The Weight of Waiting

Tonight I went to see a play called "Waiting for Godot" with my parents at Taylor. It was intensely frustrating. The main characters were waiting for this elusive savior who, even by the end of the play, didn't come. I left halfway through, but not because of the acting, which was tremendous. I left partly because the story was abstract and a little strange. But mostly I left because it resonated with me too deeply. I didn't want to see the end where who they waited for didn't come. In the end, so I hear, the main character still has hope that Godot will eventually appear. But the uncertainty reminded me of my doubts. My confusion of why God doesn't throw the pain of this world into the vacuum of nonexistence. My occasional fear that in the end, God will not show up.

Secret salvations. This must be the answer, cry the most desperate parts of me, the parts that remember the great sorrows of this world and are dismayed. There have been painful circumstances in my life, which ultimately produced something good within me or within others. I've talked about this before. Looking back, I would never choose to re-live these moments, despite the blessings I received through the struggle (aka, Ireland. Yeah, still wouldn't go back to the bad moments.) If I could take away all the pain in the history of this earth, I probably would do it. In consequence, I would doom us all to hell.

For if Jesus didn't die (this greatest act of injustice and pain) than life is worth nothing. If Jesus didn't rise from the dead, my life is, still, nothing. Would I seriously willingly choose to reverse all pain, thereby erasing Jesus' sacrifice and my eternal redemption? Death and life must occur, in that order. Pain is in the mix too. Pain isn't meaningless. Pain provides "secret salvations." In the most terrible disasters I can think of, God is slowly pouring His eternal love into heartache, like salt in a wound. It hurts, but it heals. The salt of His love renovates our hearts to holy places they would never have reached without the pain. Would I choose it for myself? Heck no.

The path to still waters is rougher than I thought.

Can I withstand the weight of waiting?