pam spinosi writes:
One morning in 2003, I found it hard to pray because I awoke hit with the “realization” that God had not answered my prayer about an important issue in my life. To continue to hope seemed pointless, for I felt it was already over. Then I thought about Lazarus’ death.
In John 11:3, Jesus’ friends had asked Him to do something for them—heal their brother—expecting He would because He loved Lazarus. “If you love me, Lord, it should look like this…” Jesus purposely stayed two more days because He didn’t plan to heal Lazarus but to raise him from the dead. When He arrived, both Mary and Martha essentially said to Him the same thing: “It’s over, Lord. You were too late. You didn’t do anything.” His response to them differed notably.
He had an answer for Martha: “If you believe, you’ll see the glory of God.” He revealed something about Himself to Martha through this situation. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Every time He reveals Himself or a part of His character, He precedes it with “I am.” He was showing her that He is resurrection and life. The others who came to console the family also questioned His goodness, but they, too, got to see the glory of God when Jesus raised Lazarus.
Mary, to whom He was evidently closer, received no reply from Him but a groan. He seemed to entrust Mary with the deeper—but harder—lesson. Could He have expected her not to need an explanation but to trust even in His silence and in the contradiction?
Though she loved Him, Mary’s trust was being tested. If we fear, our love is not perfect (I John 1:17, 18). What really counts is “faith that works by love” (Gal. 5:6). Fear is an enemy of both faith and love.
I have heard it said, “What you fear, you worship.” I once saw an actual statue of Baal in a museum in Carthage, Tunisia. All the gold on earth could not have compelled me to bow down and worship that ugly little thing. Yet I have given my worship to fear. How foolish! Even the Baal statue is cuter than the fiendish face of fear.
I have begun to discover fear’s little hideouts—places where I exhibit a lack of trust.
When I wallow in regret, I am not trusting in God’s redemption.
When I fume with impatience, I am not trusting in His timing.
When I grasp selfishly, I am not trusting in His provision.
When I complain, I am not trusting in His character.
When I think it’s only up to me, I am not trusting in His Fatherhood.
When I conclude all is lost and over, I am not trusting in His power, wisdom and goodness.
He is God! My default drive should be peace. Assurance. In everything, my dad works for my good. He is good—and I am loved.
During a painful time of waiting, I once said to the Lord, “Did Joseph really keep trusting you in all those years of prison?” His reply was to remind me that the “trying of our faith is more precious than gold” (I Peter 1:7), and I understood something. Maybe what Jesus had hoped to get from Mary, a woman who had lavished him with ardent, costly worship, was her trust even in inexplicable circumstances.
We are hearing reports of huge, precious jewels dropping from heaven in people’s yards. Giving Him our trust is like depositing precious jewels on His lawn! These jewels are incomparable, invaluable. He treasures them as you would a ruby from heaven. We can give God a gift of worth and beauty as exquisite as a ruby. But we can only give such a gift of trust now when we can’t see and when we don’t understand; we won’t be able to give Him that when we are face to face with Him in heaven. When we choose to trust while in the dark place, when we are unmoved by what happens—or doesn’t—in our own “four days” between the “end” (our deadline) and when Jesus shows up, we are offering an immeasurably pleasant sacrifice to our God. Pondering that thought dims the painful feelings that clamor for my attention and makes me want to pour out on Him again what I alone can give Him—my own unwavering confidence in His goodness.
God doesn’t help us give Him this gift—nor does He make us. He has given us grace, but we choose whether to use it to trust Him. A child’s drawing is always a precious gift to me. Little children all over the world have blessed me with their drawings and paintings. I treasure and save every one. The artwork would mean less to me, though, if I had held the children’s hands and directed their strokes—or even asked for their drawing. Instead, these pieces are their own creations, freely offered to me from their hearts. I love them because they come from the children. God loves the trust that comes from us. We can’t fathom how much.
Once He asked me if I would follow Him even if I didn’t get what I had hoped and waited for. Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego confessed their faith in God’s ability to deliver them but added, “But if not…we will not serve your gods” (Daniel 3:17, 18). Peter said, “Where else can we go, Lord?” (John 6:68). Like theirs, my answer was, “Yes.”
Most of us will face what Mary and Martha faced. Some situation may tempt us to think our Lord has forgotten and disappointed us. Four days had passed since Lazarus died and the sisters acquiesced to the theory that their Lord had let them down. What will you do in those days of discouragement between the death of the promise and the arrival of Jesus? Will you despair and blame Him for failing you? Or will you honor Him with your precious gift of trust and let Him reveal to you some new aspect of His glory?
