More than six years ago I sat in my living room across from a dear friend as she told the group of us about her dream. She had been researching, learning, and building a business plan. She had been learning from those that had gone before her, and she was asking us to pray with her. She had a plan, and she was content to start small. She held this dream in open hands.

Her little shop that began with a pop-up stand at our weekly farmer’s market and various pop-up markets throughout the year, eventually became an online retailer. As the pop-ups gained attention and her site had more traffic, the business grew. Then, a few weeks ago, I walked into her dream realized. She had opened her very own brick and mortar storefront.

It was a journey to that storefront. She learned along the way. She faced setbacks and leaps forward. She waited on God, and she did the next thing when it was right—and not too soon. She had the vision and she waited for God to open the doors as it unfolded before her.

She waited well.

Christmas fell on a Sunday the year I was pregnant with our first. My husband and I enjoyed a quiet morning just the two of us and then headed to church before we would celebrate with family. I remember walking through the doors of our little city church, the old church building was decorated with Christmas wreaths and trees, and joy was spilling out of the building through the ushers greeting people on the sidewalk.

As we stood to sing, I was filled with awe. There was something quite remarkable about expecting our first child while worshipping the One who came as a baby himself 2,000 years earlier.

Four months after that Christmas we entered the hospital husband and wife. We left two days later as mom and dad.

I was leading a Bible study curriculum at my church. I began each night with a little review of what we had studied, and a preview of what was next. At the end of the evening I would share some encouragement from Scripture.

Each week I asked the Holy Spirit to lead me to what God might want for His women. One week I felt the Lord was bringing we back to Isaiah 54—over, and over, and over again. Yet, this scripture seemed to have nothing at all to do with what we were studying. So naturally, I wasn’t convinced I was hearing from the Lord.

Our meeting night came and I thought I had nothing.

Invited.

Earlier this year I received an invitation for a monthly gathering of women. I only knew the host, but I jumped at the chance. I knew that if this friend of mine was convening a group of women I could expect authentic, genuine conversations about a life of faith. Give me Jesus and His women and I’m good for hours!

Why does it seem that no matter how old we get, being invited seems to do wonders for our confidence? The invitation, well before the event or meeting, makes us feel wanted. Someone wants us to have a seat at their table. Someone wants to be in our presence. It’s a good feeling. Heck, it’s a great feeling.

What do you do when the battle has waged on for what feels like an eternity?

What do you do when the path you have been walking on feels more like a rut, that would take a herculean effort of the impossible kind to get out of it?

What do you do when you do not want to lose the little ounces of hope that still remain, but you are fearful they are drying up and a dessert place is taking over?