Thank You for not giving me what I want. Thank You for refusing me when I plead, and whine, and question You. Thank You for never giving in, even when my heart falls to pieces in my hands.
Because looking back, I can see. How the things I wanted would not have satisfied. How the alteration of one detail of my life might have brought me to a different place than this. (For the place You have brought me is beautiful.)
You didn't give me what I wanted, because there was something better. I didn't know it, couldn't believe it, at the time. I crawled in the dust, parched with thirst. I clung to the hem of your robe, tugging, and begged for Egypt. For the place where my human reasoning told me I would be safe, though in reality it was only bondage, in reality the Enemy would find me there.
You could have let me go. You could have given me over to the fickleness of my heart. Only, You didn't. Instead, You said No, again and again, and I thought I will die in this desert.
But You sent manna from heaven. You brought water from stone. You came as a pillar of cloud, as a column of flame. And all the things I wanted turned insubstantial as mirages, in the fierce and marvelous light of what was best.
And so I thank You, Daddy. For ways that are higher than mine. For giving me bread when I ask for a scorpion. For giving me life when I deserve death. For never letting me go.