Waiting on God

Psalm 34:8 “O taste and see that the LORD is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.”

Psalm 27:14 “Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”

Have you ever been desperate for immediate relief? Sometimes, it seems like God is late. I have watched deadlines come and go; paths be determined through His silence, when I needed immediate answers.

I am in an extended season of great need. I could not, at the beginning of this crisis (or rather, conglomeration of crisises), imagine it going on this long. It’s a miracle I’ve survived it so far. The scars will remain for years to come—and so will the growth. I’ve been broken in ways I could not imagine being good. And I can just barely see through my tears that this is indeed good. My shattered, crushed to dust self can no longer stand in itself. I am fragile. There is no strength left in myself. Now that I am fully and completely defined by weakness, God can show Himself strong.

And He hasn’t. Or at least, not through deliverance (yet!). His great strength has been demonstrated in victories of one more day. Enduring and loving His people for one minute more. Staring Hell in the face without running away. Continuing to scream out for God when I am so hoarse from crying for Him that no sound comes out—and knowing that He will surely come. (Habakkuk 2:3, Numbers 23:19, Hebrews 10:37)

And yet, knowing all this, seeing that every day the impending doom holds off is a miracle, I chafe and fret at the apparent delay. 

And I know better. I could give you testimony after testimony of His delays being divine interventions. I could tell you how He slow-rolled a solution in order to accomplish a greater purpose or the same purpose in a far, far greater way. 

And I still weep and wail. Remember the parable of the woman who wearied the unjust judge by her coming? (Luke 18:1-8) I feel like she was a novice compared to me. If nothing else, my hyper-focus on a problem and my need for a solution is unmatched. My ability to complain in many vocabularies, both with eloquence and with childish petulance, is unsurpassed in the annals of history. Sometimes I think I could have outdone the murmurings of the whole congregation of Israel in the wilderness with the feelings behind just my left eyebrow going up, much less the moment I open my big mouth about it. 

I am done with waiting. And I have no choice but to wait. 

It makes me think of one of my sons. When he was about two, he absolutely could not wait for dinner. It did not matter what time I served it. The wait was unbearable for him.

He would run and get a plastic plate out of the cupboard and hold it out, hollering loudly to be served. He would whack me with it, trying to get me to understand. He would even try to grab the raw chicken off of the counter, sure that I was holding good things out of reach. Being vertically challenged, I was also just the right height for him to occasionally sink his teeth into my tush to emphasize his point! “Mamma, I said I’m hungry now!” Message received!

It didn’t matter how many times I warned him that grabbing the good thing (chicken) before it was ready (ewwww, raw chicken!) would make him sick. It didn’t matter how many times I told him, “Baby, I hear you! I’m going as fast as I can, but some things can only cook so fast!” or “Baby, can’t you see that I am cooking?” 

It didn’t matter. He just wouldn’t settle down until it was all finished and served up to him. 

I’ll tell you something else about that too—all his chaos and ruckus did nothing to speed up the process. It just became a more annoying evening for both of us! There was zero benefit to his moaning. He’d even video call his Great-Nana and explain to her in his toddler gibberish his angst. She’d empathize and assure him he’d eat soon, which added to his frustration (and probably interrupted the show she was watching, although she was a great sport about it and is dearly missed now that she’s gone on to Heaven). 

He did these things because he was two. Two-year-old children throw fits. He had no concept of time, waiting, maturity, or process. He only knew the now. He lacked perspective and understanding. He lacked trust in his mother. All he could understand was that there was a need and I had not yet met it. He wouldn’t be quiet long enough to really hear, “Baby, can’t you see that I am cooking?"

I wonder how often we are that two-year-old. (By we, I of course mean me, but generously share the sentiment with you, so that I am not out here on a limb all alone. I’d like to call it the “Royal We,” but I am aware this is the “Deflecting We” in use.)

How often is God at the stove, cooking up something good, and we are standing by Him, failing to comprehend that He knows our need and is actively preparing the solution?

We stomp our feet. We gnash our teeth. We throw our tantrum. We block out the sights, smells, and sounds of His preparation for us. We pay no attention to the ingredients being assembled—other than to complain that they aren’t in our hands now, toxic though they may be in their present state. We do not look forward with anticipation to the meal to come. We only experience distress that the meal isn’t served.

God said He prepares us a table, Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us, Jesus was prepared for us as the Deliverer, and we think He has forgotten or is behind in preparing our current rescue? (Psalm 23:5, John 14:2, Luke 2:31) How dare we think that He has forgotten us! The Bible is full of His promises to never leave, to never forsake, to never forget. (Hebrews 13:5, Isaiah 49:15) He sees the current distress. He is preparing things that take time. They require a process.

He keeps His promises. He shows up on time. He rescues—sometimes by delivering us out of and sometimes by carrying us through—every time. 

Knowing that He is good, knowing that He loves us, knowing that He sees us, knowing that He has not forgotten or delayed (2 Peter3:9),

what if today, we were to quiet our sobs just long enough to hear Him say, 

“Baby, can’t you see that I am cooking?”