All. In. Today.

Whenever I suggest something will be a surprise, the Boy-Man asks "What is it?"

He can't wait. Surprises aren't his thing. He wants to know more.

How big will his ice cream be?, he wonders. And yet, there is a too big for his little tummy and he knows his limits.

One of the nights this week I'll be making something different for dinner. It's a surprise. And the Boy-Man can't stand not knowing. I could tell him, but then he might complain before he even realizes the goodness in the surprise. He needs to wait and trust me, because the dinner will be extra yummy and especially good for us. My Father is the same way.

He has *surprises* for me that are good for me.

While running a few morning's ago, I think about this idea. I ask my Father how big the *Ice Cream* will be, what flavor it will be, and how much. And, when? I want to know more. I can't stand not knowing the details.

Of course, Ice Cream is an analogy for what was on my heart. And admittedly I've made an idol out of it.

The longing is so big and so heavy that it weighs on my every day.

I expect we will have another child someday, and I live today anticipating that day--Tomorrow. Decisions whether to keep this or that hinge on the future child in my mind.

Scooping up the sweetness in each day, I imagine what days moving forward will be like if we were to have *this* experience again, with another child.

Though I think I haven't, it's obvious I have...made the future out to be dessert, instead of savoring the treat in each day. Looking for what is to {might} come, without even being absolutely certain.

I've made requirements for my life--that my joy today has hinged on visions, as if they are actually real, and that once those visions come alive I'll have the triple-scoop-amazingly-delicious-knock-your-socks-off-dessert. I'm ashamed at what I've done.

And it's too much. I've suffocated my today's with imaginings of tomorrow's. The sundae is too much for me to even imagine savoring.

Even though I firmly believe my Father placed those dreams within me, I must remember it isn't up to me to keep them alive.

If it's His will, it will be in His time. I needn't do anything to make {sure} it happen.

I can live in freedom for Today and trust Him for Tomorrow...what. ever. it may look like.  

And truly, I needn't worry about Tomorrow.

I can bask in Today for what it is--future or no future, this is what I have.

Just like I know spinach intermixed within a surprisingly delicious blend of tomatoes and bacon will be good for my child, my Father knows what's good for me. He knows what will nourish me and help me to grow.

In case I don't get it, He gives me an image on our morning run together--an image that shocks me and ripples awe through me over His power.

I picture me with another child, and yet my husband has died.

{GASP!}

He asks me, What if I provide you with another child, yet take your husband's life first? I have a plan for you, and it is for *purpose*; it will look completely different than you can ever imagine, beloved. Trust. Me.

My Father has been softly talking to my heart lately about His timing and how His timing isn't just for me. His plan is bigger and sometimes there are things He wants to do in other people's lives, beyond my own.

What if that's how it'll be? I can't even allow myself to focus on this possibility. Yet, I understand what I need to do. I must surrender into Today.

He wants me *All. In. Today.*

My Father's *surprises* for me are good enough to wait for, even if they appear yucky or too painful to swallow. And in the waiting, I am growing patience...for Today.

And in slurping up Today, I am nourished more by His love for me.