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I lost it around 11:11am yesterday.

That stupid number has been following me around the last few years. I’ve heard from other people (mostly from my wife) that 11:11 is significant.

But I don’t care anymore.

I just don’t want to see it again.

At eleven/eleven I was reminded again that what I want, I don’t have. And once again my upcoming breakthrough becomes my current breakdown.

Our family made 11:11 the number that represented “us”. Whenever we see it we think of each other. But our family is incomplete. Once again (for the 387th thousand time) there are more delays on our adoption.

So at 11:11am on Wednesday December the 7th, I was embraced by that reality again, and I began to ugly cry.

I gave my heart permission to be angry with God and creative space to think in colorful language. I felt rage towards everyone who is involved in the process and I clutched the disappointment, the discouragement and the irrationality of that moment.

Then, I started to knock.

One time, Jesus said that prayer could be like an annoying old woman that keeps knocking at the door of the unfair judges’ house. She knocks because she wants justice. And she’s not leaving until she gets it.

I’m convinced that God is more my Father than my judge; more for me than against me. But yesterday I started to knock hard on the table that was in front of me. I wanted God to hear my body produce the sounds of my persistence. And I knocked-on quickly with force, passion and annoyance.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

The sound of the wood being punished felt like the most honest prayer I have prayed in a long time. With tears and pleas, with the sounds of Jeff Buckley and the prayers of David, I asked and asked and asked, “Please Lord! Bring my daughter home!”

Then Jesus said to me (as it written in Luke 18:6-8) “What makes you think God won’t step in and work justice for his chosen people, who continue to cry out for help? Won’t he stick up for them? I assure you, he will. He will not drag his feet. But how much of that kind of persistent faith will the Son of Man find on the earth when he returns?”

Truth is, I feel like God IS dragging his feet. But his ways are higher than my ways, his thoughts are higher than my thoughts. And despite the fact that I am desperate and angry and disappointed, I will go to no one else but him.

He will find faith in me.

Seriously, who better to love me in madness, absorb the blows, understand the journey and provide the comfort needed?

Who else would turn the sounds of my turmoil into sounds of adoration?

Who else could handle the knocking and the questions?

(I’m not that happy with Him. But I love him, and I need him.)

He’s still the same God who loved the painful Psalms as much as the happy ones. He’s the same God who considers the heart-ache in Lamentations to be as holy as the victories in Revelation. And He’s the same God who washed the feet of Judas, and answer the questions of Thomas.

I love Him because He’s not afraid of the bloody knuckles.

He’s not put off by the bitter tears.

So whatever you’re feeling, use it to come closer.

Even if what you’re feeling, feels like the very thing that’s keeping you away.

I wish I could tell you the minute I stopped whinnying yesterday I got a phone call from the agency and now baby girl is coming home.

Oh how I wish.

Yet even though I endured that place of rawness yesterday, without a breakthrough, I rediscovered again the Father who is not afraid of my breakdowns.

My friend, we’re not in the desert because He wants us lonely. We’re there because He wants us for Himself. So however you come (or whatever you’re coming for) just come to The Righteous Judge.

And knock hard at the door. 

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Though he slay me, yet will I wait for him: nevertheless I will maintain my ways before him. Job. 13:15

 

+ Helpful Song: 

 

++ Helpful teaching: Embrace Transition: