Hope in the Waiting

So many people seem to be waiting.clock - Victorian

  • A good friend is waiting in ICU with her seriously ill husband
  • My son is waiting for complete healing and a blood clot to dissolve
  • Another friend’s son is waiting anxiously for a job opening
  • My nephew is waiting for the day his bride walks down the aisle – 46 days
  • I am waiting for the final author proof of my newest book

Waiting for answers. Waiting for circumstances to change. Waiting for life to move forward.

The word that comes to mind is “frenemy.” One of those complex thoughts where writers like me often dwell.

A frenemy is a person we invite into our inner circle as a friend, yet we may dislike many of their qualities. Frenemies seem to be on our side, then they turn on us.

Bringing the concept of waiting into personification makes it a frenemy.

In hindsight, we know waiting helps our faith grow. Yet enduring the days and weeks of tested patience seems to play on the negative side of this oxymoron.

Living in limbo, waiting for the outcome, for the answered prayer.

In the waiting, we are proven.

How do we stay in hope while the frenemy of waiting besieges us, steals time and forces us to dig deeper into endurance?

I only know what works for me:

  • Admit I am impatient.
  • Call the frenemy of waiting what it is.
  • Re-read my journals about past times of waiting: 10 years for a healthy child, 3 years to sell a house, another 10 years to complete and publish a book.
  • Remember God is timeless. He defines “soon” with eternal measurements.
  • Try to learn the lesson of patience—again.

And when I scrape the bottom of my endurance barrel, I repeat Psalm 43:5, “Hope in God for I will yet praise Him.”

I find hope as I live in the “yet.”

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re in a waiting period and scraping the bottom of your endurance barrel, consider a read-through of Hope Shines – nuggets of encouragement for weary souls.

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Hope Steps Beyond the Ordinary

How sad when our faith becomes glib—as ordinary as a slice of wheat toast.

Then something happens that jerks us back into life and reminds us how much we need each other.

weeping woman sculptureSometimes when people ask for prayer on social media, I scroll quickly through the problem. Busy with my own challenges. Figuring others will step up and say a quickie prayer.

But when it’s me and more importantly—when it’s my son standin’ in the need of prayer, I am quick to plead for help.

And so grateful for those who respond.

Our latest challenge has jerked me back to reality and to the importance of stepping out of the ordinary request into the place of true caring.

With my son hooked up to hospital tubes and filled with pain-killing drugs, I cried out for prayers. Loving those who responded, for those who kept asking, “How’s Caleb?”

Reminders that others cared. Saints who pounded the doors of heaven on behalf of my boy.

And for those who also prayed for me, when I didn’t even ask. Mothers who knew I suffered with my son, failed to sleep, cried when I saw him in that sterile bed.

Folks who turned their prayers into action and brought us food. Took the time to visit. Hands-on prayers. Love in action.

My faith challenged and convicted to no longer scroll quickly through social media prayer requests. To remember on the other end of that post is a suffering person, a crying Mama, a struggling child.

My gratitude to those who prayed for us. Please continue. Healing is a process.

Hope underscores the need for honest petitions in the heavenlies and for warriors who embrace the battle.

We need each other. Our prayers matter.

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re struggling to find hope within your own challenges, check out Hope Shines – nuggets of encouragement for weary souls.

Hope Detours

detour aheadWhile my son was in surgery, I planned to write several blog posts, work on a newspaper column, maybe read a bit. My bag was filled with pens, paper, books.

Any activity to forget my precious son was lying on a sterile table in a brightly-lit operating room.

But the waiting room was so loud my introvert wrath fueled its frustration. Other occupants in this Family Waiting Area played with their children, worked on crochet projects, laughed and snacked on Starbucks pastries.

Didn’t these people understand I was trying to concentrate on my work? Didn’t they know I was trying to avoid thinking about my son’s body being sliced with a scalpel?

Of course not, I reminded myself. They, too, were trying to forget their loved ones lying on sterile tables behind steel doors.

I gave up on writing projects, certain my creativity left the moment I entered the hospital. Pulled out a book to read.

Read the first page twenty times. Gave up on reading. Watched the clock on the wall. One hour gone. He was supposed to be out of surgery already. Another half hour.

Why wasn’t he out of surgery? Wasn’t this the point when the doctor was supposed to come in and tell me everything would be okay?

The volunteer at the front desk came over and sat beside me. “You look worried.”

“It’s taking much longer than they said.”

She explained how they sometimes started later than anticipated. If something was amiss, they would call her desk and she would let me talk to them.

Then she changed the subject, described how far she drives every day to volunteer, how she loves helping people.

We watched “Fixer Upper” reruns on the waiting room TV. “I don’t like that style, do you?”

“Nah. Too contemporary for my taste.”

The importance of conversation. The comfort given in simple statements. The warmth of another human being. A stranger who becomes an instant friend.

Hope arrived and provided a detour from the present crisis.

Then the phone call. “He’s okay,” she said. “The doctor will be here soon.”

I don’t even know her name, but God does. Maybe he’ll give her an extra star in her crown.

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

When you’re facing a crisis, hope may hand you a detour. Check out Hope Shines for daily encouragement.

Hope in the Dark

It’s difficult to stay in hope while we’re standing in the darkness.flower in cement

Consider the faith of Mary Magdalene. Scripture tells us “While it was still dark, she went to the tomb” (John 20:1).

While it was still dark, her faith was strong enough to visit the grave of her Lord. She wanted to be with Jesus one more time, to hold his body in her arms and thank him for rescuing her from the demons.

I imagine she had not slept since the horror of standing near his cross and watching him die.

Because of her devotion, God granted her the desire of her heart—to see Jesus again.

But this time, he was gloriously alive.

He also gave her the privilege of telling the fearful brothers that she had seen him.

He spoke to her, called her by name.

While it was still dark.

When we’re in those dark places, it is so difficult to imagine life at the end of the tunnel. We see only our pain, the challenge of each day. We feel only the raw depth of our struggles.

Our faith tends to fester, encased in a crust of bitterness. “Why did this happen?” “When will it end?” are the questions we scream.

Yet the answer is “Who.”

At the end of the darkness stands the One who conquered it, the One who laughed in the face of death.

And he did it while it was still dark. He had already stepped out of that tomb before Mary came to look for him.

Maybe you’re living in the depths of a grief that doesn’t seem to ease. Like me, every day is a reminder of the emptiness in your soul, the place where that loved one used to live.

Maybe you’re struggling with illness. Like my son, every day is a reminder of the health you have lost.

Maybe you’re trudging through emotional pain, the reminders of what others did to you, those who did not care enough about your heart.

While you are in the darkness, Love steps out of the tomb. Life waits for you. The risen Jesus longs to embrace you.

Stay in hope, dear one.

The darkness will gradually fade, and you will breathe life again.

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

Hope Recycled – Part 2

The surprise arrived in a letter from the city. Appraisals jumped. In my case, from 117,000 to 135,000. Seriously?

I began to calculate the increase in taxes and insurance which equaled an increased monthly payment.

How fast can I write more books and sign more writing clients? Must I forfeit buying flowers this year?Layers of Hope

I sent in my appeal, in spite of no guarantee they’ll accept it. Should I try to sell this house? But then where do we live and how do we survive?

To delete the appraisal from my mind, I worked on old files. In the never-ending quest to clean out and de-clutter, I discovered a notebook filled with answered prayers.

During the post-divorce months as finances were so scary, my daily prayers began with, “Oh God oh God oh God! Don’t let us be homeless and don’t let my son be hungry.”

And every month, God showed up, often in amazing ways:

  • A sack of groceries on the porch – no clue to who brought them
  • Somebody’s change jar filled to the brim – a total of $64.36
  • Coupons and gift cards in the mail for groceries, pizza and Sonic BOGO night
  • Meals delivered – fresh food and generous helpings for leftovers
  • Friends paid for my dues so I could sing in the Lawrence Civic Choir. “Because you’re special to us,” they said. Did they realize how I hugged that statement to my heart?
  • Cards with sweet thoughts – cash tucked in the fold
  • Someone paying school fees for my son
  • An anonymous someone buying me an Amplified Bible

As I read through the pages of my notebook, I remembered the reason why I kept it. So I would never forget how God took care of us.

We never lacked housing. In fact, God provided through generous and kind hearts a beautiful townhome where we healed. My son was never hungry, and neither was I.

Tears of remembered gratitude rivered down my cheeks. God showed up back then, disguised as friends and family. Often anonymously. Always right on time.

And now I’m worried about an excessive appraisal?

Hope reminds me that God does not change. He has provided for us these 18 years. He will continue to take care of us.

Time to start another answered prayers notebook.

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re wondering how hope works on a daily basis, check out Hope Shines. Encouraging nuggets for weary souls.

Hope Recycled

He was only 21 when a massive seizure revealed a Stage 3 brain tumor. Surgery, chemo and radiation followed. Then every six months, another MRI to determine the location of a possible re-occurrence.hope - scrabble letters

Throughout the next five years, every six months…another visit to the oncologist. His surprised response every time , “I don’t understand it. This type of tumor always returns.”

“God is bigger than cancer,” I said.

My response to the doctor did not come from a strong faith or a determination to refuse the negative course. I was one scared Mama.

But even before they wheeled my precious son into the neurology wing at Saint Lukes, God had whispered to me a promise from Psalm 41:3.

“The Lord will sustain him on his sickbed and restore him on his bed of illness.”

Throughout the next months, hope revived as the cancer did NOT return, as friends and family helped with medical bills, as the Carnival for Caleb was organized, as people prayed.

And God was faithful to his promise. Now, eleven years later, my son wears the label, “Cancer Survivor.”

Sometimes when we have a lull between the horrors of life, we forget what God has done, what he continues to do each day as he regulates our heart beats and counts the hairs on our heads.

Isaiah 63 reminds us how the Israelites forgot. They tuned out God’s loving voice and lived in rebellion, forgetting the God who opened the Red Sea with his breath.

But God loves his kids, so he helped those rebellious Israelites again and again. A reminder that he was still their God, no matter what their attitudes and actions said.

Eleven years since cancer tried to steal away my son, then suddenly – a simple hernia procedure turned into a major complication.

Days in the hospital colored by red jello. Beeping machines. Multiple shifts of the health care team.

My precious son’s face wrinkled in pain.

Again – a scared Mama. But God’s grace reached down to remind me of that Psalm 41:3 promise. The same today as it was eleven yesterdays.

A presence in the sterile room. An angel standing guard near his bed.

Hope recycled into another practical reminder that God cares for his kids – for my kid.

And no matter what the outcome, even if we drown in our Red Seas, God’s breath is still powerful, still able to rescue, still the ultimate victory.

We soldier on. We still believe and we underscore the certainty of what the Almighty has done.

Hope recycles as we choose to not forget.

 

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

If you’re needing some hope during the crossing of your Red Sea, check out Hope Shines. Encouraging nuggets for each day.

Hope in Being

Wasn’t it a wonderful experience to watch the documentaries and funeral service of Billy Graham? What an amazing spiritual leader!

Several memes, posts and commentators spoke the words from Scripture, “Well done. Good and faithful servant.”

Although I agree with that sentiment, especially for Billy, I struggle with the root of what that subject means.heart and book string

“You’ve done well. You’ve worked hard in ministry and you’ve impacted others. You have completed your tasks.”

Again, all positive statements – until we get out of balance.

In the early years of my ministry life, I was big into the “doings” of service. My motivation came from a legalistic background. Work hard to keep God happy.

In the doing of my faith, I soon lost myself in the needs of others. While the work was good and the results bore fruit, a cry from my barren soul remained untended.

Although helping others was a daily goal, somewhere along the line I needed people to love me for WHO I was rather than for WHAT I could give them.

Years later as I learned more about setting boundaries and intimacy with God, my good works were motivated out of love for God. This passion morphed into a love for people and the desire to watch them grow in their maturity.

Still, I longed to hear “Well done,” believing somehow that God’s acceptance and the approval of people would somehow fill that empty and exhausted place within me.

Now that I have resigned from the ministry, the doing has become secondary to the being. My hope rests in the truth of respecting who God created me to be and realizing that’s okay.

I can still live from the principle of the two greatest commandments: love God and love others.

But now I embrace the truth that one of those “others” is me.

The ministerial tasks that once consumed my life are now deleted from task charts. I continue to help others, but through the more subjective tools of writing and coaching writers.

Because I have learned to let go of the works mentality, I believe the impact of what I do is greater. Now it comes authentically from the heart, not from the ethic of works.

No more “doing” for the sake of approval or acceptance. Lots more “being” and finding joy in the every day.

Waiting to hear “Well done” is not as important as it once was. And I have learned that saying “No” can be just as blessed as a half-hearted “Yes.”

When I get to heaven, I don’t care if crowns are presented to me or accolades for what I have done.

Instead, I just want an eternity-long hug from God and his voice in my ear, “I. Love. You.”

©2018 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved

During spring break, check out Hope Shines.” Nuggets of encouragement for weary souls.