I was painting in the garage, and she was drawing a rainbow on the cement floor with chalk when she said, "I'm glad God gave you to me as my Mommy."

I wasn't ready for it. "What?" I asked, making sure I heard her right. She tried to say it again, but her words came out a little more awkward this time, and she said something like, "I'm happy you're my mommy from God."

Tears filled my eyes.

Then she prayed, "God, thank you for giving my mommy to me. And thank you (I couldn't understand this part). And thank you, she makes me breakfast. And thank you we're going to make pumpkin spagotti (biscotti). I hope it tastes good. Do you think it will taste good, God?"

Then she opened her eyes, and went back to drawing her chalk mural-while my eyes blurred with tears, and a huge lump came to my throat. Where did that come from?

She's three...and I didn't know her little heart could hold such gratitude. Or that it would just burst out of her, during this subtle moment in the garage. Or that she would thank God, outloud, for me, right then.

Usually, she doesn't even want to pray out loud-even with me encouraging her. But today she felt something inside her.

Something beautiful.

Her little heart can hold more love than I often know.

Her little mind...is not so little as I think it is. She thinks far beyond what I would expect.

"Thank you, Selah," I said, smiling. "I'm so glad God gave me you as my daughter."

I would have hugged her right then, if my hands didn't have white paint on them, and if there wasn't so much junk between us on the floor - the drawers I was painting and an old wooden chair.

"Did you have to wait a long time for me Mom?" she asked. (I have told her the story many times, but she wanted to hear it again.)

I stepped across the junk on the floor and came a little closer to her. "Yes," I said. "I asked God for a baby over and over again. But He didn't give me one for a long time."

"And when me and Daddy found out you were in my tummy, we were so happy!" I told her.

"Do you know why God took so long to give you a baby?" she said.

"No, honey," I said. "I don't know."

"I know why," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because...He was making me," she said.

He was making me.

I looked into her deep blue eyes, that seemed to know something from another world, and her blonde tossled hair russled in the breeze. And in that moment, she seemed a thousand years old.

He was making me.

And that answer was enough. And my heart resounded with the truth of it, "Of course He was. Of course, that's exactly what He was doing, Dear One."

Because now that I know her, and know how special she is-it only makes sense, that it took so long. I don't know what God was doing with her up there. There is just something about her, that seems as if she spent a long time on God's chest before coming to mine. Almost as if heaven didn't want to give her up.

Selah.

And I say this with tears, to you, barren ones...

Who are waiting for your baby prayers to be answered.

Who are praying every day for God to give you a baby. To give you life.

I don't know why it's taking so long.

I don't know if He will give you a child through your womb, or through foster care, or adoption.

But either way...if you are waiting right now, and you don't know why it's taking so long.

Maybe it's because God, the Maker and Giver of Life and every living thing...is still in the process of making your baby.

We can't even begin to comprehend what is happening in the heavenlies, in the unseen, and what, or who He is forming.

His ways are not like ours. His timing is not like ours.

And perhaps if He's moving so slowly, and He's taking so long... It's because He's forming something so breathtaking and beautiful...it cannot be rushed.

He is in the process of forming a masterpiece.

And maybe one day, a little masterpiece will stand before you and say, "I know why God took so long to give you a baby."

And you will say, "Why?"

And they will say,

"Because...

He was making me."

Editor's note: This article originally appeared on Rebekah's blog, Barren to Beautiful. It has been republished here with permission.

The post Why God took so long to give me a baby appeared first on FamilyToday.

This week my husband walks in the door after a long day at work to find: dishes piled in the sink, laundry all over the living room, the beef for dinner still in a frozen block, and me"¦looking like Frump Queen. He is gracious. And tells me to take a nap. I instantly obey. (Inwardly rejoicing.) And while I am sleeping for 45 minutes, he manages to clean the whole house"¦while watching our daughter. (A feat I clearly was incapable of accomplishing today. Many days.)

One part of my feels grateful the house is clean. I can relax now, right? But the other (bigger) part of me feels guilty and defeated. He just worked the whole day at his job, and then came home and did mine, too. Isn't this why I am staying home?

Every day I have this desire to accomplish something. But every day it feels I accomplish nothing. I try to clean something, but I don't finish. I want to do a house project, make my space more beautiful, but all those gorgeous pics on Pinterest look like something from another world. Not mine. I leave to buy something, but roam aimlessly around in the store. Nothing to bring home. I try to write, but this little person cries for all of my attention when I sit at the computer. I clip coupons and price match, and still go way over on our budget. Agh. At the end of the day, there's nothing to show for the last nine hours of exhausting effort. Of doing what?

When it feels I didn't accomplish Super Tidy Housewife, or Spiritual Sage, or Fun Mommy, or Adoring Wife, or Betty Crocker, or the Likeable Friend"¦when I'm none of those titles, and all the opposites...

I have to wonder: "Am I enough?"

I lay my head on the kitchen table, cheek against wood, and cry. I want my days to be of worth. But feel like they are all so: Unsuccessful.

As I lay, frozen, I hear a whisper, my daughter's whisper

Dear Momma,

Do you remember the nights you cried on the bathroom floor in the dark? When the pregnancy tests sat negative in the trash can? Remember when my nursery was just a storage room? A place for you and Daddy to throw your junk? Remember how you longed to brush my hair with your fingers, to sing me lullabies, to hold me close? And now I'm here.

Am I enough?

When there're dishes in the sink, and your skinny jeans sag from all the bending, and dinner's ingredients still sit on the shelves of the supermarket, because your days are full, full of me. Am I worth your attention? Am I an accomplishment?

Am I enough?

You kept me safe today Momma, you kept me alive. You kept me fed, and rested. You played with me, and made me laugh. Does that count Momma? Am I one of your goals Momma? Just to be together? Even if no one sees it? Or knows it?

Am I enough?

Tell me Momma, did you think I'd be different? Did you hope I'd be different? Do you see me? I'm right here Momma, the answer to your sobbing prayers. But now that I'm here, is there something else you want Momma, to feel good? Do I make your day count Momma?

Am I enough?

And suddenly, the voice changes. My heart wrenches. The Spirit of God begins to whisper, making the table under my wet cheek feel more like the chest of God. And suddenly I know He's near.

Do you remember when I said, "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for Me?" (Matt. 25:40) "And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward?" (Matt. 10:42) Do you not see it here Child?

All these days you live at home to serve this fragile girl, what you really are doing is serving Me. For whatever you do unto her, you do unto Me. So let me ask you:

Am I enough?

What is My worth to you? In the secret places, where no one sees? Look deeper Dear One.

Can you find Me in this place? In her face?

Every diaper, every clean, dry pair of clothes,

cups of water, Cheerios, all the laughter, every tear,

each soothing whisper in her ear.

In doing so, you so clothe Me, feed Me, hear My cry,

soothe Me with your lullaby.

If all you do is spend your days, yourself, on Me...

Am I enough?

The post “Am I Enough?” appeared first on FamilyToday.