I've spent time talking to God lately about my life. It's taken a few years, but the realization that my life is, in no way, what I expected it to look like has finally hit me. Perhaps it also has something to do with turning 30 soon. Over the weekend, I told God that I'm tired of not having answers. Will I leave Freeman House or stay? Should I pursue a new career or not? And what's with this sudden... leaning... toward Portland, Oregon? I've never even been there. And I'm tired of the cold. Why do I think of it so often?
When I was small, my parents hung a little plaque above the light switch in my Strawberry Shortcake room. With its old-fashioned lettering and burnt-edges, the paper plastered onto the block of wood looked strangely out of place in my little girl's room. But there it hung anyway, with its large black words:
And you shall seek Me and find Me
when you shall search for Me with all your heart.
It meant nothing to me then, but reading those words every day lodged them in my heart. I'd need them, it seemed, later.
Fast forward back to the present. A time of seeking God. God, I'm seeking You... with all my heart, I said. Where are You? What am I supposed to do now?
I'm not letting this go, God, I insisted. I need You. I'm gonna keep calling until You pick up. I'll seek You until I get an answer.
Monday night the phone rings. It's my friend Erich. Although we correspond often through Facebook, I hadn't talked to Erich in over eight years. And here he was, calling me. We talked for a little while and then he said, slowly, You've been on my heart, Brin. I had to call you. God... well, God's saying, "I haven't forgotten my daughter." He wants you to know that. He hasn't forgotten you.
I haven't forgotten my daughter. The most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
How can you not weep at that... the picture of a heavenly Father who rises to show compassion to His children? I haven't forgotten my daughter.
I thanked God for His love. And then I started bugging Him again. Your words sound so sweet in my ears, but I still don't have my answer, I prayed.
And I prayed. And kept praying.
Yesterday, sitting outside playing with Millie, I felt it pressed into my heart: Isaiah 49. But the city of Zion said, "The Lord has deserted me. The Lord has forgotten me." The Lord answers, "Can a mother forget the baby who is nursing at her breast? Can she stop showing her tender love to the child who was born to her? She might forget her child. But I will not forget you. I have written your name on the palms of my hands. Your walls are never out of my sight.
I haven't forgotten my daughter. I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten...
But I'm stubborn. Comforted, but stubborn. God, I still need my answer, I persisted. Habakkuk, my heart said. If you're a Christian, you know when the Holy Spirit is speaking to you. Your heart gets all warm and glowy inside you, and it's as if, instead of blood, there are words... warm words... pulsing through your entire body. Habakkuk. Habakkuk.
Habakkuk? That was my answer. Really? I flipped over to Habakkuk, a book I read in private school Old Testament class, but not much since. And there He was, in chapter 2, verse 3:
The message I give you waits for the time I have appointed.
It speaks about what is going to happen. And all of it will come true.
It might take a while. But wait for it.
You can be sure it will come. It will happen when I want it to.
My answer. My answer from the God who never forgets. And even though it was a "wait for it... WAIT. FOR. IT," my heart was immediately quieted. He hasn't forgotten. And the answer is coming. I can be sure it will come.
Not sure why I'm telling you about this. Who knows, someone else could be waiting on an answer, too. Or someone might feel forgotten. All I can tell you? God... well, God hasn't forgotten His daughter. Or His son. And His things... well, they happen when He wants them to. And in meantime, we will seek Him and find Him when we search for Him with all our hearts.
How can we not? He is, after all, the God who never forgets. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.