What April 3rd Taught Me

Lessons from the Waiting Room

Author’s Note: Although today’s reflection comes from my personal experience with loss outside of adoption, I believe many of us in the adoptee community have sat in similar waiting rooms—hoping for healing, praying for peace, wondering what will come next. Whether your grief is fresh or quiet, I pray these words will remind you that even in the waiting, God is near.

Today is April 3rd and I have been thinking about this day all week.

April 3, 2023 was a day that had been saturated with prayer-it was the day of David’s scheduled open-heart surgery.

It is the day that my life shifted and my faith was strengthened.

It is a day that will forever serve as a monumental experience for me.

As I sat alone in the waiting room for hours I believed God would work a miracle in the operating room. As the time passed and the surgery did not end, I began to worry, but I never lost my faith in God miraculous power to heal and make all things new.

Late that night, I sat in a dark waiting room with my sister, my uncle, my best friend, and David’s mother, knowing that whatever happened next would be completely up to God.

My friends, those next 15 days were the most challenging days I had ever encountered, but I was never alone.

I remember the nights I cried out to God for complete healing.

He answered.

I remember praying that God would make all things new concerning David.

He answered.

Today, I remember all of the details of that day two years ago.

There were moments when I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to face whatever the day held before me.

Today as I remember, I have a heart full of gratitude.

I share those details not just because these details have been on my mind all day, but I also share because I will never doubt that God hears, that He heals, and that He is present—even in the most uncertain and painful moments. These memories anchor me when life feels overwhelming. They remind me that miracles don’t always look the way we expect, but they always reflect the heart of a faithful God. Today, I hold tightly to that truth, and I invite you to do the same.

I guess one of the greatest miracles of today is that I am not reflecting from a place of sorrow. I am not reflecting with a long list of “what-ifs” and “why nots.” That is not just a beautiful place to be in, it is a place that I couldn’t even imagine two years ago.

I didn’t think that I would be able to look back on that day without being overwhelmed with sorrow, but today as I reflect I rest in the truth of a holy encounter that has anchored me and kept me secure.

Two years later, I can say with confidence that healing doesn’t always come in the way we hope—but it does come. David didn’t receive the physical healing we prayed for, but in those 15 days, I witnessed grace that carried us, peace that surpassed understanding, and a presence of God that never left. The greatest healing, I’ve come to realize, often happens in our own hearts. God has restored my perspective, strengthened my faith, and deepened my trust in Him—especially in the face of the unknown.

So today, as I sit with the memory of April 3rd, I don’t just remember the waiting, the worry, or even the loss—I remember the presence of God that met me in every moment. I remember how love showed up through family, friends, and even in the quiet spaces where words failed.

If you’re walking through your own season of uncertainty, loss, or waiting, I want you to know this: God is near. You may not see the outcome clearly yet, and the answers may not come in the way you imagined, but His faithfulness never wavers.

Let this be your reminder—He hears. He sees. He is still healing. And even when the miracle looks different than we expected, His goodness remains.

If you're walking through your own hard season—where the outcome is unclear, the waiting is heavy, or the prayers seem unanswered—I want you to know you're not alone. God is still present. His grace is still sufficient. And healing, even if it doesn’t come in the form you imagined, is still possible.

Hold on to hope. Lean into His love. Trust that He is working, even in the silence.

You are not forgotten, and your story is not over.

May you feel the nearness of God today—may you find healing, peace, and experience the presence of our Father, even in the waiting.