Last night I dreamed about my grandmother.

Not so unusual perhaps, but it was one of those dreams that woke me with a start and a great deal of EMOTION.   She died over 20 years ago and I woke up with an ache missing her and wishing I could somehow have an hour just to sit and talk with her once again.

Why so much emotion?  I really don’t know.  My mind wanders this morning thinking about her home, her life, her laughter, and yes, her cooking!  Oh, she could cook!  I love the big (yes, she was pretty large), lovely woman that she was.

What would she think of me now?  I’m a middle-aged, pastor’s wife, and homeschooling mother of four trying to navigate the many challenges of life in a godly way.  There is a part of me that wonders if she would be proud of me.  I’d like to think so as she sees my life, my family, my faith, and my desire to run this race to the best of my ability.

But did she see yesterday?

I told no one-not even my husband– about the trials of yesterday.   Did she see me crawl through that very difficult part of the race?  Hopefully, she saw the small victory that I won?

Parenting a child with special needs is at times emotionally exhausting.  When you adopt, you make a choice to adopt not just the child but all the emotional hurt and baggage that they bring with them.     After nine years, you expect that it would get easier to love the unlovely behavior.    It doesn’t.  Every day requires a choice.  Every day forces you to surrender again to a task that feels overwhelming and unappreciated.  So I crawled on my hands and knees to the cross once again to surrender.   No one else around me noticed.

Hebrews 12:1-2 says:  Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

I am not sure how much my grandmother sees of my life now.    I’m no theologian, but I do like to imagine that there is a fan club of people that love us up there.  I envision them cheering us on and praying with Jesus that we will not give up but finish our race even stronger than we started it.

Yesterday was hard.  I wanted to quit.  “I have tried enough, Lord,” my weary heart cried.  “I have given and still see so little in the results of my efforts, please don’t ask me for any more!”

Now here I am this morning… awakened with new perspective as my heart is drawn heavenward toward my grandmother.   Did this happen on purpose?  I know when I finally went to bed last night my eyes were focused on my circumstances and the difficulties of raising a special needs child.  Did He hear that broken prayer and see that my eyes had shifted to a place they should not be?  

No, I won’t quit.  I can’t.  There is too much at stake.  Maybe my grandmother sees and believes that what I do each and every day matters.  Maybe not, but I know One who does.   I choose to believe that our efforts are noticed by Him even as we crawl through certain parts of the race.  I choose to fix my eyes on Him until, like my grandmother, it is my turn to sit down.   He started this and I choose to let Him finish His work.  I choose to  let go of yesterday.  And I think that’s enough to make even Grandma proud.