We’re always waiting for God’s yes. That answered prayer. The thing we can grab from his open palm and hold against our chest. It’s mine now. We imagine how we’ll celebrate when that big yes comes. Pop a bottle of champagne. Call our best friend. Post it to Instagram. We’ve got a whole party just waiting in the wings to acknowledge what God has done.
But my friend said something the other day. I wonder if God wants to see what we’ll do with his no.
His no?
Where’s the hope? Where’s the trust in God?
But maybe she’s right. Not like a teacher assigning a test only to see if we won’t throw a tantrum or complain. But a series of events that don’t immediately end in the beautiful yes we’d imagined.
Instead of seeing life’s opportunities as a hallway lined with a bunch of cracked doors that God could easily scoop his finger into and pluck open at each faithful prayer. But how about a slammed shut door? One with locks and deadbolts. The kind that slams so hard we feel it reverberate in our chest. An opportunity sealed shut with a big fat no. We stand with our nose to the closed door, wondering how something we want so badly to walk through now feels like a cement wall.
And then, we sit with His no. We wonder. Maybe we wait. A tear or two. A cry for help.
Then we hear it. The creak of the knob and the squeal of the hinges. Something’s opening right before our eyes that can only be explained by a miracle. The dead back to life. What we thought was lost, now suddenly found.
And when we think back to that no, our mouths hang open searching for words, now staring into the space we never thought we’d see.
Not a test. Not a way to prove His strength. A way to sit a while and be the one who gives and takes away. A moment to sit in the hallway where everything is quiet in our hearts. A gift to witness the wonder and awe of the one who holds the key to every good thing.
