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