Sitting up at 2.15 in the morning, all of life seeming not quite right, just feeling a little stuck, I wait, and He just doesn’t come. Not yet. I search His Word. I ponder. I wait. Patiently, it seems. And still God does not come.
It’s not the first time. I’ve got a long history of reaching out to God. I’m pretty good at it now. He normally comes. But times like these, with a sore body, a troubled mind that just won’t sleep, a heart trying its best to hope, and a finesse that evades conscious awareness, the test is to wait.
Concern for tiredness could consume me, but I need to trust that what sleep I lose I will gain somewhere, somehow. Or, that I’ll make it through somehow.
I know the Spirit of God and He knows me. He’s there as much as He is real, even if I cannot feel Him right now. He is more often than not palpably present. I’m thankful for that. I can sense a quiet resolve within me, which in and of itself is a great encouragement. Yet, still, I am not right. I don’t feel right. But that’s okay. God has shown me it’s okay to not feel right. That it’s good to feel weak.
I have learned that when God seems missing, He has gone missing for a reason. He requires of me a search, for I cannot live contentedly without Him. He is my peace, my solace, my comfort, my friend. From Him I came, and to Him I will go. He who has released me into this world has never let go of me, and soon enough I will return to Him.
But, in the meantime, He has given me a purpose in this world: to find Him, to journey with Him, to walk with Him and not ahead of Him.
So, I wait, and when I least expect Him, then He will come.
Usually, in the morning after I have slept.