I had a predictable posture when seasons of waiting lingered longer than I had planned. If I am not careful, I can still catch myself assuming it.
At sunrise I would sit with my Lord Jesus surrendering my longing heart, consenting that it be his will, not mine, done. By moonrise, if it was not my will delivered, in a fit of frustration I would assume one of two things: I was either forgotten or simply forsaken. Sleepless, I would watch the moon track across the night sky and wonder why it is that my Lord Jesus would snap shut the treasure trove of blessings I clearly had earned. There were times I would go as far as to ask if this is all just a cruel joke, or I would plead that he dull the desires of my heart. Before too long, I would find myself downcast and downtrodden, my surrender replaced with finding an escape route. Rather than listening for his voice in the silence of the night, I would reach for the remote.
I wince at writing the words because I know it is not a cruel joke. Seasons of waiting hone the desires of the heart. Unfortunately waiting -- for the faint of heart -- can lead to wandering, and wandering often creates pain and the likelihood of getting lost. My wandering led me to rushed relationships, accepting the wrong job purely because I needed money, having or not having crucial conversations; all choices made, not out of defiance, but to self soothe the ache in my heart.
Sadly, I had it all wrong. Grabbing the remote because darkness has settled in only floods the room with artificial light: the very light that dulls our ability to see the stars that speckle the midnight sky.
It dawned on me, just recently, that somewhere between the sunrises and moonrises of my seasons of waiting and the posture I so easily assumed, it was not my Lord Jesus who was denying the blessing, but myself. When I snatch back the surrender, it is I who slam shut the treasure trove offered to my own heart. When I forge ahead, unsure or unsettled, in a knowingness that anything must be better that what I am feeling, I deny my Lord Jesus the space where silence, stillness, and solitude grow me and open my eyes to see the blessings that are making a way to the desires of my heart.
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This is part of the series called “The Human Being Fully Alive” found here.
