Holding On By a Thread

"I gave you empty stomachs in every city
       and lack of bread in every town,
       yet you have not returned to me,"
                                        declares the Lord.


"I also withheld rain from you
       when the harvest was still three
             months away.
I sent rain on one town,
       but withheld it from another.
One field had rain;
       another had none and dried up.
People staggered from town to town for water
       but did not get enough to drink,
       yet you have not returned to me,"
                                        declares the Lord


"Many times I struck your gardens and vineyards,
       I struck them with blight and mildew.
Locusts devoured your fig and olive trees,
       yet you have not returned to me,"
                                        declares the Lord.


"I sent plagues among you
       as I did to Egypt.
I killed your young men with the sword,
       along with your captured horses.
I filled your nostrils with the stench of your camps,
       yet you have not returned to me,"
                                        declares the Lord.


"I overthrew some of you
       as I overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah.
You were like a burning stick snatched from the fire,
       yet you have not returned to me,"
                                        declares the Lord.


                            -- Amos 4:6-11


It's ironic that I read these verses for the very first time the day before I needed them the most. The day when hope like it was gone. Poof. Just like that.

We got an update from our judge. It turns out that we won't be gone in late December; she'll issue our court date in late December. We won't travel until mid- to late January. But even that's iffy. And, to top it off, she's making us redo all of our lab work. All our blood tests. Lots of our documents. All because they'll expire before our actual court date.

I don't think I've ever felt so hopeless. So frustrated that there's absolutely nothing I can do. It's not like Peru, where at least I can raise money. No amount of money will make this process any easier, or make it move faster.

Looking back, I don't know why I thought my parents would be gone on Christmas, let alone that Evan would be home. Do I still believe that God can give us a Christmas miracle? Absolutely. Do I believe He will? I don't know. Not enough to get my hopes up anymore. Not again. Not just to have them crushed into a pulp. It hurts too bad.

The truth is that I am holding on to Amos 4:6-11 with everything I have. God gives us hardship as an opportunity to turn to Him. So that's what I'm doing. There's literally nothing else I can do. I don't think I've ever had a situation where I have come before the Lord more humbly or in a more pleading manner. Please, please, please let her come home soon, I beg with tears streaming down my face. I can't do this. Without God, I absolutely cannot do this anymore.

My only consolation is knowing that at least I'm giving the devil a hard time if God truly is giving us this hardship to show Satan that we will turn to Him.

I'm begging you to lift sweet Evan and the rest of our family up in prayer. All we want is for her to come home. And it's so hard when you're so full of hope, and I'm generally the visionary, the one who sees things as they could be. It's especially hard to be let down when you're the one who can see that.