When You Have Nothing To Do and You Find Your Miracle

When I held my first-born breathing baby in my arms, it was a miracle.

She breathed a long 40 minutes of life here and was then gently folded into the arms of Jesus.

With empty arms, I had nothing to do. Nothing could make my empty arms feel full again and waiting for another miracle seemed like eternity.

No words could fill this space of waiting. But, this moment was a miracle forever etched on my life.

Eternity. The only thing I think about now. Every morning I wake up thinking about how deep and wide and full of miracles that I missed will be waiting there.

I know I have missed so many moments. So many miracles over the last five years, when it seems that I had so much to do and so many places that my heart and time and energy were divided between.

And now, here I am with nothing to do. It is a miracle. And it found me.

It is what we do with our waiting that makes the miracle.

When we stop seeing the miracles around us, God will make them bigger than life for us to take notice.

Bigger than my life could handle. Larger than my breath could take and wider than my arms could reach.

So many dear and precious friends have been praying for me. Everyone prays for rest, strength and healing. Your words have meant the world to me and I know I am so loved.

But, it is more that just “not being busy.” It is more than me resting and more than taking a break.

It is a complete miracle that I am still alive. I stood on a stage at the end of five year ministry to women spanning the generations, and gave my last Key-note for this season. I knew that it was a miracle that I could stand there. Every single word that left my mouth was by His strength. I never in my life, have been so close to collapsing at the feet of Jesus.

I was living outside of my own skin the day I stepped down off of that Key-Note Platform. A platform I am learning cannot be tied to my regret of investment.

I went home that weekend and cried for three weeks straight. The tears never ended. I had vivid dreams of my loved ones. I lost my appetite for food and for life. Like walking through a clouded room, I was praying I could find my footing again. And soon. I couldn’t understand what was happening. How in the world could I explain this to my family and friends, if I barely understood myself.

I realized I was in a fight for healing and rest. Rather than just hoping and waiting for my body and spirit to catch up with time, I was going to fight with His armor and put it on every day. Slowly and surely. Isn’t this what I have been telling others for so many years?

September McCarthy

The builder and I decided we would fight this battle together and not share with our family and friends. Because, really, how can you explain this?

Someone told me that I must have been hiding it really well.

What is “it?”

It. The miracle of life that you cannot explain. The overwhelming sense of being used, used up and used for Christ.

It. The very thing you cannot define is happening to you. When you think you have lost you ever-loving mind, your health, your marriage, your friends, your time and it all seems like a forever ago.

I had lost it. Completely and utterly lost it.

It. My own life was farther away than I could feel was within reach.

I cried so many tears of grief over what I felt I had lost over five years.

Time I missed. Investment I missed. Marriage moments, connections, health and the list was so pile high on my regret list that I couldn’t find my way out from under it.

There are so many words I cannot express to you here my friends. Other than, I am counting whole days and waiting on the other days.

It is a gift to be shown HOW to heal the heart. How to heal and mend the pieces of my life that felt out of reach.

While my physical body is part of the healing, it is the breath in my heart and lungs for life that I am waiting for each day.

I cannot live in regret, or the miracles God was doing for those five years will be lost on me. Then for what?

It will take so much time to find September again. I know He is doing a new thing. A beautiful new thing.

I am taking all the time in the world to breathe in deep His Word…every day the miracle and gifts He has set before me. And in this, I will not lose sight of this transformation He is doing.

I know it is barely an explanation of my journey right now. I can never take the busy out of my life. I have an abundant, big life, and I wouldn’t trade any of these beautiful people for any thing. So, what does busy have to do with change?

I have a choice to breathe eternity into my life every day and into those that have been placed in my life.

The miracle is in the gift of waiting. No regrets.

A life cannot be healed until the mind has been transformed. He is making me new. And even if it is hard and gut-wrenching, it is necessary. Because it is what I do with my miracle of life in the waiting of Eternity that matters.

No regrets.







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  • Reply
    Heather Joy
    December 9, 2017 at 12:15 pm

    Thank you for sharing. Although our investments are quite different in our lives. I hear all you are saying. We wait on the Lord. We wait to see where He will take us next. Regret is a feeling I have had too. Life seems wasted and used up and sometimes we personally cannot feel the joy others think we should have in giving up everything. They say things like “you are wonderful, a hero, your sacrifice is great for Jesus …” all while they sat back and watched instead of getting their hands dirty. We wait to see His Kingdom come, and believing in faith, we did what we could to serve our God who gave it all for us. Sometimes we just need to rest in Him. I pray as well that I can say no regrets someday. I feel blessed for knowing you.

  • Reply
    December 9, 2017 at 12:44 pm

    Thank you for your vulnerability here… It encourages me because many women look to you to lead them, and I think that this is a beautiful way to lead- sharing your real self, your real need, your new grace. We need a lot more of this openness in the church. Personally, it has often felt so corrosive to my soul to be open like this among and with many Christian friends, because they are so focused on “exhorting” or “fixing,” that they cannot just sit with me in compassion and empathy. My life has truly included a lot of loss and suffering. Continuously. In deep ways that most of my friends have not experienced… and that’s OK. But- it hurts when I am open and the responses are Christian platitudes coupled with judgment. In the last year, I have finally begun to understand true surrender, with OPEN hands. And, THAT includes acknowledging the suffering! It’s not complaining or denying God’s goodness to acknowledge pain, loss and suffering- it’s embracing my life with open hands. And it has changed my perspective- that surrender. I now understand that suffering and joy can exist side-by-side in my life. And to embrace them both. That this IS surrender for me. And there is beautiful redemption in THAT. My perspective has changed! Embracing suffering has opened my eyes to Joy! My open hands are part of his grace. His healing timeline is not in my control, but it is happening. And he softens me more and more along the way. And keeps reminding me that his love defines me, NOTHING else.
    I don’t have any idea of the scope of what you are going through, but I truly thank you for being so brave with your vulnerability here. You strike me as a beautifully surrendered woman of God and I appreciate your ministry to women. This post, in particular, has ministered to me. Thank you.❤️

  • Reply
    Liz King
    December 9, 2017 at 6:49 pm

    Your vulnerability and being real is inspiring. Praying for you friend as you wander with certainty on this road to healing. I am a better person for knowing you and learning from you. I look towards our paths crossing again in the near future. Blessings.

  • Reply
    December 10, 2017 at 1:46 pm

    “He came like the winter snow; quiet, soft and slow” Winter Snow by Audrey Assad….

    Praying He will continue to come to you with His gracious love & acceptance in these quiet moments, September. Thank you for sharing your humanity with us, so that we might also be ok with our own skin.

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