A Little While

The worst sandstorm in eighty years. And an oddity this time of year. Just when it seemed things could not possibly get any more difficult.

Living—no, surviving—in discomfort. Heat, humidity, grime. Bare fluorescent bulbs hang over our heads because electricity is little and fleeting. Nothing familiar. Missing all that was. Trying to find beauty but seeing ugliness.

No place to call mine and to make beautiful—to be an oasis in a hard land.

Calls to prayer blast into the bedroom and wake us before we want to face another day of hard things.

Questions. They come. And accusations threaten. They shake the bars that I erected against blasphemy. Their words echo and seep into my heart. They haunt.

Where is God?

Where is comfort?

Where is provision?

Where is mercy?

What about the kids who suffer for their parents’ calling?

Will you never give us a home? A sweet place?

What do I do when I don’t FEEL truth? I was full of faith in a mighty God who would provide. I KNEW He would provide. I still KNOW He will provide. But I don’t FEEL He will provide. There seems to be no end to the misery. The instability. The unknowns. The heat. The sand. The always-hungry kids.

In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. I Peter 1:6-7

And I read wisdom from my ever-faithful counselor, CH Spurgeon:

If you would reach to something higher than ordinary groveling experience, look the Rock that is higher than you, and gaze with the eye of faith through the window of consistent prayer. When you open the window on your side, it will not be bolted on the other. (Morning, September 9)

And so that is all. I know truth. I know this is a “little while” and “necessary” and will result in the glorification of the Servant King. I must remain faithful and slam the door against scandalous thoughts. I run to my Rock and spill out my hurts to a loving Father and wait. Feel Him hold me and tell me, “a little while, darling.”