Very honestly I will tell you that every time I’m able to hear God’s presence. Focus. Feel… I feel a hope too pure for me to comprehend. A hope that kind of scares me: what if it’s not real? A reassurance that goodness beyond my wildest dreams is part of this journey somewhere. God keeps telling me “wait”.
Not like a “slow-down, silly, you’re going too fast” sort of wait, but a “please don’t give up yet” sort of wait. Wait, goodness is coming, and some of it has already come (but there’s a whole lot more on the way!)
It saddens me that it’s so easy for me to lose sight of that hope. In fact, it’s so easy, one might call it my nature.
And every time God calls me back with this immaculate (but not quite completely believed) hope, and comforting words, I’m reminded to just let God do God’s work! When all I can imagine is hopelessness, then I’m not allowing room for God’s healing. And I so desperately want and need God’s healing. Physical healing. Emotional healing. Relational healing. All of it. All of it. All of it.
First God told me to wait.
Then God got excited when I proclaimed that I would fight.
Then God didn’t get angry when I broke down and wasn’t able to fight.
Then God gave me an army, and that made me think that God was indeed setting me up for success. Why give somebody an army just to crush and flatten them?
Then somebody said “let God room to move” and even though I don’t know if God actually said that to me, I kinda liked it. (so I wrote it down)
“Goodness beyond your wildest dreams, Rachel. Rachel… Rachel” My name is sweet verbal syrup somersaulting out of God’s mouth, tumbling through the universe, proclaimed above the heavens as the one that God loves. The one whose sorrow God wants to share. The one who God wants to restore. The one who God wants to love.
And most of the time I don’t even notice. Most of the time I can only plead.
God, please just fix me.