The Burden Of Waiting

I never want to diminish the burden of someone's waiting season.

Waiting can be painful.

We wait for our deepest longings, and we grow weary. We hold the tension between knowing God put that desire for a marriage, a baby, a ministry, a move in our hearts and knowing it isn't guaranteed. We feel the burden of a calling yet unfulfilled--that maybe even feels impossible to fulfill as the waiting drags on.

We wait for provision over our needs--a job, a home, a visa--and experience all the stress and struggle of their lack. Knowing we can't get them for ourselves and yet God hasn't moved to give them yet. Knowing the promise of Matthew 6--"But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you"--and yet we don't see God's provision when it feels we most need it. Maybe we even feel God is indifferent to our needs.

We feel the press of our longing in our heart, but we also feel the very real consequences that can come with the waiting. Sometimes we want out of the waiting because we're impatient, but often the waiting carries our deepest pain and sorrows.

The child that may never find salvation.

The womb that may never support human life.

The home that may be pulled away.

The healing or reconciliation that may never come.

The brokenness that may never find restoration.

I believe God has His best for us in the waiting, but the process often feels like our worst.

Our waiting is tied to our patience, to our suffering, to our reliance, to our hope; waiting dregs it all up. It removes hurry from our hearts, but before we get there, it increases our urgency. It leads us to blessing, but along the way we often find ourselves in our most painful moments, which can feel unending. It leads us to the cross, to a life dependent on Jesus, but it requires us to relinquish control and to surrender our hearts, which is one of the most unnatural things our flesh can do. It causes us to doubt our ability to hope and the reality of hope itself, but in doing so it strips us of misplaced hope and leads us into living hope.

Waiting is often painful, but it's always uncomfortable.

We mourn in the waiting. We rage in the waiting. We fear in the waiting. We doubt, we despair, we lament, and we grow ever wearier in the waiting.

But that's not the end of our story. That's the beginning. That's what God is leading us into. And it doesn't make the pain any less real, but it gives us a place to hold onto.

I never want to circumvent the real grief and hopelessness and burden that come with waiting, but when I think about waiting, this seems to be our only story. Nobody likes the waiting. The waiting challenges us. The waiting hurts us. And when our story stops there, when we never embrace the waiting, that's all it does. There's plenty of blogs and books out there telling us how to endure waiting seasons, and maybe they even give us hope that it'll be worthwhile in the end (I honor those blogs; they are necessary and good), but God has more than an ending for us.

I want people to know more than the pain of waiting. These bloggers remind us time after time that they've never met anyone who likes to wait, but a part of me wants to raise my  hand and yell, "Me!" No, I don't like the waiting, but at the same time I bask in the waiting season I'm in; it has truly been God's sweetness to me. My heart is to help others discover its joy. Its intimacy. Its goodness. Its ability to grow us and deepen our trust--in ways that are sometimes painful, yes, but also in ways that are full of peace and rest and beauty. The waiting grows us through ways that hurt but also through ways that delight. 

The waiting will always be a burden, but its the type of burden that matters.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." 

    ~Matthew 11:28-30  

In the waiting come to Him. In the pain come to Him. Let the lament of your soul draw you into His throne. Let the hurry of your spirit find rest at His feet. Release the yoke of striving and the burden of responsibility and control. 

Waiting teaches us to release the need to move in our own strength--in an ability that we lack to create a future we desperately long for. That's why waiting has been one of the most freeing seasons of my life. God has shown me that neither the waiting nor the promise rest in my hands or my ability; He is my safe harbor for them, my sustainer through them, and my only provision in them.

The truth of waiting is not that it carries no burden but that the burden becomes God's to carry. Our needs and desires do not become lesser in the waiting, but they become easier to hold because as we release them to Him, He holds them. Instead of being chained to our desires, we are yoked to Him. To His freedom, to His grace, to His care. 

What I've found for myself is that God doesn't feel distant in the waiting. For me that's when He's come near. Because He is near to the brokenhearted, and often our deepest waiting starts with a broken heart.

He is our comfort, but He's also our joy. And waiting isn't only about being comforted but about thriving, about growing, about being strengthened and prepared to hold the promise. Waiting is about God's good now as much as it's about His good for the future.

Waiting is not simplistic; however, and I do not pretend that it is all created equal. All waiting seasons have ebbs and flows, victories and losses. I do not deny that. God never asks us to dismiss the sorrow to take hold of the joy; God can give us rest when we're grieving as well as when we're rejoicing. When we see the gift, the restoration, the goodness before us and thank God for His good timing in making us wait, and when the waiting seems to steal our every hope and opportunity for us ever getting the answer to our prayers.

Waiting for a desire is not the same as waiting for a need, and that is not the same as waiting for restoration. I wait differently for marriage than I do for freedom from generational sin, but neither carry the burden of presence that some forms of waiting have. The burden of chronic pain that will not cease or mental illness that encroaches on your every thought and makes even the ordinary moments of life painful or relational disunity that fills your every day with constant brokenness. The mere thought of that makes my soul cry out. Though I've struggled with brokenness, that hasn't been the kind of season in which God has unearthed my passion for waiting and trained me in it. I don't know if the joyous, happy sweetness I've found in my waiting season can be found there, but I know my God can be. And I know He changes the waiting. I know He changes us in the waiting. I know He wants to trade our burdens for His glory by taking them upon Himself. I know He offers us His rest. He is moving in the waiting.