As Chase was working on photo ornaments of the kids with me, he noticed my falling tears and asked what was wrong. When I explained that I miss Cole, he responded with a very childlike “Still???” His innocence drew a smile, but when the reality of my hurt registered in that precious heart, he hopped off his chair and ran over to me, holding me tightly, patting my back and saying repeatedly, “It’s going to be okay.” The comfort that little boy brought was palpable. As was that of the Holy Spirit who, once again, spoke into my hurt and longing.
Are you familiar with the study done ages ago with children and marshmallows – one now or two later? If I’d been part of that study, I would have thought, “What kind of stupid question is that?” I mean, clearly, you get your grubby hands on that one marshmallow and shove it in your mouth before the question has even died on their lips.
I’ve always been an instant gratification kind of girl. If there was money in my pocket, I’d spend it on the cheap, immediate (and usually edible) thing – very unlike my two-marshmallow brother who diligently saved for meaningful, lasting things like a surfboard, instruments and a car. If I felt fidgety with a job, I quit within the week. If there was pain, I would numb it ASAP rather than tackling the arduous task of dealing with it because, my goodness, who has the patience for that?
A more recent example was the time my unfulfilled desire for another child expressed itself in the “need” for a dog that resulted in the purchase – that selfsame day – of the first cute puppy I saw on Craigslist (of unknown breed from people who didn’t speak a word of English and wouldn’t let me near the mama dog), much to the bewilderment of my double-marshmallow husband. It was certainly the most adorable of my impulsive choices and allowed me once again that unique experience of gratification and regret in the same moment.
But I’ve been changing, bit by bit over the years, because trust does that. It brings rest to the restless parts of us that can’t be still. It calms the fear that our needs won’t be met or that our wants will go unfulfilled. It recognizes that there is an abundance of all that we’ve ever yearned for. But it can’t be accessed through the impulsive ways we’ve grasped at with our grubby hands, which only serve to tickle a deep itch, taint our gratification with regret and withhold what is most meaningful and lasting. It is through trust in this One who created our hearts and knows how and when each need and want will be truly satisfied that we learn to wait… in perfect peace… with the expectation that we will be given gifts of perfect time and design that impart the fulfillment we seek. And we are also satisfied in the waiting, when we align ourselves with Him in trust, because His very presence calms and fills us.
This is the reminder the Holy Spirit gave me after Chase comforted me that day. I have learned to trust and I have learned to wait, not just in general but specifically regarding Cole. So I can once again step into the same patient anticipation I experienced when Cole left for the Navy. It might be a little longer until I see him this time, but it will satisfy my heart so completely that the wait will seem insignificant. And, lucky for me, God imparts impossible grace in the waiting – like the incomprehensible peace that descended on me that day and changed the whole atmosphere of my heart. Because trust can’t help but swing the door wide open to the Giver of every good and perfect gift.
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17
But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:25
After Cole died, my cousin gave me a necklace that says “brave.” I wear it often to remind myself that whether I feel like it or not, I am. Some days I do feel brave, battling my way past the demons of despair; planting my flag in my inherited land of hope. And then there are days like today when the tears won’t stop flowing; when my heart aches to be able to see my son again – not someday in heaven, but here and now. But that is no less brave. As someone who avoided pain at all costs, burying it in addictions and false comforts, these tears represent courage. I am feeling my pain; facing it. They also represent trust because I couldn’t face the pain if I didn’t know that God is holding me tightly as I cry; if I didn’t believe that He won’t abandon me here… but that with each offering of trust, He will comfort me and heal my broken heart. And when these tears dry up, I know He’s going to take my hand and help me back up and we are going to walk together into the good and beautiful future He’s prepared for me. Maybe being brave simply means that we invite Him into the hard places and let Him lead us out.
When we step into this life of faith in Jesus, it’s like trading our beach chairs and umbrellas on a stationary mass of sand to engage in the moving, living water of the sea with its waves, currents, hazards and unknowns. We usually spend quite a while in ankle deep water, testing the temperature without committing our whole bodies; reassured by our proximity to dry ground. But faith will never allow us to stay there. The Lord didn’t draw us close so we could be bystanders with wet feet. He drew us so that He could take us deeper and deeper, where out of necessity, we become students who are (eventually) willing to receive His expertise on how to use the waves to propel us forward, rather than take us down.
