When Prayer Doesn’t Seem Like Enough

And the Peace We Find in the Struggle

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to adopt. I dreamed of opening our hearts and our home to a child who needed a forever family. I started the process several times, but each time I sensed that my husband wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about adoption as I was, so I felt it was wise to wait — and pray — until we were both on board with the idea.

As the years went by, I would ask God, “How long, Lord?”

The one day it happened. My husband called from work and told me about a friend who knew a friend who was pregnant. She was looking for a family who would adopt the baby. My husband wanted to know if it would be okay if he told his friend we were interested.

My excitement burst through every word, “Yes! Of course!”

After all those years of waiting, and now my husband was the one initiating the process! I just knew this was from God, and the timing couldn’t have been better.

After some lengthy conversations back and forth, we received word that she wanted us to adopt her child, but there was a complication. She said a recent ultrasound showed there were two babies. She was having twins. Were we still interested?

I could barely contain myself. I had always wanted twins. “Yes! Double Yes!” That was all I could say. That, and “Thank you, Lord!”

We contacted a social worker who could walk us through the paperwork, and the whole ball really got rolling. We continued to pray and dream, and some days, I found myself wandering down the baby aisle at Target, looking at two of everything.

The twins, we later learned, were girls. And I couldn’t help it. Their names were already etched on my heart — Ella and Emma. So I started praying for Ella and Emma, and their birth mom, too.

And just when we started to believe this was really going to happen, it didn’t. We knew failed adoptions are always a possibility, and we were warned to guard our hearts, you know, just in case. I had tried to prepare myself for the possibility that it might not happen, but all the signs seemed to be pointing in the right direction. I truly believed this was a gift from God and that he was completely in this.

But then it was all ripped away.

I have never had a miscarriage. My body has never bled from a lost child. But my heart bled plenty when I realized Ella and Emma weren’t coming home; they weren’t going to be a part of our family.

For a long time, I felt an emptiness I couldn’t describe, and I had a lot of questions for God. Why would he put this desire in my heart only to take it away? Why would he have me fall in love with two baby girls only to lose them in the end. None of it made sense.

Deep inside I felt a tangled mix of frustration and sadness, but mostly I was scared. Were they being cared for? Were they being fed? Were they being held? I was so worried for them, I could hardly think of anything else.

All I could do was pray. So I did. But I’ll tell you, it didn’t feel like enough.

I questioned the power of prayer because prayers are words. They may be sincere, heartfelt words, but babies don’t need words from afar; they need warm bottles and clean diapers and soft blankets and lots of kisses.

Every time I prayed for God to protect them and provide for them, I felt so powerless, so frustrated that I couldn’t make sure they were getting what they needed. And yet, during this time four faint words kept coming to mind, like whispers from somewhere deep in my soul.

Do you trust Me?

And therein lay the crux of my battle . . . I didn’t want to release these two baby girls into God’s care. I didn’t want to trust anyone to take care of them except me.

For a long time, I grieved and wondered how they were doing. I’d pray too. Because that was literally the only thing I could do. But I still wanted to know why. Why did God let me fall in love with two baby girls only to take them away?

Then one day, in a quiet sort of way, I knew.

When I finally accepted that Ella and Emma weren’t meant to be a part of our forever family, I understood they were meant to be a part of my forever heart. Today, they’re likely teenagers in high school, and they don’t know it, but they have someone, somewhere in the world, who is committed to praying for them, forever.

I don’t know what their birth mom decided to name them, so Ella and Emma aren’t even their real names, but I do know that when I pray for Ella and Emma, God knows exactly who I’m praying for.

And someday, on the other side of eternity, I pray I get to meet them.

A Few Notes…

*This piece is adapted from a chapter I published in a book called A Mother’s Love.

*My new book, While Waiting for Morning: An Invitation to Pray, is now available. If you’re like me and you prefer to hold a printed book in your hands, you can pick up a copy at Barnes and Noble.

*Thank you for your vote of confidence when you tap on the “heart” at the top of each post. And, as always, you are welcome to share these words with a friend.

*And lastly, no part of this newsletter—nor anything I have ever published—has been made with Artificial Intelligence (AI) or ghostwriters. All of my words, including any accidental typos, are my own, except for when I quote others with appropriate citations and links.