Lord Jesus, I surrender this longing to You.
I say those words, but You know how tightly I am still holding it.
I surrender my desire for a child, and then I take it back. I place it in Your hands in prayer, and an hour later I am worrying again. I tell You that I trust Your will, and then I begin imagining every possible outcome, searching for answers, calculating timelines, and trying to find some way to make certain that the ending will be the one I desperately want.
So perhaps surrender must begin with honesty.
Lord, I want a child.
I want this deeply.
I want to hear someone call me Mom or Dad. I want to hold a sleepy baby against my chest. I want bottles and diapers, first steps and scraped knees, bedtime prayers and school mornings. I want ordinary Tuesdays filled with the beautiful inconvenience of raising another human being.
I want the things other people sometimes complain about because I would give almost anything to have the privilege of being exhausted by them.
And because I want this so much, surrender frightens me.
Sometimes “Thy will be done” feels like saying, “Lord, I give You permission to deny me the thing I want most.”
But that is not what surrender means.
You are already God.
Your will does not require my permission.
Surrender means allowing myself to be held by You even when I cannot control what happens next.
So today, Jesus, I surrender the pregnancy test.
I surrender the calendar.
I surrender the doctor’s appointment.
I surrender the diagnosis.
I surrender the treatments that have worked and those that have failed.
I surrender the adoption paperwork.
I surrender our profile sitting somewhere waiting to be seen.
I surrender the families who may consider us and choose someone else.
I surrender the telephone that has not rung.
I surrender the nursery.
I surrender the empty crib.
I surrender the names we have imagined.
I surrender the child whose face I have pictured without ever seeing.
I surrender the timeline I created in my mind for how my life was supposed to unfold.
And most difficult of all, Lord, I surrender the answer.
But please understand what I mean when I surrender.
I am not surrendering because I have stopped wanting.
I am surrendering precisely because I want so desperately that I can no longer carry this desire safely by myself.
Take it, Jesus.
Hold it for me.
Purify whatever needs purification, but do not extinguish what is good.
If there are morally good treatments we should pursue, give us wisdom and courage to pursue them while remaining faithful to the dignity of human life and the teachings of Your Church.
If healing is possible, Lord, we ask for healing.
If conception is possible, we ask for conception.
If You desire to form our family through adoption, open the right doors in Your time.
If there is a child whose story will someday join ours, protect that child even now.
Protect the child’s mother and father. Provide for them, guide them, and surround them with people who honor their dignity and freedom. If adoption becomes their decision, let it arise from love and careful discernment, never coercion, desperation, or pressure.
And if the road ahead contains another disappointment, please do not let disappointment become despair.
Teach me the surrender of Mary: not passive, not frightened obedience, but courageous trust—“May it be done to me according to your word.”
Teach me the surrender of Joseph, who awakened and did what God asked even though the life before him looked nothing like the life he could have planned.
Teach me the surrender of Jesus in Gethsemane, who did not pretend that suffering was easy. You asked that the cup might pass, and then entrusted Yourself completely to the Father.
That is the surrender I need.
A surrender that can still ask.
A surrender that can still weep.
A surrender that can still hope for a miracle.
A surrender that can say, “Please, Lord,” and “Thy will be done” in the same breath.
Blessed Fulton Sheen, teach me to bring this surrender again and again before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, especially when I am tempted to take everything back into my own hands.
Our Lady of Guadalupe, keep me beneath your mantle.
St. Joseph, steady my heart.
Holy Family, guard our marriage and our home while we wait.
And Jesus, when I take this longing back tomorrow—as You know I probably will—do not become tired of me.
Simply invite me to place it into Your hands again.
A hundred times if necessary.
A thousand times.
As often as my heart requires.
Until surrender becomes less like losing something and more like allowing the Father who loves me to carry what has become too heavy for me to carry alone.
Today I give You my longing.
Today I give You my plans.
Today I give You the child I hope for.
Today I give You the ending I cannot see.
And today, even with tears in my eyes, I say:
Jesus, I surrender myself and this longing to You. Take care of everything according to Your holy will.
Always remember Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Holy Family! Help us to be a holy family and pray for us!
Amen.