There is a time between the trial and the testimony.
It is a time of waiting.
The tornado has struck, the debris has been swept away, but you are still waiting.
You faced the crisis like a champ: faith never faltering, prayers never ceasing, fasting regularly
And you waited expectantly.
As you waited, you interceded – not just for your situation, but for others’ too.
You didn’t always feel what you believed, but you rode your friends’ coattails of faith, and checked everyday for the breakthrough.
You had doubts and you cried out to God to do something, still believing, still waiting on the miracle.
And you watched.
You watched, happily, as all the friends you’d been praying for got their blessing, or their deliverance, one after the other,
After the other,
After the other.
And yet, your deliverance had not yet come.
It felt like celebrating your older friends’ graduations – knowing you were still behind.
And you asked, “How long, Lord?”
Weeks, months, years go by – still, nothing.
Despite the delay, you still pray and fast and praise,
Though with solemn reverence, now,
As you realize your utter helplessness, in asking God for something
only He can do.
In His way.
In His time.
You remember the stories of old, and know God will come through –
But at what cost?
You are embarrassed to say you are embarrassed.
You did your best, did more than all the others around you,
And it failed.
When people hear your situation, you want to defend yourself –
Tell them all you did, all you sacrificed, all you tried
To no avail.
You swallowed your jealousy as you saw others who did far less than you
and have far less faith, get praised and receive the blessing you so coveted.
At your lowest, you have no words for your prayers.
You have learned the meaning of the phrase “deep sorrow.”
In desperation, you reminded God of all He promised –
Told Him He was the only one you trusted to make this right,
And threateningly begged for Him not to let you down
As you laid your baby in the basket in the river,
Placed your Isaac upon the altar of surrender
Not knowing, this time, what the answer would be.
You realized you might be like the Hall of Faith-ers,
Trembling when you realized you might not see the promise fulfilled before you go.
You wail and cry and beg and plead
When you hear a whisper to your heart,
“Wait, child.
I’m steadily working on it.
And I know what I am doing.”
This time of waiting between the trial and testimony
Is the time of testing.
Where lessons are learned and hearts revealed,
When efforts seem futile and heaven is silent,
Yet faith becomes solid, despite the lag,
Where Creator and created are each reminded of their rightful places
And sit, together, in the storm.
Where peace is present, despite the conflict
because of the mustard seed that says,
“My future is assured because of the One in whom I place my trust.”



