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I would say I have been praying for a miracle in one (or more) of my kids for a year now.

But, y’know, it’s probably one of those things where you think, spring feels like a small miracle sometimes. My kids hanging up their towels sometimes feels like a series of miracles. And hey, let’s not forget the miracles God’s doing in me (to the tune of, Wow, when that kid flipped his lid, I didn’t flip mine. Miracle.)

And that’s not to say little miracles, that evidence of the Holy Spirit–that wind I can’t create in my kids–hasn’t been there this year. It has, in 365th-sized increments.

But I’ve also been noticing some interesting things about how God works.

In Joshua 1, God’s about to give the land he promised to His kids, driving out (count ’em) seven different countries. It was their miracle.

I read this last week:

“Pass through the midst of the camp and command the people, ‘Prepare your provisions, for within three days you are to pass over this Jordan to go in to take possession of the land that the Lord your God is giving you to possess.’”

But then I looked at the Hebrew word for “take possession”–because I’m geeky like that–the word larishtah. Not only does it mean “take possession.” It means dispossess. Destroy. Drive them out completely. New owners.

As in, you’re going to have to kick out some existing authorities.

This is Your Miracle. Put Your Back into It

I thought about Hebrew wives packing up bread for husbands they might not see again–because despite the promised miracles ahead of them, some people were going to put their lives on the line.

Some kids wouldn’t see their dads again. Some men could feel their hearts thumping beneath tunics, or as they threw saddles in puffs of dust over animals.

And I think, there was some sacrifice, some blood, put into this promise.

I flipped over to the story of Deborah later. And in her post-victory song, she actually praises tribes for stepping up to win the battle against Midian, their 20-year evil oppressors: “that the people offered themselves willingly,
bless the Lord!” (v. 1).

But to one group, she says the opposite. Check out why: “curse its inhabitants thoroughly, because they did not come to the help of the Lord, to the help of the Lord against the mighty” (v. 23, emphasis added).

Huh.

God had planned a miracle–like he did for Ruth, for Esther, for David–but he asked for their muscle, their grit. Their trust, down to their lives.

I can’t say whether God has planned a miracle for my kids–of the big kind or small, steady kind. That’s not for me to say. I just have promises like “he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6) and “those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified” (Romans 8:30).

Which, let’s be honest–we don’t always know what God has begun or destined for our kids.

You’re Gonna Need That

But I recalled last week a day one summer in my childhood. My dad, a farmer at the time, had brought home some duck eggs from a nest he’d rescued while planting a field. He’d even (I marvel at this now, as a parent) found a styrofoam incubator.

One morning, I checked the eggs–and at last, a crack zigzagged down one egg’s surface.

I pleaded with my mom not to take me to swim lessons in town that morning: I wanted to watch them hatch!

I clearly had no idea how long the hatching process took. It would be happening all day. But we were given clear instructions: Don’t help the duckling get out. He needs those muscles he’s using to survive.

Like any great parent, God often requires his kids to be part of their own hatching, their own new life.

(Heck, my kids’ births certainly required some labor. And extensive personal damage.)

Maybe in the Bible it’s allowing friends to lower you through a roof in front of a mortifyingly large crowd. Or it’s dunking in a gross river seven times. Maybe it’s riding a donkey.

Like the prodigal son, the journey back is part of the healing.

Their Way Back

I imagine this fictitious character having to look for his own clean water en route. Find a safe place to sleep fitfully alongside the road. Script what he’ll say to his dad. Replay where he went wrong. Remind himself why going back is better.

I don’t know what miracle you’re waiting on, or trying to point your child to.

But just because there’s muscle doesn’t mean it’s there’s not a miracle happening.

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