I Have Been Developed ENOUGH…

There comes a point in walking with God where “just trust Him” starts feeling a little too cute.

I trust Him.

That is not currently the issue.

The issue is that I have trusted Him for a while now, and this morning I find myself looking toward heaven like, “Okay God… You have to show up.”

Not because I suddenly believe He is unfaithful. Not because I have abandoned everything I know about His character. Not because I think prayer works like DoorDash and my blessing is currently twenty-three minutes past the estimated delivery time.

I just know what He said.

And eventually, knowing what God said creates an expectation that I am going to see what God said.

That is where I am.

There are things I have prayed about, waited through, cried over, surrendered, picked back up, and surrendered again because apparently the first surrender had a return policy. Eventually, I reach this strange intersection between faith and frustration.

“God, I believe You.”

Pause.

“So…?”

Which made Joshua 14:11–12 hit completely differently.

Caleb is eighty-five years old when he comes to Joshua and essentially says, “Give me this hill country that the Lord promised me.”

Sir waited forty-five years.

Forty-five.

At this point, I feel like Caleb had earned the right to walk into the room without an appointment.

What I love is that Caleb does not sound defeated.

He doesn’t say, “Well, maybe God changed His mind.”

He doesn’t shrink the promise because time passed.

He doesn’t decide that because it took longer than expected, he must have misunderstood what God said.

He remembers.

God said it.

Caleb believed it.

Time passed.

Caleb still believed it.

Then eventually his faith developed a little bass in its voice:

Give me my mountain.

There is something about that posture I desperately need.

Because lately I have been thinking about vision.

Not ambition.

Not goals.

Not what would make my life more comfortable.

Vision.

God’s preferred future for me.

Passion is what I like to do.

Talent is what I can do.

Vision is what I was born to do.

Without vision, I wander. I become reactive. I let whatever is happening today determine what I believe about tomorrow.

When clarity walks out, anxiety walks in.

Suddenly every inconvenience feels prophetic.

Every closed door means something.

Every delay becomes rejection.

Every obstacle becomes evidence.

Every iceberg means Titanic.

Which, unfortunately, is where my millennial brain went.

Because Titanic had a destination.

Titanic also encountered an iceberg.

The iceberg was real.

Nobody needed Rose standing on the deck saying, “Guys, let’s just stay positive.”

Ma’am. There is water downstairs.

Faith is not pretending obstacles aren’t real.

Faith is refusing to allow the obstacle to become bigger than what God said.

I think I have spent too much time looking at icebergs.

What isn’t happening yet.

What hasn’t changed yet.

What I still don’t understand.

What I thought would look different by now.

What God has not answered the way I expected.

Meanwhile, vision keeps asking me a completely different question:

Where did God say you were going?

Because I am learning there is a dangerous difference between determination and direction.

I can work incredibly hard in the wrong direction.

I can be exhausted and still not be obedient.

I can be passionate and completely outside of purpose.

“If you aim at nothing, you hit it every time.”

Apparently “trying really hard” is not a destination.

Rude.

Joshua understood something else I am learning: I cannot become somebody else to fulfill my assignment.

He admired Moses without becoming Moses.

Moses had his temperament.

Joshua had his.

The same temperament that gets me out is not always the temperament that gets me in.

Jesus Himself was Lion and Lamb.

There are moments that require tenderness from me and moments that require backbone.

There are times God needs me soft enough to listen and other times He needs me bold enough to move.

Maturity is learning the difference.

Because sometimes I am calling passivity “peace.”

Sometimes I am calling fear “wisdom.”

Sometimes I am calling impatience “discernment.”

Sometimes I am calling sarcasm “communication.”

The Holy Spirit remains unconvinced by the last one.

Still working on it.

Israel’s journey adds another layer.

God brought them out of Egypt toward the land He promised, yet He intentionally did not take them by the shortest route because they were not ready for the battle waiting there.

God took them around.

That used to irritate me.

Actually, it still does a little.

Because I am very much a straight-line girl.

Point A.

Point B.

Preferably no construction.

Yet there are things I can look back on now and recognize:

I wasn’t ready.

Not rejected.

Not forgotten.

Not overlooked.

Not being punished.

Not ready.

So God took me around.

What I wasn’t ready to fight, He didn’t force me to fight.

That means some of the long way was kindness.

Some of the delay was development.

Some of the wilderness wasn’t God keeping something from me.

It was God preparing me to survive what I kept asking Him to give me.

Fine.

I understand that.

I appreciate that.

I have learned things.

I have grown.

I have healed in places.

I have been humbled in others.

I have learned that knowing God without knowing myself is dangerous.

I have learned boundaries.

I have learned surrender.

I have learned that my feelings can be valid without being qualified to lead.

I have learned that sometimes the problem is the enemy.

Sometimes the problem is another person.

Sometimes, devastatingly, the problem is me.

Character development has occurred.

So now I find myself standing with Caleb.

God.

You have to show up.

Not because You owe me.

Because You told me who You are.

That is different.

My expectation is not rooted in entitlement.

It is rooted in revelation.

Habakkuk 2:2–3 says:

“Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time… though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry.”

Excuse me?

Though it tarry…

wait for it…

because it will not tarry?

God. Respectfully. What?

Because to me, if it is tarrying, then it is, in fact, tarrying.

Except maybe that is exactly the point.

“Though it tarry” describes how it feels from where I am standing.

“It will not tarry” describes what is true from where God is sitting.

It can feel delayed according to my timeline and still arrive at the exact appointed time according to His.

That means I have to stop using how long something is taking as evidence of whether God is going to do it.

Long is not the same as late.

Waiting is not the same as forgotten.

Tarrying is not the same as abandoned.

There is an appointed time.

I don’t particularly enjoy that information because I would personally like the appointed time to be sometime between right now and immediately.

Yet God’s timing is God’s kindness.

Scripture is full of people waiting.

Abraham waited.

Joseph waited.

David waited.

Israel waited.

Caleb waited forty-five years.

Apparently heaven is not nearly as uncomfortable with waiting as I am.

Still, there is something different happening in me now.

I am not waiting from the posture of someone wondering whether God will show up.

I’m waiting from the posture of someone who knows He will.

That gives my waiting a little backbone.

Because “though it tarry” doesn’t cancel the vision.

It actually assumes the vision is still coming.

That changes how I look at the wilderness too.

There are places in my life today where I am thanking God for things I used to have to ask Him for.

There was a version of me desperately praying for things that have now become ordinary parts of my life.

I am standing inside answered prayers while waiting for other answers.

Which means I have evidence.

God has shown up before.

So when I say, “God, You have to show up now,” I am not threatening Him.

I am remembering Him.

I am remembering His character.

I am remembering His promises.

I am remembering the wildernesses He already brought me through.

I am remembering the prayers He already answered.

I am remembering every time I thought the story was over and discovered God was still writing.

Only the One who created me fully knows what I was created for.

Jeremiah 1:5 says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.”

Before I had a plan, He had vision.

Before I knew what I wanted, He knew what He created.

Before I knew what would hurt me, shape me, stretch me, or nearly take me out, God knew me.

So vision cannot simply be me deciding what kind of life sounds good and asking God to bless it.

Vision is allowing the One who knew me before I existed to reveal His preferred future for the person He intentionally created.

That future may require patience.

It may require perseverance.

It may require a route I would not have chosen.

It may require me to become somebody capable of carrying what I keep asking Him to give me.

Most of the strides I want to make are probably going to take longer than I want them to take.

I hate that sentence.

Still, I know it is true.

Maybe vision isn’t being able to see everything clearly.

Maybe vision is seeing God clearly enough that everything else doesn’t get to redefine Him.

Seeing the iceberg without forgetting the destination.

Seeing the wilderness without forgetting Canaan.

Seeing the delay without forgetting the appointed time.

Seeing what hasn’t happened yet without becoming blind to everything God has already done.

That is where I am this morning.

I don’t have another cute little “I’ll wait forever” speech.

I don’t have a perfectly polished response.

I have expectation.

God, I know what You said.

I know what You’ve already done.

I know who You’ve shown Yourself to be.

I know You didn’t carry me through everything behind me just to lose track of me here.

So yes, I will wait.

Yes, I will keep becoming.

Yes, I will keep obeying.

Yes, I will let You take me around what I’m not ready to fight.

Yes, I will trust Your timing even while admitting that sometimes Your timing gets on every single one of my nerves.

Though it tarry, I will wait for it.

Not passively.

Not hopelessly.

Not wondering if You forgot.

I will wait with expectation.

Because Caleb waited forty-five years and still remembered exactly what God promised him.

When the time came, he didn’t ask for something easier because he had gotten older.

He didn’t lower his expectations because the promise had taken too long.

He said, “Give me this mountain.”

So I’m remembering too.

The iceberg doesn’t get the final word.

The wilderness doesn’t get the final word.

The clock doesn’t get the final word.

My anxiety doesn’t get the final word.

God does.

And God…

I’ve waited.

I’ve grown.

I’m still becoming.

I still believe You.

Though it tarry, I’ll wait.

But when that appointed time comes?

I’m standing beside Caleb.

Give me my mountain.