Disclaimer: If you haven’t already done so...you may want to read Part 1 (My Wait Problem) of this
blog series before you dive into reading Part 2.
It’ll probably make more sense.
Or you could just be a rebel and read this one first. I don’t care...suit yourself, you crazy nut
job.
Do you know what I think of when I think about waiting? Checkout lines...I think about checkout
lines.
A little fun fact about Alissa: I have a spiritual gift for
choosing the absolute slowest line in any given store. Seriously...every time. I’ve even tried to fool myself by picking the
line that I wasn’t going to initially pick...thinking that I could somehow psych
my line-picking-instinct out and end up in the faster line. Never works. I have the uncanny ability to get
in the line with underage checkers (for adult beverage purchases), slow
checkers, checkers-in-training, broken checkers, chatty checkers...or, the piece
de resistance...getting behind the lady with a binder full of coupons. Ohhhhh yeah. Talk about a prime opportunity to learn about waiting. Stand in line behind a binder full of coupons
as the “beep, beep, beep” slowly erodes your last remaining nerve. Then, invariably, the coupon lady glances at
me with a chagrined “sorry about this” look...and I just shrug as if to say,
“Not your fault, Coupon Lady...my line-picker is broken.”
Think about it. Our
days are marked by waiting. It’s
everywhere. From standing in a checkout
line to standing next to a gravesite...everything
around us is filled with the tension of delayed fulfillment. And if I’ve learned one thing from my own
broken-down story, it’s this: how we respond to this tension will define our
faith...whether we are aware of it or not.
I used to believe waiting was just a Divine test to see how
long I could hold my breath during a Mexican standoff. (I’ve actually employed the
“breath-holding” technique when standing behind coupon lady in the checkout
line. It’s not recommended). Seriously...I
thought waiting was just a big, ‘ol dramatic deadlock between me and my
longings. Whoever takes the first shot...loses.
And when my lungs started to burn and my trigger finger started to shake, I’d
call upon the promise found in Isaiah 40:31 “...they who wait for the Lord
shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall
run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” This sweet Scripture would always fill my
lungs with just enough oxygen to continue holding my breath.
For years, this belief system worked for me. Everyone knows I like a good challenge. Besides, the tension of waiting felt less
powerful when I was holding a loaded gun to the forehead of my deepest
desires. That way if I began to feel them trying to claw their way to the surface again...I had the option of
pulling the trigger.
But the fundamental problem with this belief system...is if
you hold your breath for too long, you’ll eventually pass out. And in a Mexican Standoff, if you pull the
trigger on your opponent, you’ll end up killing yourself too. For almost 20 years, I have been holding my breath for marriage. No, not just marriage...I have been holding my breath for love (Eros). Companionship. Someone to bear witness to my life. Someone to share the burden. Someone to hold my hand. This is not easy for me to admit. Everybody knows I’m 37 and single, so it should be a foregone conclusion that I want to get married, right? Sure. But I’m not talking about a “want.” I’m talking about a bone-deep, agonizing, life-altering longing that clings to me day and night. And I spend almost all of my daily allotment of emotional energy trying to convince the world (and myself) that this longing hasn’t ravaged my heart. It’s hard enough to wade through the constant tension of an unfulfilled longing...it’s exhausting having to pretend I’m not devastated about it.
I know this will scandalize all the feminists reading this,
but I truly believe women are designed to be help-mates. We’re not created to be alone. I believe we’re more than capable of living
independently from a “mate”...but, in doing so, it goes against our
purpose. And, as a single woman who has
learned how to live independently very well, I have never been able to shake
the feeling that my “best” day of being a single woman can’t even compare to
bad day of being a help-mate in a committed marriage. I know all the exhausted, disillusioned married
folks may disagree with me. I’ve seen
how some of you long for my single lifestyle. It probably looks like a
vacation. But perpetual vacation is a
mirage. Being single is really, really
hard work. And it feels like work that
has been inflicted on me...rather than something I have chosen for myself.
So, how does a woman survive a life where her very purpose
is denied her? Where the tension of
waiting is so ingrained that she has weaved it into the very fabric of her
belief system? How does a woman hold her
breath for over 20 years without causing extensive damage? Short answer? She doesn't. Keep reading...
Our story is a series of life-altering events. Some of these events are huge and obnoxious. They
manifest as death, illness, divorce or EF5 tornadoes. Others are like pebbles in our
shoes...constant irritants that still have the power to alter our walk of
faith. Either way, our hearts are
ravaged. But life doesn’t stop. Bills still need to be paid. People still need us to function. So, inevitably, we begin to rebuild our defenses
brick-by-brick...belief-by-belief...decision-by-decision...until we figure out
how to live with the tension of surviving down here.
I think my diminishing faith in the God of the Universe is a
result of years of faulty brick-laying.
At some point in my life, I decided to believe that if I stood in the
street long enough...and called upon God often enough (when my longings dared
to move or my lungs started to burn) then, eventually, He would reward my
“waiting” by giving me the desires of my heart.
Brick-by-brick, decision-by-decision my faith eroded and my anger grew.
You see, I had a deadline on this whole waiting thing. A girl can only be a badass for so long. Eventually my arms got tired. I started feeling entitled to the desires of
my heart. And when that happened...I began
living like a victim of my circumstances.
I even use words like “inflicted” to describe my singleness. But even worse? When I live my whole life
trying to be a badass, I impose the same standards on everybody else. So, when they fail to win the standoff in
their own lives...I use it as self-righteous fuel to keep pointing my gun at my
own longings. The result is that I
become like the priest Asaph in Psalms 73, “when my soul was embittered, when I
was pricked in the heart, I was brutish and ignorant; I was like a beast toward
you.” And, come to find out, brutish and
ignorant beasts don’t deal well with the tension of waiting.
In the last few months, as my ambivalence has forced me to
take a long-hard look at myself, the Spirit has taught me that waiting isn’t a
Mexican standoff...it’s a bloody, dangerous shootout. And as it
turns out...the enemy is NOT my longings.
Oh no, my longings are the good guys.
They're hungry and itchy, yes...but they're also a beacon of light...connecting me to the Lover of my Soul. The true enemy is the Father of Lies. And he has heavy artillery pointed right
at my heart. As I’ve deluded myself into
thinking I was a badass, a steady stream of flaming lies have been raining down
on me with deadly accuracy. And because
of those wounds, I lost my faith in the one thing that could save me...TRUTH.
See, here’s the thing.
We are all waiting for something.
Every single person reading this blog feels the tension of delayed fulfillment.
Sometimes that feels like an annoying
pebble in our shoes...sometimes it feels like our skin is melting off our
body. But the true heart-saving question
becomes...do we have enough faith to allow ourselves to just feel? Feel the tension of unfulfilled longing? Do we have enough faith to put down our bricks
and weapons and just...wait?
Our story is more than just a series of life-altering
events. Our story is a battlefield of
life-altering decisions. Over and over again.
Day in and day out. Moment by
moment. We decide who we’re going to believe.
Imagine this: you're standing perfectly still as the enemy charges straight at
you...gun raised...screaming how much he hates you. His eyes are wild. His hands are bloody. His only goal is to maim and destroy you. He’s coming closer and closer. Do you feel the tension? Is your trigger finger trembling? Are
you afraid? Good. Now imagine the God of the Universe draws
near and whispers in your ear, “Wait.”
(Exodus 14:14)
Decision time. Do you hold your breath? Do you draw your weapon? Do you pick up another brick? Or do you choose to wait...believing with every trembling nerve in your body that the God of the Universe has promised to intervene?
I have learned that waiting and faith are two sides of the same
coin. The more I feed my faith...the more the tension ebbs. And as I wait for the desire of my heart...to
be loved and chosen by a man (or to finally get in a fast-moving check out
line), I will be inundated with many opportunities to feel the tension of the bloody
battle for my heart. I can choose to be
a brutish and ignorant beast who has relinquished her shield of faith. Or I can choose to be a Princess Badass,
dressed in the full armor of God...holding perfectly still.
