WAITING FOR YET

When I was a kid, we’d visit my grandparent’s once a month. I always looked forward to it. Grandma knew the best card games and made the best fudge. She also made sure her candy drawer was stocked when the grandkids came over. Those Brach’s Butterscotch ones with the yellow wrapper were my favorite. 

And she gave us coffee. From her electric percolator she’d pour about an ounce of fresh brewed coffee into delicately decorated china teacups and then fill them to the top with milk. We got to add the sugar. (Oh, the liberty!) While my little brother gripped the dainty cup with both hands, my sister and I practiced holding out our pinky finger as we sipped coffee with Grandma. I felt so mature. 

We always took the freeway there. The freeway meant it was far. I’d sometimes doze off until wafts of strong citrus from the orange groves announced we were getting closer. But to a kid, a mile felt like ten, so if it weren’t my brother, or my sister, I’d certainly speak up. “Are we there yet?” 

“No, not yet,” my mom would say.

Next question: “How much longer?” 

“Fifteen more minutes,” she’d answer, with a tone that carried a silent 'Don't ask again because you've done this before' tagged to it.

One of us kids in the back seat would let out an impatient sigh. Gotta love that bold rebellion.

I could taste the pale brown sugar milk waiting for me so I’d try to will my mom to drive faster in my mind. It didn’t work. 

But like every time, it wouldn’t be long before Mom would say “We’re here,” and we’d scramble up the stairs to greet our grandparents with a hug, then bee-line to the candy. Yet had gloriously transformed to now, and all was well.

Waiting for yet isn’t just a kid thing. I do it now. And as a Christian, I probably do it more than ever. It happens a lot when we talk about those mind-consuming prayer requests that go unanswered month after month, year after year. 

“Ah, trust the Lord,” we tell each other. “He’s always working . . . you just can’t see it yet.” [It] being the thing we so pathologically pray for. 

I’ve heard this persuasive vote of confidence so many times that I’ve adapted it myself. It sounds so good, so promising. It puts God in a generous and responsible light, and wards off our impatience. It’s that unassuming little three-letter word at the end of the phrase that keeps us praying, trusting, hopeful. Yet. 

Definitely, God is always working. I believe this with all my heart. He is incredibly dynamic, always active, always blessing, always moving. So the times I feel like my pleading for Him to change things is wearing me out, I’ve held on to the yet. 

But lately I’ve been pretty convicted. Waiting for what I’m begging God to do can become more important than God Himself who is often silent as He orchestrates it all perfectly. I realize I'm not as content in His plans and timing as I should be. Could it be I'm not content in Him?  

He owes me nothing. Just because I pray for something one time or a thousand doesn’t mean He’s obligated to let me see what He’s doing behind the scenes.  The word “yet” presumes an expectation on God’s performance. What if the thing I’m waiting to see isn’t to be seen this side of heaven? If at all. Yet, I hold on to the yet.

And how often have I attached a time frame to God’s big reveal of what I think is best?

“He’s working, Dana . . . you just don’t see it yet.” 

Oh how those words tempt me to hold out for that treat in God’s candy drawer. Like a sugar addicted, (pretend) coffee drinking child, I convince myself that because God loves me so much He'd never withhold a good thing from me.  

God is gracious. Beyond gracious. His grace stretches far beyond the cross. He is the giver of every good and perfect gift and He answers prayers. The thought of His awesome gift giving skills humbles me. God can do anything. Anytime. Anywhere. God has definitely blown my mind a time or two, or three . . . 

But, here’s the thing—He doesn’t have to. He owes me nothing. And when I get so focused on waiting for "my" it to arrive at yet, I miss the greatest answer—who is a Him and not an it—to my greatest need even though He is revealing Himself to me everyday. 

. . . . . . . . 

"The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." John 1:14

GIFT OR GRIND

We have this running joke in our house. It's about Lola. She's our 14-year-old Shih Tzu. Yeah, she’s like 98, but she can still kill us with those ASPCA “poster child” eyes every time we leave her.

     “Don't turn around . . . don't look back . . . don't be like Lot’s wife,” someone'll say.

We all kinda chuckle because we know the temptation to linger, to pacify Lola (and our guilt) just a little bit longer before we finally let the door close in her face. We feel bad for her, and for ourselves. Well, because . . . that face. That sweet, helpless little face. 

I do love our little girl, but I’m not a dog lover per se; not like my family. I can walk away. I have no problem not looking back. 

     “She’s a dog,” I say. “She’ll be fine. She has no concept of time, anyway.” They don't buy it.

Whether that’s true or not, my family thinks I’m a little cold for my indifference. I’m not too bothered.

But, I started thinking about my attitude toward this little creature. Convicted? A little, maybe. Like I said, I love her. She is the cutest thing, but she is the most high maintenance dog I’ve ever known. Special prescription food, special shampoo, special medications for her skin, for her eyes, for her ears. On and on it goes. And we all know special means expensive. She’s old—I get it. But this stuff has been going on for a decade. 

     “Its her breed,” they say.

Whoopee. Fine.

But what about her need to have ice cubes in her water? Or her canned food microwaved? Or smooth jazz streaming through the T.V. music channel while we’re gone? This dog may be adorable, but I think we have a problem here. 

Except one thing; I forbid Rick to buy one of those dog steps for next to our bed. Call me heartless, but that’s just weird.

I suppose its no wonder she gives us (not me—my family and especially my husband) those sad eyes when we leave her. She’s got it made. So she works it. Or rather, she works him. (Arrow pointing up to the words "my husband".) She sees he's a sucker for dogs and for the most part he tends to her every whim. It started out sweet. But he's created a monster; a fourteen pound, yellow feather wearing (I'm assuming because her name is Lola it automatically gets her the diva treatment from the groomer) monster who's entire identity revolves around him.  

Yet, I can relate. Though I know my identity is in Jesus Christ I have gotten caught up in the attention of others too. A lot of attention equals valuable. A little attention, not so much. And the rollercoaster begins. Without seeing it coming, I'm swooped into the cycle of measuring my worth by the level of attention and approval I receive.

Am I of any value to their circle of friends? Do they care about what I think? Have I been a good enough, fun enough, godly enough person to keep around?

This is when the beautiful gift and authentic enjoyment of relationships becomes a grind. How can I elevate my worth? Oh the drudgery of it all.

Even my relationship with the Lord. It's a gift. He is a gift. The true gift. The ultimate Gift-giver gives Himself. In love and mercy, God gave His Son for me and He chose me. Not because I was worthy of being chosen, but because I was chosen, I am made worthy. 

But from time to time I fall back into thinking my self worth is gaged by my performance with Him too.

Do I satisfy God to the standard He requires? Do I stay long enough with Him in my quiet time or am I too quick to leave? Is Jesus, like Lola, watching me with lonely and rejected eyes as I walk away? Does my occasional indifference toward the things that matter to God only prove I am cold and heartless?

The guilt. The shame. The condemnation. My natural reaction—make it up to the Lord. Cover up my lack. Perform. And then it starts to happen: the gift becomes a grind. But it’s not supposed to be that way. 

If the Lord were like Lola . . . or like me, I’d have to play Him a nice song to soothe His forlorn feelings. Heaven forbid. To pity God is foolish. And where I go really wrong is when I think my love and attention toward Him makes Him worthy. If that were true, my God would be small. And neurotic.

Thank God His worth isn’t based on humanity. And that’s exactly why I love Him so much. As incomplete as my love for Him is today, I am learning to rest in our glorious relationship because it is built on Jesus Christ alone. God-initiated, God-sustained and God-perfected. And worthy of all I am.

. . . . . .

Father, please forgive me for ever laying on others and myself the expectation to define Your worth. And forgive me for expecting other people to define mine. You alone are God. Amen.

 4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), 6 and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; 9 not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. 10 For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them. EPHESIANS 2:4-10