. Still easily explained away as a reaction to the disturbance of routine, he indulged her while farm chores were completed and breakfast was put on the table.

But the unmistakable sign that the day was not going to remain quite on track came when we sat down and, instead of digging into one of her favorites (this with some extra veggies), she complained that her stomach hurt. My mind did that Tetris thing that a mother’s brain does, where the blocks of clues slide down the screen and finally click together, lighting up and finally getting our attention. I grabbed a thermometer from the bathroom and there it was. A fever. I finally looked at Alice—really looked at her— and saw it all over her face. Bags under her eyes. Complexion a bit pale. Moving a little slow. I heard my Mamaw’s voice in my head, as I always do: “That child right there is puny.” (ie, sick)

And just like that, the trajectory of the day changed.

See, our family was heading to attend the blessing of one of our granddaughters. My baby’s baby. Wearing the same gown she’d worn to her own public affair 27 years ago.

Man, I wanted to go.

But every morning, I pray for one thing without fail:

Order my day, oh, Lord. Make it what you would have it be. Not my will, but yours. Use me for your glory, and perhaps even allow me to see the small part you have allowed me to play in your Kingdom today.

With this prayer only an hour from my lips, how could I complain when what I had planned was not to be? How could I lament what I would miss, when the Lord had clearly extended me something else?

My husband, naturally, insisted that I go rather than him. But I knew what Alice needed was me, and I knew, too, that though my oldest daughter would happily accept either of us as a sign of us blessing her new baby, the power of a father in those moments is unparalleled.

So I switched gears and set up a little nest on the couch for Alice and I as the others rushed to put on church clothes, brush their teeth, and head out the door. And there I sat for the bulk of the day, alternating between reading about Laura and Mary and Babar, watching Little Bear, and singing the same hymns I’ve sung over all my children when they’re poorly.

My husband, eldest son, and best friend sent me photos of the ceremony. Everyone kept me in the loop, and shared the nuances of the occasion. And I sat two hours away, with my heart in two places, yes… but the knowledge that I was where I was supposed to be quite firm.

I asked, and the Lord answered. I rest in the joy of knowing that I was heard, and my Father in Heaven knew just how to best use my particular talents today. There is no greater peace than this, is there?

In Christ,

Heather

To Sow a Seed is always free. But if you enjoyed this post or want to support this ministry, you can tell To Sow a Seed that their writing is valuable by clicking the button and offering a blessing.