I pray a lot for patience. I pray for help to get through the day, especially on those I-wish-I-could-go-back-in-time-and-start-the-day-over kind of days. I ask God for direction, for peace in tough circumstances, for supernatural strength when I have none left of my own.
But that's not all. I pray for other people, too: my kids, my husband, our sponsored children, my brothers and sisters in Christ. Sick people, hurting people, lost people, the persecuted and defenseless.
For as far back as I can remember, though, I have never asked God for any material possession.
Until one night last fall.
Looking at the night sky through the window of our shower (yes, we have a window in the shower), I broke down in tears and asked God if He would consider giving me the desire of my heart: an old farmhouse. A place with character and charm where we could raise our five kids, and a plot of land where they could roam. Maybe a crooked barn and a chicken coop and a vegetable garden, with trees to climb and places to explore, and room for my long-coveted goat.
No farmhouse, in my mind, would be complete without an old tire swing, either...hanging from the branches of a massive, gnarled tree.
I can't say that I asked in detail for each of these things, that I laid out the floor plan of my dream house or was overly specific in my request (especially considering I felt a little weird to be asking for something I didn't "need" in the first place). But God heard the genuine cry of my heart, saw into my dreams, gave a certain man I love the desire to make his wife's dreams come true, and has chosen to answer in this way: