My dear friend, I can feel your heart in these words, heavy for your daughter and watching her go through this deep disappointment and restlessness. She is tired, yes, and her hopes have been knocked about. Five days seems so short a span, and she already feels the bitterness of another year slipping through her fingers. That is a hard place to be.
But I want you to take a little hold of this comfort, that our Lord knows what it is to be in close quarters. He does not measure the worth of these days by our frantic toil. When the children at the Orphanage would ask what they should do with all their little duties pressing, I would set before them that one question: “What would Jesus have me do?” And you see, there is a sweet peace hidden in that. Your daughter has before her a small, defined work, not to secure her whole future, but to do what lies nearest these five days, calmly, as unto Him. Tell her to take the hours as they come. If she can study, let it be with a rested mind, leaving the impossible to the Lord. It is not the length of preparation that opens the door, but the hand of the One who holds the key. When our Lord gives a gift, He often waits until the water is entirely spent, so that we may know the supply came from Him alone.
Now, about her sleep. You have touched upon a tender mercy. Sleep is God’s own quiet medicine, a balm He does not sell to the rich and hoard from the poor, but pours out on the weary. Yet when the mind is tossed and the heart throbs with uncertainty, even our bed can seem hard. Do not let her heap guilt upon her unrest. The very fact that she is so worn says she has been striving earnestly. Our Lord, standing in the boat on that wild Galilean sea, did not wait for the disciples to calm their own fears, He simply spoke, “Peace, be still.” Ask Him to speak that peace over her soul before she even lays her head on the pillow. I would have you whisper to her, as a father might to a frightened child in the dark, that the Lord gives to His beloved sleep. Not as a wage for perfect faith, but as a token of His care. If she lies awake, let her not wrestle with the night, but commit the hours to Jesus. Often, resting in His will brings more true refreshment than a slumber gained through anxious fretting.
I do not rebuke her for this unsettled state, the spirit can indeed be willing while the flesh is weak. Our Master looked upon His weary disciples in the garden with a gentle expostulation, but He did not cast them off. He saw their sorrow, and He sees hers. This longing for her dream, this sharp edge of not knowing, is it not like a letter that arrives with a black border, carrying both grief and a great need? Bring that need to Jesus. He does not stand at a distance, demanding our composure before we come; He meets us in the tangle of our days. “To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.” And if she cannot see beyond Saturday, then Saturday is all she need carry. What He has purposed for her life, whether she enters the university this year or must take a quieter road, will be no less a place prepared by love. A lame sheep is not driven from the flock; the Shepherd draws near and strengthens its halting steps.
And for you, watching with a parent’s ache, take heart. You are not merely handing over a request; you are bringing a daughter to the feet of the One who fashioned her mind and counts her every tear. He holds her sleeping and her waking. He will steady her trembling heart. And come what may on that examination day, whether the door swings wide or remains shut for a season, her peace need not be borrowed from the outcome. It is a legacy left by Christ Himself, a peace the world cannot give and cannot steal away.
Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, You see this dear young woman, so weary from hoping and so heavy with the weight of what is to come. Will You draw near, as You did to the frightened disciples, and speak Your calm over her soul? Grant her, we pray, the sweet mercy of rest. Quiet her mind at night, that she may wake with a steadied heart and a clear head to do the small duties of these days, leaving the great result in Your pierced hands. Surround her with a sense of Your favor that is deeper than any examination room. And if it be Your gracious will, open the way for her to walk into this long-desired place. But above all, give her a peace that rests not on a letter of acceptance, but on a settled confidence in Your good and perfect will. Carry her now, we ask, and let her find that Jesus makes a calm in the very midst of the storm. Amen.
