When I was little, I thought tomorrow was a day of the week. Just like Monday or Tuesday.
That’s because whenever I asked my mom about anything—when we were going to the zoo, or when Gramma was coming over—I only remember her having one answer.
For me, Tomorrow was the most exciting day of the week. And so, every once in a while, I’d leap out of bed and race down the stairs to find my mom.
“Is it Tomorrow? Is today Tomorrow?!”
“No, sweetheart,” she’d say, chuckling. “Not yet.”
Had I missed a day somewhere in there? I could’ve sworn I had it right.
I can’t say how many times I took my mom through this exercise—every time, walking away angry and confused. But it didn’t make one bit of difference.
Tomorrow never came.
Little did I know life was preparing me for what I would experience as an adult.
I ached to be married. It was my calling. I felt it in my bones. In the depths of my soul.
Surely, I would be a young bride. Unknowingly, I’d given myself a hard deadline—25.
The day I turned 26, I had a good cry and reluctantly moved it up to 30—max.
At 30, I decided there was nothing wrong with being a “mature” bride, and that I hadn’t been truly ready until now.
On my 35th birthday, I had a hissy fit, realizing I’d hit every medical professional’s cutoff for birthing healthy babies. I Googled how to freeze my eggs, which ended up being way too pricey.
By 38, I was still unattached, had joined and unjoined every online dating site at least twice in the last three years, and wondered where I was the day my life decided to do a big, fat face plant.
Had someone told me I wouldn’t walk down the aisle before I’d hit the big 4-0, I would’ve punched them straight in the nose. Hard.
I may not have wandered the desert for 40 years like the Israelites did, but living the first four decades of my life unmarried was my wilderness.
It felt like I was sitting in God’s giant waiting room without knowing when my appointment was. Had He forgotten about me? Did I even have an appointment? Was I in the wrong place altogether?
Was it Tomorrow yet?
Only God knew. And He was asking me to come simply, as a child.
So I did.
I didn’t come perfectly trusting. But I came willing to put my heart in His hands. All of it.
The part that thought He’d lost track of time. The part that wondered if He was paying attention. The part that knew for sure it was too late. The part that found it totally unjust. The part that simply didn’t understand. The part that believed I could’ve done a better job. The part that desperately wanted to stop wanting it. The part that would rather call it a day.
I came just as I was.
I wrestled with Him until I melted tearful into His arms. Disillusionment faded into the background and I found my Best Friend. Someone I could lean on every second of the day. No longer was I longing for an event—I was clinging to a Person. And I would never let go.
For me, true wellness is being able to admit when I’m suffering. It’s acknowledging my humanness. It’s laying myself bare before a God Who sees all and knows all.
For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust. – Psalm 103:14 (NLT)
It’s inviting Him into my pain. Allowing Him to use my weakness to showcase His strength. Letting Him weave beauty into the nooks and crannies of my soul.
Only then can I take my tomorrows and lay them at His feet.
I’m sure I eventually did make it out to the zoo. Gramma probably did end up coming over for a visit. And I finally did find my prince.
But most importantly, I heard the heartbeat of the King—God, my Father. The One Who holds the world in His hands. The One Whose understanding knows no limit.
The One Who loves me like there’s no tomorrow.
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