The Why.

I sat in youth group today and almost started weeping with joy as something FINALLY clicked.  It’s like I was given another glimpse into God’s heart and blessed with the “why” to my 7 years of waiting.

Everywhere I turned this week, someone was talking about the pain of waiting on God.  Ironically, I was the first person, as I shared my life-verse (Philippians 1:6) and part of my testimony in church on Sunday.  It felt like I was coming full-circle as I stood and declared to my Zambia family that God is GOOD and He DOES keep His promises.  And then the Pastor shared his message for the day, which was about dealing with disappointment and how to stand strong while waiting for God to come through.  And then today I showed up for youth group, exhausted from a morning of swimming and wishing I could just take a nap, and it felt like God was whispering into my ear the whole time, “You see?  Do you get it now??”

Our deaconess, Lisa, actually forgot that she was facilitating the “open sharing” time today and hadn’t come with a topic to discuss.  She thought for a few minutes and then turned to Genesis and read the story of God’s promise to the childless Abraham.  I’m pretty I was the reason God made her turn to that story.

It seems like everyone in Zambia is waiting on something.  There are 18 year olds in grade 9 because they have to keep pausing their education as they wait on the funds to continue.  There are thousands of 20-somethings sitting at home, praying for a job to help them pay for college, but facing the catch-22 that most jobs require a college education.  There are godly women who are desperately trying not to give in to the cultural pressures of settling for the first man who offers to pay your dowry.  There are families who can’t remember the last time they ate meat or something truly substantial.  There are millions of people with AIDS, living in fear as they pray day after day for something to undo their death sentence.

And instead of asking me how I deal with the pain of waiting, Lisa asked us how we look into the eyes of a desperate mother who can’t feed her children and tell her that God SEES and He is COMING.

And this is when the floodgates burst open.

I sat there and thought of the beautiful people I greet every morning as I walk to school and I realized (again) how different our lives are.  I realized that I don’t know the pain of losing a mother or a father, or God forbid both.  I realized that I don’t know what it’s like to go to bed hungry.  I realized that I don’t know what it’s like to stay awake at night trying to figure out how to pay rent or school fees that are long overdue.  I realized that I don’t know what it’s like to sit anxiously in a doctor’s office, praying for a negative result.  But I DO know the pain of waiting.

I know all too well how Habakkuk felt when he cried, “How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?”  I know what it’s like to pray year after year for God to fulfill his promise to you, wondering if He’s forgotten or changed His mind.  I know why so many of David’s Psalms are filled with his tears and anger and pain, crying out for a God that He KNOWS is capable of ending his trouble, but for some reason won’t. 

And if things had gone MY way; if I had never experienced the anguish that comes in the waiting, I would NEVER be able to look any of these beautiful people in the eye and testify to God’s faithfulness.  It would just be another wall separating me from the people I’m trying to love. 

But now.

Now I can sit in youth group and hear my friends share their worries and fears and heartaches and confidently tell them that God sees.  I can assure them that my story is NOT one-of-a-kind; God does not simply love me more than anyone else on this planet.  Now I can read through the Bible with new eyes, seeing the countless stories of people who went through this same pain and ended up with a story declaring God’s goodness.  Now I can encourage everyone I meet with the truth that I WAITED on God and it was WORTH it.

To add even more chills to my chill-filled body, Pastor ended our meeting with a passage from Isaiah.  A passage that I’ve ONLY ever heard Dannah Gresh speak on.  Dannah, my beautiful “mother” who started this whole journey.

And this is what it says:

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.” 

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  SEE, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands!”

Oh, how He loves us.