Lord, this is your precious one. Tonight she called out Your Name, “Ee-sus!” as we read about the soldier’s boy who was sick, so sick. You healed this boy, Jesus, and you can heal Katya. Patterns of this world are etched into her heart from the pain of abandonment. When she hurts, she shuts down or strikes out and today, this came against me. But it’s okay, Jesus. In the midst of her tantrum, I see myself. I’ve been right where she is. I’ve questioned You. I’ve wanted to do what I want to do. I’ve gotten so caught up in my world that I can’t even understand Your language. And so I have compassion on her. Katya can’t understand me, or can only understand bits and pieces of the words I say. “Stop kicking.” “Stop hitting.” “Stop biting.” “Stop spitting.” “I love you.” All spoken in some form of broken Russian. Thank you Jesus, that you help me to love, even when her actions are unlovely. Thank you to see the tantrum, the crying as a movement toward health. She’s expressing herself. She’s actually crying. She’s not shutting down. She’s staying in her room. She’s not destroying property. And Jesus, she turned. Joy of joys – she turned! She wanted to be read to. She wanted my arms around her. She wanted to hear about you. I’m tired now, Jesus. Give me rest tonight and fill me for tomorrow.