When the Timing is Wrong and Your Faith is Wavering

It’s easy for me to sit in judgment on the Israelites, on their lack of faith so soon after God took them out of Egypt. The splitting of the sea, the destruction of the Egyptians, shouldn’t those miracles have carried them for the rest of their days? Shouldn’t the truth that God was good have been permanently lodged in their hearts? Yet the records of their journey are filled with a cyclical lack of faith:

“They forgot what he had done, the wonders he had shown them. He did miracles in the sight of their fathers in the land of Egypt, in the region of Zoan. He divided the sea and led them through; he made the water stand firm like a wall. He guided them with the cloud by day and with light from the fire all night. He split the rocks in the desert and gave them water as abundant as the seas; he brought streams out of a rocky crag and made water flow down like rivers. But they continued to sin against him, rebelling in the desert against the Most High. They willfully put God to the test by demanding the food they craved, they spoke against God, saying, ‘Can God spread a table in the desert? When he struck the rock, water gushed out, and streams flowed abundantly. But can he also give us food? Can he supply meat for his people?’” (Psalm 78: 11-20)

I’ve often sat in judgment on them, but it’s amazing how quickly I too forget the miraculous. How one who was so recently brought to awe by His truth, her grainy eyes cleansed to see a firm path before her, is now wandering into that default ditch of faithlessness.

The rational mind swaggers in and tells me that the sharp-eyed wisdom I asked for and received was just a figment of a desperate imagination.

That the impressions I believed were from Him were just the machinations of a deceitful heart.

That it is better to be faithless and be right then to hope and be disappointed once again.

Because, you see, I know I have a heart as deceitful as us all, a heart that time and time again has almost killed me with its leadership. So my human instinct is to fight back with the logical mind to quash the deceitfulness.

But the human logic I try to fight back with while ignoring the voice of the Holy Spirit is just as diseased.

“The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)

Both the natural mind and heart have elements of truth but are distorted by the fallen nature. And truth distorted is more dangerous than a bold-faced lie.

In a desire to end the longing, I’ve taken the directive to guard my heart as meaning to sterilize it with cynicism, stuff hope into Pandora’s box because then I won’t get hurt again. I believe that with enough analysis, I can think myself into dissolving my desires. It’s a systematic theology built on the idol of self: one where there’s no room for what I can’t understand, where the only dimensions are those I am aware of.

In her book Fully Alive, Susie Larson explains our reality is often not God’s reality; we often misinterpret the facts of our situation because of our limited perspective. When she was betrayed by a group of friends, in her reality, it confirmed a deep-seated fear that she was rejectable. As she looks back, though, she now sees God’s reality: he was freeing her from the fear of man.

And I’ve interpreted my reality concerning singleness in much the same way.

My reality goes like this:

Because I’ve been rejected, I’m rejectable.

Because I’ve never been chosen, I’m unlovable.

Because God has not answered my prayer, He doesn’t care.

And because He hasn’t answered me yet, He never will.

Over the past 5 months, God has led me straight into the fire of each of these realities and worked a painful refining. I’ve had to face my greatest insecurities and relive old wounds. But the key word here is refining: through the pain, he burned away lies I’ve believed about Him for years, about His goodness and about His love.

But now, like the Israelites, I’m tempted to exchange the truth He’s revealed for the comfortable lies. In publishing this, though, I’m publicly saying that I refuse to do so.

Instead, I’ll look back on the times that God’s timing seemed so wrong, even cruel, but the miracle that followed was so much more glorious than what man could imagine.

When God granted Abraham the long-awaited Isaac, and twelve years went into nurturing him all for God to command his death, I can imagine Abraham’s torment. But God brought a ram at the last moment, and now, as believers, we can see the prophetic picture of Christ killed and raised for us.

And Lazarus, Jesus knew he was sick, knew he would die, yet He stayed away. Why? Again, to tell a more glorious story by raising him from the dead. Before the miracle, Jesus told His disciples, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.”

And the most glorious story of all seemingly descended into a cruel joke before the full story was told. In Luke 24, we hear the account of two believers rehashing Jesus’ recent crucifixion, perplexed and despairing as they interpreted it through the lens of their own understanding:

“ As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him. He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”“What things?” he asked.“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place.” (Luke 24:15-21)

In their eyes, all hope was lost. They had been wrong about Jesus, wrong in believing that he was the one who would redeem them. What they couldn’t see was that the resurrected Christ was standing right in their midst.

So looking back at how He’s worked in the past, I choose to trust that in my little story, God is working for His glory in the greater story, one that speaks through the millennia of a goodness that shatters human understanding.

Sometimes God works the most beautifully by making the timing seem impossible. We feel teased, when in reality, he is preparing something breathtaking.

We feel hopeless, when he is actually building us up into women and men defined by a tenacious faith that is not rocked by circumstances or the caprices of our emotions.

I’m tempted to be faithless right now, but as I publish His goodness in the past, I know it’s time to step up to a higher plane of belief.  To rest in the mystery, in the lack of logic and in the uncomforted heart, and to trust that he is indeed working. To proclaim that however the story unfolds, The Lord will indeed give what is good, and our land will yield its harvest. Righteousness goes before him and prepares the way for his steps” (Ps. 85: 12-13).

References

Larson, Susie. (2018). Fully Alive. Bethany House Publishers: Bloomington, MN.

All Scriptures are taken from the New International Version.

 

Waiting, Meaning, Kingdom

“I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

Scorched to the root

My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.”-Sylvia Plath, “Elm”

It haunts acutely when she travels alone. A girl, eyes fixated out and beyond, knifed by meaning and meaninglessness. The rhythmic lull of a Soviet era train hums her to thought as she looks through the window-frame to emptiness and beauty. Snowy fields tinted in orange and pink by the sunset, forest that stretches out in monotony, sights gulped by a wait-er, suffering the contraction of time and eternity. A guttural whisper is the only expression of this bursting, bursting, bursting.  2014-02-05 17.03.05

There is more, there is more, there is more.

There is more, you know. It is your life to breathe the truth that there is more. There is meaning in the orange and pink tinted fields, in the rhythmic lull of the train, in the expanse that knifes you. There is more, so why, then, the tears? Why then, the grasping at a mirage of the flawed finite when the infinite is what is more…you know that it is your life to breathe the infinite and make Him known. Yet in the Russian train, in the long car rides, in long walks crunching through fallen leaves, you curse the waiting.

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You curse the waiting because all of this meaning is meaningless without that unknown someone you’ve dreamed of, storied, objectified and distorted into something like a god. Because the waiting is a curse, and unfair, and you are wilting and frantic. Because you have done all the things right and all the right things, all the years added up should be enough, and so your eyes rove in the waiting, pitying the self because she is not adored by someone whom she would make her god.

It is in the now, the waiting, that your life must be stale. It is in the now, in the waiting He is cursing you with, that you wonder why it haunts more and more in the mundane. The thing is, you thought there was a time limit, because the waiting is worthless, and you have an expiration date. And Plath again gives you words: “I am inhabited by a cry.   Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love. I am terrified by this dark thing/That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.” The girl is greedy, and if she continues, she will suck the life out of another or spill her blood on the altar of self, spinning the story to sustain herself while she waits, unfaithfully.

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But somehow, she is shaken from the ravenousness by simple truth. The truth comes in the soft, yet sudden way that it came to Alyosha, the novice shaken out of his idealization through a suffering that led to hopeful reality: “Some sort of idea, as it were, was coming to reign in his mind- now for the whole of his life and unto ages of ages. He fell to the earth a weak youth and rose up a fighter, steadfast for the rest of his life, and he knew it and felt it suddenly, in the moment of his ecstasy. Never, never in all his life would Alyosha forget that moment. ‘Someone visited my soul in that hour,’ he would say afterwards, with firm belief in his words…Three days later he left the monastery, which was also in accordance with the words of his late elder, who had bidden him to ‘sojourn the world.’” -Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov.

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The monastery was, for Alyosha, a comfortable place, a place of safety, a place to view the world the way it had always made sense to view it. And through trial and disillusionment, when the mystical didn’t translate into everyday life, when Zosima was un-deified by the stench of death and humanity, only then could he truly understand the meaning of hope. And only then could he leave the place of comfortable ignorance filled with fantasies and embark on his true mission, which lay outside the monastery walls. The monastery was filled with truth, but its stagnancy also reinforced the lies that blinded Alyosha. The truth for the waiting girl: The waiting isn’t worthless. The waiting has meaning. The waiting points to the greater story, the greatest story.

Ann Voskamp’s words bathe the mind that has become soiled with cynicism: “Every tulip only blossoms after cold months of winter wait. Every human ever unfurled into existence through nine long months of the womb waiting. And the only kingdom that will last for eternity still waits, this millennia-long, unwavering-hope for return of its King. Instead of chafing, we accept that waiting is a strand in the DNA of the Body of Christ. That this waiting on God is the very real work of the people of God.”

Every act of waiting can point to the most important waiting we will ever do, waiting for Christ’s return. And if marriage is a picture of Christ and the church, then the waiting for the fulfillment of good desires is a picture of our hope and expectation for the King to return and restore and herald in a joyful eternity. When I long, my natural inclination is to find a quick fix to douse the ache. To write my own story, to live in my imagination while cursing the reality that I’m living. What if I leaned into the longing and looked to Christ in hope, remembering that the hunger is indicative of the eternity I am waiting for? The longing can’t be filled by a person; it is a hunger pang for Christ that can only be fulfilled in him. This longing will not be fulfilled completely in this life. So may these pangs direct the waiting girl to the hope of the Truth. To be unsatisfied, to wait, to long, is not a curse, but a blessing, because in her little story, the girl can let her longings point to the greater story He has swept her into. A story that may be filled with suffering, but ends in joy. A story that on the hard days, doubt may tarnish, but ends, indisputably, in confident faith.

Hebrews 11:13. All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.