How Long, O Lord?

This is a guest post from a close friend of mine, Denae Everson. Denae is a stay-at-home-mom of two who loves encouraging other women to find their hope in the gospel. When she finds free time, she enjoys writing about motherhood, cutting and styling hair, and trying to get raspberries to grow in her backyard.

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I know you’ve been there. Maybe you’re there now. If you haven’t been there, you’ll probably be at some point, so just tuck this away until then. Not long ago, I was there, stuck in the hardest, darkest season of my 31 years on this earth. I had a two-year-old boy and a very, very, very (did I mention very?) fussy, newborn baby girl. Fussy to the point of my complete exhaustion in every way. I bounced her on a yoga ball for ninety-percent of my waking moments on my third-degree-tear-recovering body, feeling like this dark night of the soul would never end. Riddled with a mix of postpartum depression and anxiety, I felt like I was in a deep hole, alone, afraid, and practically dragging myself to the end of each day. 

During this time, my sweet husband stepped up to the plate and took up the shield of “love bears all things” in what felt like my losing battle. From staying home a little longer in the morning so I didn’t have to bounce on the yoga ball for 11 hours that day, to coming home early because I was ready to lose it, to giving a little extra love to our daughter when I had none left to give, he carried our family in the best way. He was steady, filled with hope, and abundant in patience with me during those long months. Praise God for faithful husbands who serve their families well despite the most harrowing of circumstances.

One day as I was drowning in my frustration and darkness, he looked at me and said, “I know this is hard, but I promise, you’ll make it.” Those were sweet words of truth and I knew in my mind they were true, but in my heart I went deeper into more questioning. I had cried out time and time again to the Lord for some relief. In the middle of the night, when I was yet again nursing my baby girl. In the morning when I woke up (too early most days), and when I finally fell into my bed at the end of the day after folding my fifth load of tiny socks. “How long, O LORD, must I call for help? But you do not listen!” was my constant cry (Habakkuk 1:2).

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been a fan of process. Anything that takes pain to get beauty has just always seemed frustrating to me. I often want the rose without the thorn, the beauty without the work, and the wisdom without the sanctification. I have come to realize that all of those days I waited for Jesus to intervene, to change my situation, to bring hope where there seemed to be none, were the days that he was sweetly, lovingly and slowly shaping me more into the mama he wants me to be. Potters don’t make their creations over night. I am reminded of 2 Corinthians 4:7: “But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” In my hardest, weakest moments, I had to cling with all my might to the fact that the power was God’s and not mine. He promised that he would see me through and I had to trust him to do it. 

In those darkest days, I felt like I begged Jesus for help and his head turned away, like the frantic little girl who just wanted her Father to look at her, to help her, to come in and save the day like the hero he was supposed to be. Yet in those swirling moments of sadness, pain, exhaustion, guilt and a whole myriad of other emotions that flood a mama’s heart, Jesus spoke sweetly and gently to my soul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). And in these words, I was fully aware of the deep struggle to believe them because my frail heart wanted to know the answer. But Lord, how hard can this get and for how long? 

We beg for the colliding of heaven with earth and wait for the day when the desire of our soul is met in Jesus. I didn’t want it to be easy. I wasn’t asking for sunshine and butterflies. I was asking, “How long?” How long, Lord, will my baby not nap during the day (or for that matter sleep during the night)? How long will this job seem so hard? How long will my days be dark? How long will I feel like I let down my two-year-old because I have nothing left to give? Whatever your “how long” may be, know this, dear one: He hems you in behind and before [1]. His rod and staff will comfort you and he restores your soul. Goodness and mercy will follow you all of your life [2]. So hold onto truth. Hold onto Jesus. He’s got you. 

[1] Psalm 139
[2] Psalm 23