Like a passenger at a bus stop. But this bus stop had no bench, or roof or walls. It was open, naked, exposed to the elements. And I stood there. Under the storm waiting for Him to come like promised.
At first I was sure He would arrive. He had always arrived before on time, especially when I had difficulty. Sometimes He came even early but this time was different. I could tell it was different because the hurt was deeper and the crevice inside me was wider. I was being broken wide against my will.
I called Customer Service relentlessly. I prayed and prayed, railing against His incompetence. Outraged at His alternative schedule. Flabbergasted at His seemingly clueless understanding of my situation. I mean, didn't He make the world? Didn't He make the cosmos with it's billions of stars and planets and billions of people? How could He not make my baby sleep? How could He not make me happy? I'm sure it would be as hard for Him to fix me and my life as it was for me to breathe and yet, He made me wait.
And that was the hardest part of all.
Knowing that He had the capacity to show up but knowing that He chose not to.
Suffocating in feelings of abandonment, I began to doubt all of the times He had come before when my heart was shattered or my mind was down. I wasn't sure if those past times when He arrived were real or something I had imagined. Had He really offered me peace and calm when a boyfriend broke my heart? Had He really given me love and assurance when I no longer loved myself? Was I going crazy? Because I was no longer sure.
But I didn't leave that bus stop. I could have turned and walked away and let Him find me. Instead I pivoted myself and positioned myself so I would have a perfect view of His arrival. I chose to belive that all of those times in my past were true. He had come before and He would come again. All I had to do was wait as the torrential downpour drowned me. He would come.
And slowly, I could see Him coming. Like the faint headlights in the far, foggy distance, I saw Him. Sometimes He looked like a friend, bringing a meal. Sometimes He looked like my husband, holding me, listening to me, helping me. Sometimes He was my brother, or sister or sister in law or parents offering exactly what I needed at that particular time. Sometimes He looked like my therapist or my support group or doctor. Often he looked like a baby and then like a toddler with dark chocolate eyes who had the gift to buoy my heart with his smile. This toddler filled me with joy like nothing in my life had ever before. The joy was so big, so expansive it felt like it would burst from my belly.
And, yet, He had still not fully arrived with His miraculous, comprehensive healing. Even though I saw Him winding His way towards me it still took so long. Years. And just when I thought I would always be broken and always be hurt and resentful, I realized that I had to go out to meet Him. And then I saw Him up close. He looked like a baby. Soft, round, and squishy, also with dark, chocolate eyes, and somehow she had the power to make me grateful that He did not arrive when I had originally scheduled.
"When [Jesus] had heard therefore that [Lazarus] was sick, he abode two days still in the same place where he was...Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died...[and]Jesus wept...And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth. And he that was dead came forth" (John 11:6,32, 35,43,44).
