It’s a gorgeous, sunny afternoon and our dogs are racing through the backyard, solely focused on protecting our property from dastardly invasions of the feline variety. I’m propped up in bed with my laptop, working on this post, while my daughter is building our grocery list on an app on her phone. I hear the low murmur of the television in the living room, and at any moment, I expect those murmurs to be joined by the sound of gentle snores from the recliner. At a glance, it’s a normal day, shockingly similar in nature to the hundreds of gorgeous, sunny afternoons that preceded this one.
That’s the weird part of this pandemic, for me. When I look out my window, my little world seems so normal. If 24-hour news didn’t exist, I’d never know that a storm of colossal proportions has been blasting its way across the globe for months. If social media were taken off the spectrum, there’s no way I would see the world outside my window as anything but peaceful. Safe. Ordinary.
But 24-hour news does exist, and Facebook is, unfortunately, on my spectrum. And if I only listen to the headlines in my newsfeed, then there’s very little that’s peaceful, safe or ordinary about the world in which we find ourselves. According to the media, our healthcare system has been shattered by an invisible virus for which we were ill-prepared. The economy has been irreparably destroyed. The absolute worst in humanity has been exposed with shocking clarity, and the end of the world, as we know it, is nigh.
What’s the truth?
What am I to believe? The shortsighted view of normalcy that I see out my bedroom window? Or the global diatribe that declares the sky is falling? The sense of peace I feel when I look upon my little world? Or the stories of death and destruction that are broadcasted from every corner of this great big world?
Perhaps, as with most things in life, the truth is found somewhere in the middle. The truth is, our healthcare system is being tested and vulnerabilities have been exposed, but I have also never been prouder of the men and women on the frontline of a war for which they didn’t volunteer. The truth is, our economy is deeply wounded, and it may take years to fully recover, but my faith isn’t built upon the stability of the economy but upon the authority of a God who is still on His throne. The truth is, fear and anxiety have led some people to make decisions that they will regret, but now more than ever, we have been given an opportunity to speak of the gift of peace that’s rooted in the gospel.
Has the gospel’s gift of peace been driving your response to COVID-19?
I have to be honest, my truth is, again, found somewhere in the middle. There have been moments in the last few weeks in which I have felt peace – real peace – saturate my spirit like the blessed warmth of a heated car on a cold, wintery day. And there have been other moments, too, moments where I shoved peace into the backseat of that car, fear plopped down in the driver’s seat and I made a choice to buckle up for the ride.
Who’s driving your car? Is it faith? Or is it fear?
I had a dream last night that I was stuck in a waiting room. As with most waiting rooms I’ve experienced, there were the expected pseudo-amenities: A muted television broadcasting a show I had no interest in watching. Dog-eared magazines from six to twelve months ago. A coffee pot with a couple of inches of coffee in the bottom of the pot. And pastel, polyester-upholstered chairs, which I can guarantee were designed for functionality and aesthetics, but definitely not for comfort.
This waiting room wasn’t just a boring space where restless people might pace, though, or a place where kids (and some adults) might whine and cry out of weariness. This waiting room of my dreams was dismal, laden with anxiety and chaos, and I couldn’t find my way out.
This waiting room was a terrifying place.
Maybe that’s where you find yourself right now – stuck in the middle, locked in a nightmarish waiting room that’s scary and dark. Possibly you feel imprisoned and even though you are surrounded by the comforts of home, you feel a suffocating claustrophobia that’s relentless in its pursuit of your sanity.
If that hits home for you today, my plea is that you’ll seek out the truth that can be found in the middle, in the darkness of the waiting rooms of life.
See, our emotions want to tell us that it’s in the waiting rooms that we are most out-of-control. Our future, the fate of our loved ones, how much time we will spend in the waiting room – all of that seems to be in the hands of a fickle unknown.
But is that the truth?
Maybe the truth is that in the waiting rooms of life, God is never more in-control, is never more than a whisper away, has never been more willing to comfort us in our pain and anxiety.
The world wants us to believe that it’s in the waiting rooms of life that our wells of love, joy and peace can’t help but run dry. Our good judgement becomes shrouded by a rolling fog of anxiety, fear and impatience. That’s how we’re made. It can’t be changed.
But is that the truth?
Maybe the truth is that God’s purpose in the waiting rooms of life is to reveal more of Himself, to show us new mercies that couldn’t have been found elsewhere.
General consensus says that nothing of substance can happen in a waiting room.
But is that the truth?
Maybe the truth is that while a handful of fearful, disillusioned disciples were stuck in the middle of a three-day wait, God was conquering death once and for all, raising Jesus back to life and forevermore ensuring your position as a child of the King.
Just like the tomb, this waiting room is a temporary resting place but – praise God! – it is not a final destination. We may find ourselves stuck in the middle ground between the world as we knew it and the world forever changed, but maybe, just maybe, that’s the point. This world will be forever changed, so how is God using this waiting room to prepare us for post-pandemic life? Are we allowing God to use this season of waiting to build our faith, to trust in Him more, to shape our character into who He has made us to be?
And when it’s time to walk out of this waiting room and back into a world that is broken and hurt, will we be ready? Will we go?
“Truth’s shining light guides me in my choices and decisions; the revelation of your word makes my pathway clear.”
Psalms 119:105 TPT
“Then I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?’ Then I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’”
Isaiah 6:8 AMP