Wait Well With Wisdom

At the time of writing this post, we are (DV) 68 days away from moving overseas to South Asia. It has been a strange last year or so, anticipating these last moments in Ireland. Over the years, as we have taken steps, and seen doors open for moving abroad there has been a strange dichotomy sprung up in my own heart. The more I get ready to leave for ministry abroad (for which I am excited!), the more I also want to do ministry in Ireland.

Our current home is loated on a hill, from the top of which you can see the entirety of Dublin. I have often climbed that hill in the wee hours of the morning, watching the glowing ball of the sunrise break over the city. I pray in those moments, asking the Lord that as those pinkish hues give way to golden rays, and light pentrates the city, that in the same way the gospel would break out over this beloved city of mine. My heart aches constantly for this land that has turned its back on its Christian heritage. I feel honoured to be sent from this land that sent many abroad in the dark ages, changing the face of Europe with gospel light. But we are far from those days now. We are post-Christian. Too sufficient for that sort of superstitious dependency. Too progressive for those backward ways of thought. Too enlightened for that dark religion. And to top it all off, the harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are very, very few.

As I daily see more of the lostness in my homeland, I groan to be leaving it. The shower runs cold as I think of yet more things I could be doing here for the building up of the church, and the advancement of the gospel. And yet I’m leaving. I’m winding up my part in various ministries. I’m preaching my last sermons in the church that I would give a lifetime for. I’m packing up bags, distributing my book collection, and facing my grief of departure.

As this has intensified over the last year or two, with D-day approaching, I have been forced to constantly wrestle with the question of “how do I wait well?”. How do I prepare for overseas service, while investing here, knowing that time is limited and I will not see everything through? How do I deal with pastoral issues, knowing I won’t see them through to the end? How do I remain completely present, while slowly plucking up my roots? How do I choose not to do certain things, not because I can’t, or don’t have the time or desire right now, but because I know I cannot commit long term?

As the days close in on our departure, I’ve been struck by Moses’ prayer of Psalm 90. If anyone knew what it meant to be in limbo for a stage of life, was it not the children of Israel, wandering the wilderness for forty years? And yet Moses fixes his heart on some eternal ralities which teach us how to wait well in these anxious times.

He is under no illusion that either returning to Egypt or entering Canaan will sort out their restlesness. He opens up reminding himself that it is the Lord who has been their dwelling place for all generations. Therefore, does it matter where they are? What stage of life? Without home either here nor there? No. They have a rootedness in the Lord.

The Lord. The God from everlasting to everlasting. The God who was before time and creation, and will remain forever. He is in no rush. He remains the same in the limbo stage, as he was before there was a world for me to be anxious about, or a Dublin for me to love, or a South Asian nation for me to anticipate living in. Time means little to him. We return to dust, we fade like grass. And all the ministries and places of ministry shall pass on ultimately. Our days are soon gone. We are not everlasting people.

What then? Sit back in the limbo stage and despair? Lie down in the sand and give up? No. Moses petitions the Lord that he would teach them to number their days that they might gain a heart of wisdom. Deadlines, moving dates, temporary living situations, should not give rise to despair, but a seeking on how to use the limited time well. Indeed, it could be said that this kind of intentional numbering of days while in temporary situations will make us more focussed on how to use our time well, more acutely aware of what best to invest in, than if we have an open-ended living situation! Our days are not meant to waste away, passing by unused, as we lament our home in Egypt and complain that we are not yet in Canaan. They are meant to be days of work, and strong labour, seeking the Lord to establish what is done. We may not be everlasting people, but we are called to take part in everlasting work.

And could it be that these sort of limbo stages show us in miniature, what we should truly view all of life like? It’s not long until our life is past. Andrew Peterson reminds us that we are, “Children of eternity, on the run from entropy”. We have left the Egypt of sin, and are not yet across the Jordan of the eternal promised land. And our bodies start facing decay in the desert very quickly. Life is not long. The stage in between Egypt and Canaan might seem long and laborious and futile at times. But could we be taught to act in wisdom, labouring evermore intentionally in the more established times of life, when once we have learned these lessons in the uprooted times?

I don’t have easy answers for how to wait well in these times. Practically speaking, it is difficult. Will we end up investing too little in things where could have given more? Probably. Will we end up giving too much time to certain things to the detriment of preparing for others? Almost certainly. Will we allow days to go by, wasted, unused at times? Without a doubt.

But this I will pray. “Everlasting Lord, in the next 68 days, teach me wisdom in how to use these days well. Teach me that my roots are not found in a land of this world, but in you. Establish the work of my hands by a show of your power, that I may not waste them, but bring you glory. Amen.”