I freed up 21 days for rebirth.

I spent 19 days thinking, praying, reviewing journals, writing in journals, digging up evidence from the past, compiling quotes I’d gathered from the past two years, listening to podcasts, and watching Christian speakers and motivational videos on YouTube. I met with wise counsel, witnessed a 17-year-old live out her own God-sized dream, finished two books and started a third, and dug deeper into scripture. Heck, I even took my first webinar.

My time in reflection was desperately needed. And it was extremely productive in a soul searching kind of way.

By day 19, I had clarity. Complete clarity between me and God.

I’d set this time apart, and He’d set apart everything I needed to know to move forward into this rebirth.

But between days 19 and 21, things became muddied, for reasons I can’t reveal now, but hopefully someday, to give another hope – that God’s dreams for you really can come true, even when they’ve been muddied up momentarily.

This wasn’t what I expected. Not on day 19. Not when I was planning to return to blogging on day 21. Not when I’d planned big movement forward this week.

My plans, (seemed) ruined. My hopes, dashed. My expectations, unfulfilled, yet again.

I felt alone. Like it was just me and God. Like I was back at square one. After all that. Back at square one.

But then I was reminded, the clarity I received during those 19 days is irreplaceable. The evidence still remains. My heart still says yes. God still put the pieces together, and they remain true, today.

As I sat there, late that night of the 19th day, in my writing spot on the far left end of the long couch, feeling crazy, tears running down my face, feeling like it was all for naught, my dreams and rebirth and hopes and plans down the drain, like I was back to square one with a heck of a lot of work to do to get peace and clarity again, I heard this whisper…

I want you to believe this is possible. I’m calling you. You’ve been called.

I grabbed my computer. I needed to write this down. To know, remember, the first words of clarity that came to me in these moments of despair. I opened up the document where I’d written everything, the document where all the evidence I’d gathered was in one place, so I could prove to myself God truly did have a plan to rebirth my life.

I scrolled to the bottom.

And typed the sentence.

I want you to believe this is possible. I’m calling you. You’ve been called.

I sat still for a moment. The words kept coming. In an instant, without thinking it through, I decided to close my eyes, type the words I was hearing, the words I believed God might be speaking to my heart and soul in these muddied up moments.

I typed and typed and never once opened my eyes. I felt like a translator. Any word that came to my mind, I typed it. Every word. There was no editing. If I heard it, I typed it. When the words subsided, I opened my eyes. It’d been 34 minutes since I first started typing.

And this. is what I typed (pacing and punctuation is completely organic, unedited)…

I want you to believe this is possible. I’m calling you. You’ve been called. I need you to trust, believe. Know you are loved. Receive it. Believe it. Feel it. I love you deeply. Know that wherever you are, I am. I am. for you. I love you. Believe it. Know it. Feel it. There’s no need to perform. No need to act. Just be, Amy. Sit. Be with me dear. Stop this working hard, trying hard. I don’t ask you to try hard. I don’t ask you to work harder. I ask you to be. With me. Follow. Me. Trust. Me. Believe. Me. Know. Me. 

Believe when I say. I’ve called you. Believe it. There’s nothing more to say. Believe it.

Amy, you’re in the boat. I’m asking you. Come. Now. Trust. I’m here. I’m not asking you to jump. I’m asking you to come. Closer. Trust. Watch me. Watch how I love you. Watch how I sense you. Watch how I connect with you. Know. I’m here. 

Sit. And calm yourself. Be comforted by my presence. Trust I’m taking you at a pace that’s right for you. Don’t rush. Just follow. Me. You’re so tired. Lean. Lean in. You need me now more than ever. I’ve got your back. I have your hand. I’m sitting right here. 

Just be. Sit. Rest. I’m here. I know. I’ve been here before. 

Calm yourself. Calm. Know I’m here. You don’t have to perform. You’re no act for me. I’m gracious. Peace flows through me like a river. I hold no judgement for you. I seek nothing from you. But trust. 

Amy, love. Just be. In me. Stop the game. It’s not about the game. See?

It’s me. Here. Near. 

Amy, my love. You need to know. You’re not cooky, you’re not crazy. You haven’t gone off the deep end. You see, you’re with me. With me isn’t safe. But with me, you’ll find freedom. With me, you’ll find peace. With me, you’ll be. 

So Amy, dear Amy. Take care of yourself. Don’t rush. It’s in my hands. I’ve got it. 

Believe.

Be free. of it all. Worry not, dear one. Time will tell. You’ve waited. And I’ll have you wait more. For you are a patient servant. This I know. You don’t want to be patient, I know. You’re tired. You’re weary from the wait. But Amy, please, you must know. I’m here, even in the wait. 

I know. 

I hear you.

I’m desperate. For you not to work. But to trust. I’m desperate for you to know, you’re loved. I’m desperate fro you to know, you can count on me. When all else fails. Me. So believe. 

Take a breath.

Be.

Trust. 

Feel.

Know that I’m with you. 

Understand, it’s in my hands. I will reveal.

Feel.

Sit in my presence.

Lay it down.

Believe, Amy. Believe.

You’ve got this. I’ve got this.

You’re in another realm. 

And no, you’re not crazy.

Believe that.

Know that.

Trust that.

I see.

All I’ve made you to be.

It’s beautiful.

I’m waiting. 

It’s not time. 

Not yet.

Just wait. A bit.

Seek me. and all these things will be added unto you.

That’s what he said, isn’t it? That pastor who reminded you what’s most important.

Seek me. And all these things will be added unto you.

So be.

Our journey, it’s not done.

Listen. Walk. Walk with me.

You’ve got to trust. Trust that I have a plan. Trust the timing will be. Trust. 

For kingdom work is hard. There’s no easy way. They won’t understand. But I do.

So go. Be a light. Do what you need to do. Follow my commands. And trust. I’ve got you. Know. I’m here. Believe, I see you.

Be. 

You.

It’s not a game.

It’s not a play.

I am. the real deal.

I speak to you in words you understand.

I’m in the boat. W’ere here, together. I’m smiling. I truly am. I have no doubt. Cast the net. Cast it.

Do what it takes. You’ve got to believe. I’ve got you.

You’re so not trusting, so not believing.

But I got you.

Come. Closer.

Hear me speak. You are called.

It’s not possible, it’s true. 

So believe.

Hear me. Hear me.

You are called.

You are called.

You are called.

You. Are. Called.

You. Are. Called. 

That’s what I needed you to hear. That’s what I wanted you to hear. So go. GO daughter. Live it. Speak it. Do it. Do what it takes. Work at it. Live it. Feel it. Receive it. Believe it. For I am here. I am with you. I see you. I know your trials. I know your pain. I’m with you. You must trust. You must go. You must do. You must believe. Believe. 

Now go.

Go.

Go.

Go.

So today, though my logical and emotional self wanted to tell you, my dear readers, that I couldn’t come back yet, that I needed to take more of a break to get my head on straight all over again – I’ve decided to come back, in faith. Because God’s said – trust, believe, go – He’s got me. So I must. He’s provided clarity. Now I just need to trust He’ll help me work it out.

And maybe, today, you need to read those words, inserting your name for mine, knowing you’re held, loved, seen as beautiful and worthy by God. If that’s you? Do it. He speaks words of life and hope over you and in you, too.

Blessings.

Amy

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked full-time until the birth of our first child in 2002. It was then that I realized, for the first time in my life, that I might not want to be a full-time work outside of the home mama. My mom worked full-time her entire life, so I assumed I’d do the same. My husband and I had purchased a home, and hadn’t planned our finances around me staying home in any capacity. But I knew right away, as soon as our son was born – I didn’t want to work full-time anymore. I wanted to stay home more. I worked full-time for a year and a half after that first maternity leave. And then my husband got a raise, just enough for me to stay home one day a week, so I reduced my work to four days per week.

It felt just right. And I was grateful for more time with my baby boy.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked four days a week until the birth of our second child in 2005. After a 12-week maternity leave at home with our daughter, I returned to my four days a week position. I remained solid in that position for one more full year. My husband was deep in the trenches with his work, and just weeks before I’d found out I was pregnant with our daughter, our entire family began managing what would become six years of the worst of my sister’s mental health and addiction issues. Add my four day a week workload, and it felt like way too much. I knew something had to change. So I made a dramatic move. I took a formal leave of absence, and cut all the way back to one day per week of work. Working one day a week worked really well for two whole years. But then my leave came to an end and I was informed, given the shortage of professionals in my field, my employer needed me back, full-time. There were no part-time options, so I opted to resign and open my own private practice.

The time was right. And I was grateful as I’d always envisioned myself in private practice somewhere along the way anyway.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I started and maintained my private practice, working 2-3 days per week, until the birth of our third child, another baby girl in 2011. At this point, we’d been through a lot. I’d been through a lot. We’d spent years managing unbelievable trauma and drama with my sister, she’d had a baby, and things had finally stabilized to the point they were manageable. For years, it seemed there was no way we could add another baby to the picture, but I didn’t feel “done” having kids and our biological clocks were ticking. So we thought hard and prayed hard. The answer was yes. It was indeed time for another baby. After I returned from maternity leave in March 2012, I continued seeing patients two days a week, and did everything else that needed to be done for the private practice when I could fit it in. (And for the most part, that remains true today.)

But things were different this third time around.

You see, after all those years of trauma and drama, after all those years of waiting, I realized what a gift we had in our baby girl. I knew and had a strong sense, for the first time in my life, that if God blessed me so richly with this baby girl, maybe He had other beautiful plans for me, maybe there were other things I was supposed to do that would fulfill me as richly and as deeply as this baby girl? Maybe He’d planned beauty from all this pain?

So I picked up the bits and pieces of a dream that had been building since the birth of our baby boy in 2002.

I’d just returned from maternity leave, and baby girl was only three-months-old. I knew it was kind of crazy, this starting something new and big when I’d just had a baby and was trying to adjust to work, again, as mama of three. Baby was still a baby, I had two other little ones, and my husband had begun a big corporate job. But God called anyway, it’s time.

So in April 2012, after seeking wise counsel, I decided, it was time to launch this blog. In-between work and dance class and baseball and changing diapers and everything else, I worked my butt off getting ready to launch this thing.

In July 2012, I launched the blog. It was no small thing as far as I was concerned. The blog was important to me, and I valued it immeasurably. It was part of a dream I’d been visioning, at that time, for nine years already.

So that brings me to today, to this post.

I’ve decided to take a three week break from blogging.

Because I know, with the birth of each of our children, comes a rebirth of me.

And while I’ve without a doubt been working towards that rebirth of me, it hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve known, for 19 months, that it’s time for rebirth. But my rebirth is different this time. It’s not just a matter of making a few adjustments and I’ll be good to go.

It’s a matter of handing my life over to God and saying – what would you have me do next?

It’s a matter of deciding – am I going to continue thinking I’m all in, or am I actually going to live all in?

It’s a matter of believing and trusting, truly following this Jesus I say I believe in.

So I’m sitting in this boat. Jesus is smiling so slightly with his gentle, gracious and patient spirit. He’s looking at me. He’s waiting. He says “give me an hour, and I’ll change your life.”

And I’m here, still deciding if I’m going to give him “this hour.” Am I ready to give it to Him, or not?

And you, my readers? You’ve found me here, in this in-between place, in this moment of deciding what’s next.

In this in-between place, in this moment of deciding, I’ll be doing practical things, logistical things, and hard things.

What are the practical things? I’ll be attending my nephew’s baptism, celebrating my daughter’s golden birthday, and spending a week with my kids during their spring break. Just as important, I’m desperate to keep my promise and call my friend, Denise, with whom I haven’t chatted for way too long.

What are the logistical things? If time allows, I’ll be updating my Meet Amy and Blog Vision pages on the blog. I’ll also be working on finalizing plans for my second annual Special Mamas series in May.

What are the hard things? I’ll be spending time in reflection and praying, hard. I’ll be reading scripture and books, reviewing old diaries, journals, and blog posts. I’d like to spend some time journaling, without editing, without an audience, to better discern what’s next. And I’m seeking wise counsel, because I can’t do this alone.

Oh ya, I might open that bottle of champagne that’s been sitting in the fridge since December 6th, and enjoy it with my husband some night. 🙂

Thank you for understanding, thank you for reading today and any other day you’ve read in the past, and know I’ll be back.

As of now, I plan to return to the blog on Wednesday, April 9th, but if I need more time, I’ll take it.

If you’re new to the site, or haven’t had a chance to read as many of my posts as you’d like, I recommend reading the two series that reflect my writing and heart best to-date, Letters to the Unthanked and Journey to Haiti. If you’d like to contact me for any reason while I’m gone, please don’t hesitate! All of my contact information can be found on the Connect page on my blog.

Blessings to you all.

Amy

“I’m thinking a mid-life crisis is not so much a crisis as it is an awakening. Either you’re upset where you’ve landed and you perceive you’re stuck there for the rest of your life, or you’re wide awake and ready to use your wisdom to launch you into an even better second half. I strive to be the latter.”

Post from my personal Facebook page – May 25, 2013

Amy

*This is the final post from a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

*Music courtesy of Ft. Alex Boye, Africanized Symphonic Cover of Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; 

yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  Ecclesiastes 3:11

God makes no mistakes.

He orchestrates every detail of our lives.

He knows exactly who to bring into our lives and when, so we become more of who He created us to be.

It’s been 12 days since I met Kednaud. Out of all the translators I could’ve been assigned, God chose Kednaud. It was truly a divine appointment.

Kednaud spent an entire day with me. It was arguably the most important day of my trip to Haiti, the day I met our sponsored children. He translated every word I uttered, every word our two sponsored children uttered, and every word uttered by a mama, auntie, nurse, and project director. Add up all of those words across an entire day, and you’ll begin to grasp the thousands of words Kednaud translated.

I was grateful for Kednaud’s presence and assistance, truly grateful.

The only words he didn’t know how to translate from English to French Creole were “pink” and “swimsuit.” That accounts for an entire day of translating words. I’d say that’s beyond impressive.

I’ve worked with translators before for my work as a speech-language pathologist, so this translation was nothing foreign to me. But this experience of working with a translator all day, non-stop? It was beyond amazing. The Compassion staff reminded us that these were not just translators, they were “relationship builders,” and that’s exactly what Kednaud was.

But there’s something more I want you to know about Kednaud. You see, he wasn’t JUST my translator that day.

I believe God sent Kednaud to be my translator because there was something He desperately wanted to show me, show us, in the moments in-bewteen translation.

God arranged moments in-between translation for me to connect with Kednaud. When everyone else was using the restroom, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their bathing suits, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their clothes, when everyone else was getting a second helping of food, and after everyone else had been given gifts, Kednaud and I were blessed with small moments to connect about things that matter most.

What are the things that matter most? They’re things that connect us as human beings, regardless of our gender, regardless of where we were born, regardless of our possessions, regardless of any circumstance.

Kednaud’s friends tease him, joke that He’s not fully Haitian. He “gets” American culture. He has friends that are from America, and they’ve invited him to come and live in the United States. They’ll even buy him a house if he’ll move to America. It’s tempting, but he knows. He’s Haitian. He loves his country and he doesn’t want to leave. He’s meant to stay here, in Haiti.

So he translates for American visitors, he values the opportunity to engage and develop relationship with Americans who visit and build homes in Haiti.

And God’s placed on Kednaud’s heart a big God-sized dream. Kednaud dreams of learning 21 languages. He’s already learned four, and knows what his fifth will be, Italian. Because education is expensive and finances are limited, Kednaud works on one language at a time, as he’s able to afford. He takes courses online, through a website called Babbel, where he learns each language and earns a certificate that proves his proficiency.

Kednaud understands. His dream to learn 21 languages is big. It’s a dream most might think is unattainable, especially considering his circumstances. But he believes, I believe, that ALL things are possible with God, through Christ.

I shared about this “God-sized dream” talk in America, how God places dreams on our hearts that seem big, unattainable through the lens of human eyes, but that we trust, knowing anything is possible with God.

We both looked up towards the sky, stating out loud, agreeing as brother and sister in Christ, that yes – anything. is possible. with God. There was peace and joy in this agreement. And that was the first moment I knew, God had me meeting Kednaud, and Kednaud meeting me for a very special purpose. To propel both of us further, with confidence, towards His dreams for us.

Kednaud plays drums. He’s in a band, and he writes songs. And as you might guess, he loves American music. The most perfect medley of songs played throughout the day with our sponsored children. Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do,” Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” and The Jackson 5’s “I’ll be There” played as we frolicked in the pool for the first time ever, played games that united young and old, and shared a great feast together.

Then, it was time to present the families with gifts I’d brought from home. First was Bethchaida. The joy on her face was indescribable. And sweet Djino. I’ll never forget the way he smiled bashfully when I showed him the motorycycle shirt I’d brought for him, the way he bent over, kissed me on the cheek and said “merci.” Kednaud was there, and captured it all in words and photographs.

But there was something missing. I’d promised Kednaud a special gift, too. There was a song, it came to me in the moment we were talking about American music. And I knew I needed to share it with Kednaud. I’d just downloaded it from iTunes a few weeks prior to coming to Haiti; it’s the song that’s resonated most with my spirit these days.

So I ran. I literally ran back to the place where I had my iPhone and headphones. Because the clock was ticking. I’d used up all but 15 minutes of time with my sponsored children and their accompanying adults, and I didn’t want to miss a minute. But I wanted to keep my promise to Kednaud. I wanted to give him this gift, I wanted him to hear this song. So yes, I ran, and then I ran back, iPhone and headphones in tow.

I turned it to this song, Just Say Jesus, and gave Kednaud the headphones.

I sat with the children, the mama and the auntie gathered the gifts, and as we all sat together, speechless, in these last moments, Kednaud pressed play.

The music started. My heart raced. This was the song I’d promised. I had no idea why it was the only song that’d come to me when I learned Kednaud’s dreams and love for music, but this was the song I needed to share.

And that’s when he began. As the words and tune met his ears for the first time, he smiled, his face lit up. He air drummed, and he air drummed some more, non-stop, until the song was done.

He loved it. My gift had been received. God’s gift, to both of us, had been received.

The day had been worthy of a million pictures, and this moment was as worthy as any other. So we snapped a photo of another moment I’ll never forget, a moment that needed no translation.

God unites his children in the most unusual and unexpected ways. He tailors our experiences uniquely. Because He’s the one that created us. He knows our innermost being. He knows our heart and He owns the dreams He’s placed there. He’s the only one who can translate, when words just don’t suffice.

I saw so much of myself in Kednaud. We share a love for words, for music. Kednaud’s only part Haitian, and I’m only part American; we rest in peace knowing our eternal citizenship is in heaven. We share God-sized dreams that seem impossible, but we know in our hearts, without translation, that anything is possible with God.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

It was my first full day in Haiti with Compassion International. Hours into the day, I found myself actively engaged with a group of girls at the far end of the project’s play yard.

With the help of a translator, I uncovered bits and pieces about the girls. They were all around my son and daughter’s age – eight, nine, ten and eleven-years-old. I was intrigued by their personalities and way of being with one another, and kept thinking how cool it would be if my daughter was there, engaging with the girls, just like me.

Another woman from our group approached and began conversing with the girls, so I decided it was a good opportunity to engage the teenage girls I saw yards away.

The day passed. We spent the rest of the morning with mamas and babies enrolled in Compassion’s Child Survival Program, had lunch with project staff, visited families’ homes, and returned to the project at the end of the day.

After we spent a little more time in the classrooms and play yard, after we used the restroom one last time before we had to leave, I met the boy who stole my heart.

I really didn’t want to say good-bye, but I was on my way back to the van. It was time to go.

Most of my fellow travelers were already on the van. I was one of the last to load.

Just feet before the van, a boy approached. He came alongside me, hung close, tight to my body. I’m still not sure if I’ve ever had anyone step in tandem with me the way that boy did. The only way I can describe it is that his little body was so tight, right alongside me, that we became one walking unit in that moment.

God helped me recognize, immediately, this boy’s strong presence.

I put my arm around his shoulders as we walked. “Hi buddy,” I said quietly, lovingly.

He kept close, never out of step. He snuggled in a bit closer.

And then he looked up at me, as we were walking even slower now, and ever so gently but assuredly said “I want you to be my mommy.”

This was the first child that had spoken a word of English to me all day, and these were the words I was going to hear?

My heart broke. I began crying immediately. “Oh buddy,” I said, as I gave him the biggest, most endearing mama bear hug I could muster.

The world around me disappeared. We were three, maybe five feet from the van at this point, and I’m sure there were an abundance of kids and adults wondering why I was crying and hugging this boy. I’m certain they had no idea what he’d just told me.

I loosened my embrace because we were now even closer to the van. He looked down and pointed to one of two bracelets I had on my wrist, one purple, one cream. (Oddly enough, I’d received those bracelets as gifts of appreciation from Haitians in the market 16+ months ago after I’d presented them with gifts I brought from home.) I couldn’t be his mommy, but I knew as soon as he looked at that purple bracelet that I wanted to give it to him to let him know how much he was loved. A translator was present and helped with the exchange. For a few seconds, all was right with the world. I had a bracelet and the boy had a bracelet. We’d be tied together, in our hearts, and the bracelets would be a tangible reminder. But a little girl approached and saw I had another bracelet to give, so I obliged, even though it meant I’d no longer have a bracelet to keep my heart tangibly tied to this sweet boy.

Still crying, I gave him one last hug, waved good-bye, and got on the van. Tears continued to stream as I made my way to the back of the van, past most of my fellow travelers. I explained to a couple who’d asked, he said “I want you to be my mommy.”

How was I supposed to sit in this van, act like I’d just heard any ‘ol words, and move right on out?

Praise. The. Lord. He wasn’t about to let my time with this boy end, even though all other indications said it was a done deal.

Thankfully, our departure was delayed for one reason or another. I didn’t even care because all my mind could think of was the boy. Kids were swarming around just outside of our van. I looked to my right, and there he was. I caught him just as he was looking down, fiddling with his bracelet. “I’ve got to get a picture of this boy,” I told those around me as I stood up immediately and captured not one, but two pictures. I felt blessed to have, at the very least, seen him again and captured these photos to remember him by.

If I remember correctly, the van moved, turned in the direction of the gates where we’d depart. I thought I’d seen the last of the boy. I was sad, but grateful too, that God had given me the opportunity to see him from afar one more time.

But God knew otherwise. The van stopped. There was another delay.

Some moments passed, and then I noticed my boy coming alongside our van. He was looking up, into the windows, and he was now on the side of the van where I was sitting. When he came to the window of the people sitting in front of me, I noticed he was looking at them and pointing to his bracelet. I knew right away, he was looking for me.

“He’s looking for me!” I exclaimed as quietly and as calmly as I could without seeming like a freak to my fellow travelers close by.

I knocked on the window, loud enough so he could hear and notice I was there in the back row. I waved, put my hand on my heart, pointed to his bracelet, and then pointed to my wrist where the bracelet had once been. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and smiled.

We’d found each other, once again.

I began crying, once again.

I opened one hand and put it up flat against the window. He put his hand up too. One panel of glass separated us.

It was clear the bus was about to move towards the gates.

I blew him a kiss. He blew me one, too. I blew another. He blew another.

And as we drove off, I looked back and noticed. He was wearing navy blue Converse, untied. He walked quietly by himself as we drove away, fiddling with his bracelet, yet again.

Call me a blubbery mess. Call me whatever.

In the days following, I wasn’t sure what to do with this experience. In fact, nine days later, I’m still not sure why I met that boy, why he was the only child I engaged with that day that spoke any word of English, or why he felt compelled to say “I want you to be my mommy.”

I’d give anything to know if that little boy has a mommy. I’d give anything for the opportunity to go back and take a Compassion staff and translator with me, visit his home, and know more. If he had a mommy, I’d love on her and tell her how awesome she is and how she’s raising her son with a beautiful heart. I’d tell him what a great mommy he has and how she loves him with all her heart. And if he didn’t have a mommy? Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But reality is, I’ll never get the opportunity to do any of that.

Why is it that my Heavenly Father gave me this gift, this boy to love for just a few moments? I don’t know.

The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be His name, is all I can say.

Perhaps I’ll never know why I met this boy, why he wanted me to be his mommy. Perhaps someday the good Lord will make it clear. For now, I trust, there was a reason.

Five days after meeting the boy, I arrived back home. Photographs of my journey flashed on our television screen as I recounted my days in Haiti with my husband and two oldest children.

And then, the Lord gave me eyes to see what I needed to see in a photograph I hadn’t remembered taking earlier that morning in the play yard.

The boy.

There he was!

I’m not 100% sure because the first two photos I took of the boy were from the side, and this photo was straight on. But my heart knows, my heart feels confident. The Lord gives me eyes to see what He wants me to see, because He’s awesome like that.

That boy in the middle of all those girls?

It’s him.

I recognize his face, he looks familiar. He looks exactly like the boy who told me “I want you to be my mommy.” He looks exactly like the boy who blew me kisses when I was still crying in the van. He looks exactly like the boy who wore navy blue Converse, untied.

And if it’s truly him as my heart thinks it is?

Then God has spoken.

I’m here, orchestrating every bit of your life, whether you know it or not.

I chose you before you chose Me.

You are loved.

Now go love.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.