|
Chapter fourteen
The Waiting Game
The room was dark and still, except for the glow from the flame in the gas stove beside me. It slightly illuminated the empty space where I was staring as I sat alone on the floor against the wall, deep in thought. I wanted to weigh my words carefully. . .I knew God was listening. I had not heard a peep from Him for so long. It wasn’t right and He needed to know it. I wanted Him to hear me out.
I don’t recall a tear being in my eye at the time. I was solemn and serious with a steady voice as I spoke into the air. “God. . .” I began, “I need You to know exactly what I’m thinking and why. I want You to know that I totally understand what makes a woman reach for a bottle of alcohol or a syringe of narcotics. I know why she would pop a pill to help her escape the reality of the moment. That’s exactly what I would be doing if not for one thing. . .YOU. Here’s Your problem with me,” I explained, “I KNOW TOO MUCH! I was there too many times when You moved Your hand for those around me. I watched as You opened too many doors and pulled too many people through impossible situations. It’s my turn now, I need You. You’ve chosen for some reason to silence Yourself and act unconcerned. But I know You too well.”
Heaviness continued to taint the atmosphere in the room. My words seemed to bounce off a thick wall of darkness that had consumed me like a bubble. I had no evidence that my prayer was getting higher than the ceiling. Yet I continued. . . “Here’s what I’m going to do.” I informed Him. “I’m going to make a conscious choice of my own carnal will. I’m going to choose to stand. I’ll give You what time You need. But make no mistake, when the sun rises in the morning. . .You’ll see that I was faithful. I’m waiting on You and Your time and Your will.”
Soon a tear spilt from the lower ridge of my eye, with many more to follow. I had spoke my heart. . .with no response. He had chosen for whatever reason to withdraw Himself from the scene. But I had a plan, that plan was to wait.
I had purposely secluded myself from friends and acquaintances. I retreated within the walls of my borrowed home, shutting myself in with God, who scarcely revealed Himself. For the most part it seemed to be a one-way street. I relied on memories from my childhood, those times I stood fascinated at the miraculous. I had paid close attention to the conversations Mom and Dad had when they had found themselves on the brink of disaster. Dad had so boldly stepped out in faith. Mom was cheering him on when they loaded up their lives and kids to answer a call. Then the magic of it all quickly disintegrated into the reality of “what to do now?” Watching the story unfold made a lasting impression on me. It carried me through as I walked out a story of my own.
Mother kept in close contact. Other than her, days passed without my speaking to another human being, except through an occasional phone call or a grocery store clerk. I noticed other mothers doing their shopping and felt an urge inside to reach out to them. I looked at them across the way and thought, “I wish you were my friend.”
I had lost communication with friends I had known. They would have to call me; I was not calling them. I had fears of being asked questions that I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to emerge from the darkness until I could do so with some kind of victory. I needed to have an ending to my own story and I just didn’t have it. God was busy doing other “God things,” but I was going to stand in line until it came my turn. . .
|
