image by Averie Woodard from Unsplash No food. No water. Surrounded by dry, dead sand as far as you could see, and maybe a withered shrub or too. With no sign of resources at hand, you only had the promises of God to sustain you. Exodus 15:22-16:36 --God allowed His people to endure thirst, hunger, and disappointment; to test them. They had already experienced His power to save at the Red Sea. Now they had to trust in His power to provide. In the interval before God answered them, how would they respond while they waited--patiently, with faith, or at the mercy of their fears, anxiety, the insistent voice of unbelief whispering to look at their situation, look at how bleak it all seems, how distant God is, how do we know He'll keep His word? As Moses reminded them, their complaints were far more significant than a one star review of him as a leader. Their complaints revealed a lack of faith in God's ability to provide for them, and doubt on the person of God--His goodness, His faithfulness, and His timing. There have been so many times in my life, but especially recently during this year with all that has happened in my own life as well as to the whole world's, where I have been faced with the unattractive duty of waiting in the wilderness for God. There is no prospect of food--water--on the immediate horizon. I am very much aware of how uncomfortable and restless I am right now, how much I don't want to remain in this situation another minute than I have to. The promises of God--His providence, His sovereignty--are very hard to hear over the growling of my stomach and the dryness of my throat. Where? When? Why not now? Why do You keep me waiting? I demand, chafing helplessly. God did this not out of a sadistic pleasure in seeing His people suffer. Far from it. Relief was at hand, though they didn't see it yet. But the purpose in letting them endure that interval of waiting, where they were tempted to doubt, was for a far greater goal than satisfying their physical hunger and thirst. Deuteronomy 8:2--"to humble and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not, and to realize that man shall not live by bread alone but by the word of God." (Wow. This could have been God's direct answer to me in my own dry spell of waiting.) In our intervals of waiting in the wilderness, when we are sharply, uncomfortably aware of our need and very anxious to have it met, our hearts are revealed with a clarity that would be hard to find in Elim, where--surrounded by 12 wells and 70 palm trees--the Israelites flourished in delicious comfort. When we are waiting in the wilderness, the genuineness of our faith is being tested. Can we glorify God in our trials? 1 Peter 1:6-7 In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honour, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ,
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image by Toa Heftiba from Unsplash A while back, I started an e-devotional series taken from the writings of Oswald Chambers on trust. I was searching for guidance on how to grow in trust, in the midst of much uncertainty. I longed so much to have faith in God's will for me, but it just seemed too abstract. I wanted concrete comfort. Concrete guidance on what action to take. I wanted something I could cling to when I was overwhelmed by anxiety. There were two questions in the reflection section that stuck with me and gave me my first probing glimpse at what really was the problem--something we need to understand before we can try to resolve it. What worries and anxieties do I indulge in that reveal my lack of peace? What societies and systems do we build to minimize our need for peace with God? The meaning of "indulge"--a word we use most commonly today to talk about eating desserts, or lax parents. Basically, to knowingly choose something we know is not good for us. I had never thought of anxieties as something I "indulged" in as I always associated that word with pleasant things. But what it made me realize was that I had a choice. Upon close examination I realized that it was true--before I reached the final stage of feeling overwhelmed, there was that moment in the beginning where I actively chose to pursue this train of thought. Sometimes obsessively. Sometimes unnecessarily. And these choices formed a pattern. There was a repeated, regular pattern of anxiety in my life that reflected an underlying problem, greater than the isolated problems in themselves. A lack of peace, making me feel that a.) every problem was of huge consequence, and b.) it was up to me to resolve them, the situation was in my hands for better or for worse. This was the real problem, the root problem. Without acknowledging this, simply thinking that you can break the pattern by willpower, by forcing yourself "not to think", is a naive solution as most of us might already know. As result--that brings us to the second question. We resort to trying all sorts of things to fix ourselves, to restore that sense of equilibrium. We jump into action, because there's a kind of blind, stupid comfort in being able to DO something, to feel like you're actively solving your problem. We "build societies and systems." We seek communities to surround us with support and affirmation, so we won't feel so hurt when others reject or criticize us. We work to make ourselves feel important, needed, loved, in families or groups of friends. Sometimes in damaging and unhealthy ways. We try to create an identity for ourselves affirmed by others, that we can fall back on regardless of what happens to us. Or we try to make sure the problem doesn't happen again. We improve ourselves. We find ways to work better, faster, to be less forgetful, to be more efficient, to be more attractive, or more compelling. We convince ourselves, like consumers buying into the ads they see on TV, that if only we get the latest vacuum cleaner or a cutting-edge smart fridge, our homes will stay clean and well-run. All we need is a better system, better skills. We try harder. These things, promising a shadow of compensation, are what we throw ourselves into, desperately wanting them to work. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they work the first time but don't the next. The key is that they're not the real answer. True freedom only comes with a broadening of perspective, understanding that a.) God's providence INCLUDES--in His mysterious will!--our problems; there are no accidents! and b.) we can turn to Him for guidance on what action to take, and trust that it will work out according to His plan, "for the good for His people." Learning to trust in God is impossible, as abstract fluff as it sounds, if we don't realize that trust in God first requires peace with God. Much of the times, we struggle to trust Him because we are not living in peace with Him. Whether this means that we need to repent and be saved as unbelievers, or whether this means we need to repent of our idols and lukewarmness/backsliding as Christians, peace with God means submitting our lives to Him. If we don't want to accept any other outcome than the one we want, if we refuse to believe that God is good, and continues to be good, even if He doesn't give us what we want--He "gives and takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord"--then we are still living in rebellion against Him. Maybe we've externally submitted our lives to Him. Call ourselves Christians. Go dutifully to church every Sunday and maybe even try to talk about the Gospel sometimes. But we shy away from accepting that the Bible calls us to make hard choices, and that God demands every area of our lives and hearts. Our lusts. Our free time. The times no one sees us, or we don't have to face any consequences. It's only now and then. Such a small thing, He won't mind. We cannot keep a little pet sin or two under the carpet while proclaiming that God is the ruler of our life. Or perhaps we're not at peace with Him because we're not willing to give Him control over everything--everything, but not our love life. Success. Career. Our heartbreak, or happiness. Our dreams (and this was the hardest one I'd been struggling with.) If we are guilty of one or both of these (as the case probably is) how can we truly trust? We are afraid that God will require what we don't want to let go of. We are fighting desperately for control. We are actually in rebellion, yet keeping it under wraps for now as we wait to see how it happens. We are already suspecting Him of not giving us what we want, already picturing Him as the Bad Guy, already unhappy to accept any other plan rather than our own. How could we trust? Trust comes naturally, sweetly, when we are at peace with God. When we are able to say earnestly that we love Him, and seek to love Him more than any other. When we can say humbly that we know His will is better than ours--no "maybes." |
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