In the Waiting

I’ve never thought about it that way before. I suppose it could be a bit of a stretch to make a connection between waiting on God and working at a restaurant, but it works. When you wait tables at a restaurant, you wait for people to make up their minds on the menu. You wait on the kitchen to prepare the food for you to take to the tables. You wait on the people to finish their meals before you present them with the check.

But it’s not a passive waiting. The whole time, you’re serving. You’re bringing baskets of bread and drink refills. You’re always available to take food back to the kitchen if it’s not cooked right or if it’s the wrong order. You’re never sitting still while you’re waiting.

I think the same applies for waiting on God. Typically, God has revealed something to you that you then need to apply. In Hebrew, hearing and obeying come from the same word. In other words, you can’t hear from God apart from doing what He said. Part of waiting is obedience.

I think part of waiting is also making yourself ready to be used the moment God calls for you. That means you don’t have distractions or detours to keep you from responding to God’s call. As I mentioned before, maturity is the distance between God’s call and your ability to obey. Waiting is where you narrow that gap.

May we learn to wait well. May we learn to worship in the waiting as loudly as after the waiting is over, to sing the same way in the hallway as when we get to where God opens the door to the fulfillment of His promises. Then the waiting will have been worth it.

Something That Spoke to Me

I read this yesterday and I’m still thinking about it. It’s what C. S. Lewis wrote after his wife died after battling cancer. What spoke to me so much wasn’t as much the grief (although I have known that all too well), but the part of not being able to hear God speak to you because you’re too frantic to listen. We’ve all at some point been stressed and overwhelmed to the point where we can’t hear what anybody else is saying to us, much less God.

Here’s what he said:

“Why has no one told me these things? How easily I might have misjudged another man in the same situation? I might have said, ‘He’s got over it. He’s forgotten his wife,’ when the truth was, ‘He remembers her better because he has partly got over it.’

Such was the fact. And I believe I can make sense out of it. You can’t see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears. You can’t, in most things, get what you want if you want it too desperately: anyway, you can’t get the best out of it. ‘Now! Let’s have a real good talk’ reduces everyone to silence. ‘I must get a good sleep tonight’ ushers in hours of wakefulness. Delicious drinks are wasted on a really ravenous thirst. Is it similarly the very intensity of the longing that draws the iron curtain, that makes us feel we are staring into a vacuum when we think about our dead? ‘Them as asks’ (at any rate ‘as asks too importunately’) don’t get. Perhaps can’t.

And so, perhaps, with God. I have gradually been coming to feel that the door is no longer shut and bolted. Was it my own frantic need that slammed it in my face? The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just the time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.”

That Undo Button

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I love the undo button on WordPress. It’s saved me more than once when I accidentally deleted a good portion of a blog I was in the process of writing. Quite frankly, it has saved me from cussin’ at my computer.

I wish I had an undo button for tonight. I had a burger and fries at McCreary’s Irish Pub. I was okay until those last ten or so fries.

Then I went over to Frothy Monkey, where I had an iced mocha. I was good until I started the walk back to my car. Then it hit me.

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I can’t remember ever feeling so full in my entire life. I was nearly praying that I would spontaneously combust. I actually felt nauseous. It was touch and go for a while. Thankfully, no cookies got tossed, no one called for Ralph on the porcelain phone, and nothing was spewed or projectile anything’d.

Right now, I feel like I won’t eat again until next Wednesday.

Do you ever have regrets like that?

Maybe it was a few drinks too many one night. Maybe it was getting carried away in passion and going too far with a date. Maybe it was a marriage that imploded. Or a career that got jettisoned.

It could be a conversation that you wish you could redo, words you wish you could take back, replays of yourself doing incredibly stupid stuff that is on an endless loop in your brain. Maybe you intended friendly conversation that got interpreted as creepy and involved a Starbucks manager warning you not to harass the employees so he wouldn’t have to get the cops involved. Yeah, that last part happened to a good friend of mine. Ahem.

Oh, if I offered you an actual undo button right now, you’d pay just about anything to get your hands on one.

Jesus said that if you confess your sin, He is faithful to forgive you and cleanse you. That means the sin is gone. No trace or reminder of it anywhere. It goes away from you as far as the east is from the west. That’s a long way.

You might still have consequences, but remember this. There is nothing in your life that Jesus can’t take and use it for good, no disastrous mess that He can’t turn into a beautiful masterpiece, and no mistake that He can’t turn into a powerful message of Hope.

I love the word justified. You could say it means just-if-I’d never sinned. God declares you innocent. Not guilty. God looks at you and sees none of those ugly stains and wounds. He sees the perfection of Jesus.

I’m thankful every single day for forgiveness and fresh starts with each new morning. I’m thankful that I don’t have to pay for all my mistakes and bad choices and regrettable behaviors.

I also know this. The next time, I’ll leave a few fries behind. And maybe skip that iced drink.