When Heaven Seems Silent: Praying Through the Waiting

It is 2:17 in the morning, and I am awake again.

I know what time it is because I’ve already checked twice, as though the clock might have better news the second time.

The furnace shuts off. In the quiet, I can hear Chris breathing beside me. I roll over and tuck one foot under the warm spot I’ve left in the sheets.

There’s a conversation I keep having in my head. I get all the way to the part where I finally say what I meant to say, and then I start over. I think about the diagnosis. I think about the person I love and can’t reach. By the time I get around to praying, all I’ve got is, “Lord. Please.”

I lie there for a while. Then I say it again.

I have tried giving God deadlines. I’m usually generous about it at first. I give Him until Friday. By Thursday afternoon I’m already composing the follow-up.

I can laugh about that in daylight. At 2:17 in the morning, I’d settle for knowing what to do when I get out of bed.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:14)

I used to read right past the fact that the psalm says wait twice. Of course it does. I can mean every word when I tell God I trust Him before bed and still wake up a few hours later wanting to know what He’s going to do.

Some nights I end up on the couch. I can hear Yoshi coming down the hall before I can see him. For a twenty-pound cat, he’s surprisingly quiet right up until he jumps. Then I get one good breath before he settles against my collarbone. I pray with orange fur in my mouth and his purr going like a little furry amen.

I used to kneel to pray. There are nights when getting back up would require Chris, so the couch and I have come to an understanding.

That’s where I think about Hannah. Eli saw her lips moving and couldn’t hear a word. He thought she was drunk. She told him she was pouring out her soul to the Lord. I wonder how long she’d been carrying it before she could put even that much into words.

Some nights the whole prayer is, “God, I’m so tired of asking You for this.”

In the morning, I can text a friend and say, “Would you pray about that thing again?” There’s a particular kindness in the friend who knows what that thing means. She’s heard the whole story. Sometimes I just send, It was a long night, and she knows where to start.

By the time I go out to let the chickens loose, there’s enough light to see the dry grass along the fence. I lift the latch, and the hens step around my boots as if they’ve been waiting since Tuesday. They’re looking for breakfast. I’m still looking for an answer big enough to get me through the next six months.

I think about manna then. The Israelites went out in the morning and found what they needed for the day. I wonder what it felt like the first time they went to bed knowing they’d have to go out and look again in the morning.

Some mornings, breakfast is about as far as I can see. I go back inside and warm up my coffee. There’s a pale ring on the counter where I set the mug down before I went out. I can wipe it up. I can let my friend pray. I can tell God what I wish had happened by now.

There are things I’m still asking Him for. I wish I could tell you what He’s doing with all that time. What I can tell you is that when I run out of things to say, I sometimes leave a little room before I reach for my phone. The furnace kicks on again. I leave my hand where it is, on the warm place between Yoshi’s shoulder blades, and let the prayer be as small as it is.

Lord. Please.

If you’re awake tonight, may you have enough breath for those two words. And if morning comes and you’re still waiting, may somebody who loves you think to ask how you slept.

If you’re waiting too, you can leave an “I’m waiting too” in the comments. You can keep the details close. We can still pray for each other.

I wrote Known and Named, a free guided devotional about the names of God, for the days when you need a reminder of who’s listening.

I wrote Known and Named, a free guided devotional about the names of God, for the days when you need a reminder of who’s listening.