Waiting is hard. We live in a world where instant gratification is promoted, and busyness has become a pace that we consider to be normal. Despite this, I’ve had to grapple with the difficult truth that waiting is a part of life. It’s difficult sitting in the tension of the ‘in between’. Often this space offers little to no resolve. Nobody likes to live in the territory of the unknown and the uncomfortable.
To be content in the waiting is to run against the grain of the culture we live in. In this tension, we find that personal growth, refinement and deep change can take place in our souls. If you’re thinking ‘that sounds painful and uncomfortable’, allow me to put your mind at ease in saying that I’m right there with you. These seasons can be unpleasant and for most of us, we’d prefer to avoid them at all costs. Perhaps, if we were able to evoke the gift of hindsight into our present circumstances, it might help us to see that even the darkest roads that we travel eventually lead to some light. In these moments I find myself clinging to my own faith and the promise that all things will be worked together for good. That’s an easy thing to say but it’s an extremely difficult statement to apply to our lives when the chips are down, and we feel stuck in our circumstances.
“I’m not there yet but I’m getting closer”
When we feel broken, we struggle to exist. We struggle to thrive and to be whole. Most of us take up a real battle while we are in the waiting. We wrestle with the injustices of our stories, and we try to navigate our own way to what we perceive as freedom.
I’m certainly no master of patience and contentment and I hated the experience of being stuck without resolve and resolution. I’m sure I’m not alone in my struggle. Let’s be real for a second… who can really say they love waiting? Who can say they love difficult and stretching experiences?
I’m learning, slowly, that a life of wholeness is refined in the tension. It is developed in the spaces where the soul wrestles between head and heart and between knowledge and faith.
Our song ‘Not There Yet’ is about that wrestle. It’s a song that recognises my desire to thrive weighed up against the reality of my struggle to exist.
When I think back to what made the wrestle in the waiting difficult, there were a few contributing factors. One of these was loneliness. Stepping away from a large and intimate community and suddenly trying to process loss quietly and alone was painful.
I’ve got this memory of pulling the car into my garage, turning the key and breathing out a deep sigh. I sat in silence for a long time thinking about the season of life that I was in.
My life had changed so much in a short space of time. My wife and I knew we’d made the right decision to leave our church community, but we were struggling to adjust to the different path that we found ourselves on.
One of the beautiful aspects about being a part of a community was sharing the experiences of life with other people. Having friends around you constantly was so special.
The church schedule was always busy and had a way of pulling people’s lives together. Young adult’s events, prayer meetings, social activities, music rehearsals and of course the weekly morning and evening services made up most of a general week. I remember finishing up at church and then piling into cars and heading down to the local coffee shop. I’d sit down with my long mac topped up and the best chicken Caesar salad that Huntingdale had to offer. We did this every week and man, they were good times. Some weeks conversations would be rich and deep. On others, the banter would flow, and our entire young adult’s community would fill the café with laughter. They were special moments and very special people.
Life was intentionally spent together. The same faces can be found spread throughout our wedding album and stick in my mind when I think back to nights on the beach, birthday parties, concerts and mission trips. These people were my friends and my family, and I loved doing life with them. Fast forward a few months and the contrast was overwhelming. We felt so lonely.
I want to emphasise that this loneliness was partly on us. We felt like we were doing the right thing leaving the church. There was an undercurrent of mess going on. Our responsibilities and family ties meant that we were drawn into the tension and pain of the breakdown unfolding. Our personal conviction was to leave in love and to do so quietly. We didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. I’ll unpack my heart behind this decision further along in the journey, but for now, the point I’m trying to make is that we missed the people we did life with, and we struggled suddenly trying to process the breakdown without a community around us.
How do you replace the relationships you have had for most of your life almost overnight? The simple answer is that you cannot. The in-between is a hard place to be and waiting in this space can feel terribly lonesome. We could not have been less prepared for our lives to change in such a drastic way, and we found ourselves stuck.
I remember longing for connection and to feel like we belonged somewhere. For months we resisted visiting other churches. We were simultaneously desperate and terrified to hit the default button and fit back into the comfort and structure of the western church. Everything felt like it would be shallow and forced; a far cry from the depth of friendship and investment we had known. When we weighed up our losses, none of it really felt like it was worth it. I recognise that while that sounds cynical, it’s an honest reflection of how we felt. We were burned out, scared and exhausted with a mountain in front of us to climb.
Whenever I think back to times that were traumatic, I remember that sinking feeling of being isolated and alone. That feeling drives me to write reflections in expressions like this one and to write the songs that we do. I’m driven because I want to dispel the lie and power that loneliness attempts to tell. How often do we hear that lie in the moments of the ‘in between’? How often does it come to us when we are down and out, or waiting for breakthrough? It gets at us in the moments of weakness and when we feel forgotten.
Community is vital and you and I need to be reminded that brokenness, pain and displacement are not the final chapter in our story.
Relationships and community are meant to be formed. Jesus encouraged this and then demonstrated it clearly as he went about loving, healing and bringing wholeness to others alongside his closest friends. This lifestyle wasn’t restricted to the church walls. It wasn’t created to fit a mould within the constructs of religion. Community was designed to be a way of life, where each of us has a voice, a story and a valued place to share, give and receive.
Carrie and I were first reminded of this while sitting in a bar in Northbridge with a couple that have since become some of our dearest friends.
As we sat together over a few pints, we began to share our story and talk about our lives with them. We talked about God, church culture and the brokenness of humanity. It was a beautiful and deeply meaningful evening. My soul felt fed and alive for the first time in many months. How revitalising it was to be able to talk, grieve, laugh and connect with kindred spirits again. I’ll always treasure that evening because it was a reminder of how important it is to be able to talk and share our experiences with friends. It felt like church. It felt like iron sharpening iron, and it was liberating.
Our stories are all different. We all go through difficult shadowlands experiences and must spend time waiting and working through them. I know that this song will mean different things to different people, and I love that.
If you are waiting or stuck in the season of wrestle and discontentment, I want to let you know that it is ok to take the time to process and to heal. I also want to encourage you not to do this alone.
Jesus said “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest”
My hope for you, is that you find rest in your waiting. My hope for you is that you find friends to grieve, to process and eventually to celebrate with.
Take heart – If you’re not there yet, you’re getting closer.
Cal
