I woke up early again this morning, my sleep fleeting and evasive. It’s still dark, peaceful and quiet outside, contrasting with the turmoil in my soul. The floor is cold on my bare feet as I slip quietly down the stairs, into the kitchen. The gurgling of the coffee pot sounds louder than it should and any light, no matter how faint, is too bright.
I flip open my bible to 1st Samuel and meet Hannah. We have a lot in common these days. We’re both deeply distressed and troubled in spirit. We feel taunted and provoked and misunderstood.
And we both feel abandoned by God.
I think I know why Hannah is so grieved. Hannah was made to be a mom. Designed by God to bear children; specifically equipped to raise and nurture them. She was created for a purpose, but unable to fulfill it, for her womb was closed. The Lord had closed it.
Let that sink in for a minute… To be created for a purpose and unable to fulfill it. And God himself was preventing it.
“And so it went on year by year.”
Have you ever felt like that? That surely, God has made you for some purpose, that life must have some meaning, that you matter in some unique way, but can’t seem to figure out what that is. I have.
And time goes by. Lots of it. Routine sets in. And then inertia. Yet it never feels quite right. After a while, square pegs in round holes are like splinters. They don’t let you forget about them.
The words hang there in the early morning twilight, drifting like smoke from a snuffed out candle. “I am a woman troubled in spirit.” I want to live out my purpose, but it’s just not happening.
It’s so easy to talk in generalities. Sure we all have purpose in a sense. Know God. Glorify him. Walk in righteousness. Be a witness. That list can go on for a while and it’s all true. Just like it was true for Hannah.
But she still didn’t have any children.
We live very personal and specific lives inside this world of generalities.
I’m thinking of Joseph now. His meandering life journey traversed mountain peaks of success and deeper valleys of distress, with only the vaguest of visions of his calling. I wonder how much he thought about those dreams when he sat there, forgotten in the prison.
“And so it went on year by year.”
And I think of David. Told as a young man that he would be the king of Israel, yet spending years running for his life from Saul who was literally trying to kill him. I love David’s honesty. How did he feel about that? It’s right there for us in the Psalms. Poetic, but not always pretty.
In hindsight the journeys make sense. 2,000 years later. But to them the paths looked a lot like mine. Dark days. Long nights. Tears. Questions. Barely discernable.
Maybe I know intellectually the promises of God to his children, promises like “I will never leave you or forsake you,” or “all things work together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purposes,” or “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be added unto you.”
But knowing in my mind that God can do what he says is different from believing in my heart that God will do what he says… when it’s personal. There’s a fallacy here, but seldom does the heart think logically.
And this morning I find myself crying out to God, echoing the anguish of Hannah, pouring out my heart, struggling to believe and asking, no, begging him to be faithful to his promises. I think Bethany Dillon captures this cry in her hauntingly beautiful song, “To Those Who Wait.”
“You say you’re good to those who wait.” In other words, “God, will you really do what you say?”
When was the last time you got this honest with God? I mean really honest. Leaving all pretense at the altar, abandoning mental rationales and justifications and humbly recognizing that God doesn’t owe me anything; that any attempts to buy his favor (“if you’ll just do this for me then I’ll [fill in the blank]”) are bargains I can’t deliver on.
When was the last time you cried out to God, “I believe, help me in my unbelief!” I’m really asking myself. When was the last time I was in this place of vulnerability before God.
And yet, this is a place of fearful courage. And it is the only place that really matters. Here God is put to the test, not because he has something to prove to us, but because we have no other options and all we can do is lay hold to the promises of the God who is there, but who we can’t see.
Hannah met God in this place, and she was never the same again.
“The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
He brings low and he exalts.
He raised up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.
For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s
and on them he has set the world.”