Year seven looks nothing like I was told it would. By now, according to the theology I grew up with, this should be over. God should have answered. His timing should have been perfect. The story should have reached its redemptive conclusion: the testimony with the happy ending where I stand up in church and declare how faithful God was through our infertility journey, baby in my arms. Instead, I'm staring down the reality that I'm aging out. That the door to adoption has slam

I have learned from Joachim and Anne that persistent prayer changes us more than it changes our circumstances. After seven years of praying for a child, I’ve discovered that some of my most profound moments with God have come when I’ve run out of words. Like old friends who can sit together without speaking, I’m learning to simply be in God’s presence with my longing. Joachim and Anne must have experienced this too.

There's a beautiful juxtaposition on this night between anticipation and dread, the not yet and the soon-to-be; the long-awaited and much-feared, a holy tension.