There is a particular kind of grief that comes when someone you love is still here, but you are watching them grow weary from the battle.
It is not the sharp grief of a single loss. It is a quieter grief. A slower one.
It is loving, hoping, helping, praying, adjusting, advocating, and wondering how much more their body can endure.

As I sat in church today, my thoughts drifted to my younger sister Cheryl. After years of strokes, limitations, therapies, setbacks, and victories that most people never see, she is tired. Not tired of life. Not tired of love. Tired of a body that no longer cooperates with the plans she once had for it.

As one of her sisters and amongst an army of caregivers, it is a difficult thing to watch.
When someone you love is hurting, every part of you wants to fix it. You want to pray the right prayer. Find the right doctor. Discover the right treatment. Speak the right words.
You want the miracle. I wanted to witness the miracle.  I had declared it would be a big one with a testimony  that we would be jealous of.

But somewhere along the journey, many caregivers find themselves praying a different prayer. 
“Lord, Your will be done.”

I heard painfully, repeatedly and with soul crushing tears to release my expectations and my need to “see it my way.”
Not because I  have stopped believing.
Because I have learned to trust.

One of the hardest lessons of faith is accepting that what we hope a miracle looks like may be different from what God has planned.

We pray for complete healing.
God may provide strength for one more day.
We pray for the storm to stop.
God may provide peace in the middle of it.
We pray for the mountain to move.
God may teach us how to climb.
None of those answers mean God failed.
They simply mean God sees a bigger picture than we do.

That can be frustrating for people like me. I like answers. I like solutions. I like seeing how all the pieces fit together. But faith does not require me to understand God’s plan.

Faith requires me to trust the One who does.
There is a freedom that comes when we stop trying to second-guess God.
We are not called to be His advisors.
We are not called to explain His timing.
We are not called to understand every twist and turn of the journey.
We are called to trust Him.

Even Jesus prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”
If the Son of God could surrender His preferred outcome to the Father, perhaps I can surrender mine too.

That does not mean I stop praying for Cheryl.
It does not mean I stop believing for miracles.
It simply means I place both the prayer and the outcome in God’s hands.
For years, I have watched Cheryl fight battles she never asked for. I have watched her endure things that would have broken many people. Through it all, I have learned something about love.
Love is not always fixing.
Sometimes love is showing up.
Sometimes love is sitting quietly.
Sometimes love is holding a hand.
Sometimes love is trusting God when you cannot trace what He is doing.

Today, my prayer is simple.
Lord, hold Cheryl close.
Strengthen her where she is weak.
Comfort her where she is weary.
Remind her she is loved.
And help me trust You with the parts of this story that belong only to You.
Because the greatest miracle is not always getting the outcome we wanted.
Sometimes the greatest miracle is discovering that God is still trustworthy when the outcome looks different than we imagined.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
Proverbs 3:5
This is especially for you if you are loving someone through a battle you cannot fight for them. We see the weight you carry, the prayers you whisper, and the tears you hide. Most of all, God sees you. 💜
Love Chelle
Defygravitywithoutwings.com