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I stand at the sink, sleeves rolled, heart heavy.

I dunk the plate into the bowl of as-hot-as-I-can-stand-it soapy water because the pipes have been backed up since Wednesday and the plumber doesn’t come until Monday but I need to do something.

The suds swirl and cover the dish and I scrub and I pray.

Please, God.

The liar whispers, “What if He doesn’t?”

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And even if He doesn’t,” I say.

If the God we serve exists, then He can rescue us from the furnace of blazing fire, and He can rescue us from the power of you, the king. But even if He does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up. Daniel 3:17-18 (emphasis mine)

It has sure felt like a fiery-furnace kind of year. I think back to this same time last year, how we prayed for God to get us back to Ireland.

And everyone asked us, “But what if He doesn’t?”

“And even if he doesn’t, He is worthy,” we replied.

The pot of cool water for “rinsing” feels refreshing as it soothes the scalding heat of the cleansing water. Like the balm of the reassurance that His ways are not mine; His ways are oh so much higher.

Dunk. Sud. Scrub. Pray.

I think of my friends with the scary diagnosis. We pray, we believe, we expect miraculous tests.

In the quiet places the accuser whispers, “He won’t.”

And we all ask, “What if He doesn’t?”

And she whispers, with trembling voice, “Even if He doesn’t, I am His.”

Dunk. Sud. Scrub. Pray.

I think of my family. The ones I love. I pray for healing. Please, God.

My own heart whispers, “But what if He doesn’t?”

And even…if…

Yes, even if He doesn’t, He is good. He is holy. He is kind. He is Love.

The suds are fading and the water grows cool. The dishwasher serves as a drying rack and I wipe my hands. They are rough and chapped from the heat. Like my heart.

So I pray.

And I remind myself with Truth and I thank God  for His goodness…

Even if He doesn’t.

 

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