Waiting on God: a good thing, “a vibrant contemplative work”

Later I’d look back and recognize that I’d turned a corner with God and my husband that afternoon. 

But the fulfillment of that would take months. In the meantime, I was exhausted—drained, shattered, feeling my way through a fog. 

I could do nothing except carry out my duties like a robot, but—and this is the most important—at the same time, I was keenly aware that I was waiting on God. 

The Bible tells us, often, to wait on God. But what does it mean to wait on God? 

It’s not giving up. Neither is it being aloof. Waiting on God is not being in denial. It is not an escape. It’s not about keeping our distance from God. 

Waiting on God is not being passive, though it can involve a degree of passiveness. 

Sue Monk Kidd writes, “I had tended to view waiting as mere passivity. When I looked it up in my dictionary however, I found that the words passive and passion come from the same Latin root, pati, which means ‘to endure.’ Waiting is thus both passive and passionate. It’s a vibrant contemplative work.” (When the Heart Waits) 

Waiting on God is a deliberate undertaking, an alone time of seeking intimacy with God. Jesus did that at the Mount of Olives (Luke 22:39-44). He waited on God for forty days in the desert wilderness (Luke 4:1-13). Another time he sent his disciples away on a boat, disbursed the multitudes, and, alone, traveled a mountain to pray—all night (Luke 6:12). 

It’s a time to do what God asks of us: “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). 

It’s a time of saying, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:9). Waiting on God is talking less and listening more. It’s quieting our own voice and, instead, actively listening for and to Him. 

Oswald Chambers wrote of something of what that’s like, of the person who “meets God at every turn, hears Him in every sound, sleeps at His feet, and wakes to find Him there.” Chambers goes on to describe it as the person “developing his power of knowing God,”—such a vitally important pursuit. (Christian Disciplines) 

Waiting on the Lord implies an active back and forth with God: “Out of the depths I cry to you. . . . O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry” (Psalm 130:1-2). 

It’s characterized by hope. “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning. . . .” (Psalm 130:1-6) and “. . . put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption” (Psalm 130:7). 

Waiting on God is trusting Him—it’s a confident expectancy. “We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name” (Psalm 33:20-21). 

That means that waiting on God is an act of faith. 

Sue Monk Kidd writes of being in a “place of fertile emptiness” (When The HeartWaits). I like that: “Fertile emptiness.” Waiting on God can be rich with possibilities. It can be a creative time, a transformative time, a productive time leading to fruitfulness. 

But that takes time. And it can involve growing pains because it can require us to humble ourselves, question ourselves, and then reassess what we believe and expect and assume and hope for. It requires us to be content in an in-between time, in transition, not knowing how things will turn out. That means waiting on God can be tumultuous. It can be scary. 

But it can also be a sacred time, a time of the renewing of the mind (Romans 12:2), of being teachable, of softening the heart; a time of increased clarity—all of them can inspire hope, direction, and peace. 

Waiting on God can close one chapter in life and open a good, new one. 

I would later find out

that on that sizzling afternoon in Lomalinda,

standing—in my sweat-drenched clothes—

in that low, little house

that I was committed to making into our young family’s home,

listening to wind and crickets

and an occasional motorbike in the distance

and maybe a haunting whooshing cry

from a howler monkey,

God had already begun leading me to a good place,

a firm place on which to stand—

and on which to live and thrive.

He was already working to help me mature as a wife,

mother, and His daughter.

 

Not “ding-a-lings by nature, but by choice”

My most passionate goal in life was raising top-notch kids, creating for them a stable home filled with love for God, their family, and others.

And while that was a noble goal (and one I’d still choose if I had it to do over again), otherwise I just let life happen around me. I paid attention to things like fashion styles, home decorating styles, and newer model cars—and craved better fashions, home, and cars than I already had. Dave and I were just getting started in adult life and I just knew someday I’d wear better clothes, fix up the house, and drive a newer car.

What I didn’t fully grasp or appreciate then was that my husband, Dave, took deep looks into life and spiritual matters. He was an analyzer, a questioner, a free spirit. Dave thought big and dreamed big dreams, but I thought small and dreamed lesser dreams.

I lived a shallow life.

I wasn’t thinking about life’s real meaning.

Or life’s real purpose.

It never occurred to me that God

was offering me a life

better than what I’d planned.

He wanted to plop me into what would become

the three most vibrant, rich, 

adventuresome years of my life.

But I was blind to that. Instead, I was clinging to the conduct, patterns, practices, and expectations of this world as described in Romans 12:2. “Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking” (The Message).

Chuck Swindoll writes about people like me, those who “look but don’t really ‘see’ . . . they observe the surface but omit the underneath . . . they focus on images but not issues . . . vision is present but perception is absent.” (from Growing Strong in the Seasons of Life by Charles R. Swindoll)

He went on to say, “Those without insight dwell mainly in the realm of the obvious . . . the expected . . . the essentials. The dimensions that interest them are length and width, not depth.”

Chuck calls such people “blunt-brained.” Ouch.

He says people like that are not “ding-a-lings by nature, but by choice.” Ouch.

He wrote of people in Hebrews 5 who’d had lots of training in spiritual matters. They’d had opportunities to put those teachings into practice but, instead, they became “‘dull of hearing’—thick, lazy, sluggish, lacking insight.”

Chuck also described it as “unnecessary blindness.”

He was describing the twenty-something me—even though throughout my life, our family’s activities had centered around our church. I had enjoyed a very active youth group, Sunday School, and summer camps. I’d participated in Bible studies, women’s groups, and had multiple fellowship and ministry opportunities.

But I was lazy—I wasn’t thinking deeply about what I was hearing. I was not applying it to my everyday living, goal-making, or the dreams I had for myself and my family.

I’d have been content to live on the distracting, trifling surface, decade after decade, chasing the American Dream.

I wish I’d had access to Chuck’s wise words back in 1975 when Dave got the idea to move to South America. Perhaps then I wouldn’t have begged God not to make me go—or, at least, not beg Him as urgently as I did.

“Open your eyes!” Chuck Swindoll hollers.

“Think! Apply! Dig! Listen!”

Romans 12:2 goes on to say, “. . . let God transform you

into a new person by changing the way you think” (NLT).

That’s what I needed to do—let God change me

into a new, thinking person.

Have you recently evaluated how you are living?

Is there something you need to ponder?

Explore more deeply?

Do you sense God urging you to push beyond the trivial, superficial stuff?

If so, let Him transform you and the way you think.

Ask God to give you a holy discontent

with things that are not right in your life,

and a holy discontent with the ways of the world.

Ask Him to create in you a spiritual hunger and thirst

that nothing else can satisfy.

Grab hold of the abundant life He offers you.

I’m quite sure it will be

wonderful beyond what you can imagine right now.