I get a little scared while having conversations around the dinner table. When we are eating a hearty meal of lasagna or tostadas or enchiladas, that's when their belief system speaks. Many times my heart is pumping fast when I hear what they really think about their future..."I think I'm just going to fail that class... I'm gonna marry him..."and I try so hard to hide it. I don't want her to end up wth that guy who is definitely not doing well or for her to fail Spanish class because she is too scared to stand in front of the class to present. What they are certain of, makes me doubt. I think I doubt myself--doubt that I am making a difference at all, but in reality I am doubting in the goodness of Jesus.
Sometimes I don't believe that he is working on their behalf, restoring nor renewing anything. And I sit on our purple dining table chair and calmly try to present a better life choice. But inside I am screaming and arguing with God, asking him to show me hope. And until He does, I wake up early every morning, send one off to school, make the other lunch for school and giver her ride, await for them to return, make lunch for them, and then dinner, help with homework, and even go to the gym with them. Every. Day.
Then Sunday comes around, and I get to wake up at 9 so the tiredness of the weak is relieved a bit. And as the lights dim at church, I begin to hear voices singing. I am able to drown out the other unknown thousand voices and focus on two. Soon, I realize...
This is what Hope looks like: my girls, standing next to me, singing worship songs to Him.
While trying not to making it obvious, I sneak peaks of their song to Him. They might not know where they are heading, but He does. I begin to believe in His promises to them all over again. They don't notice, not even I notice, but He is already drawing them to Him and His perfect plan.
And I choose to believe that.
That's faith after all, isn't it?
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