Staring in silence over the surrounding land, he allowed his joy to momentarily be overshadowed with disappointment. Not about the land. The land was beautiful. Lush. Perfect. He couldn’t be happier to know his people would own it, live there, die there. If he ever had any people. That was the problem. It hadn’t happened. The promise of a son had never materialized. He didn’t understand why. He had done everything exactly as he was told. Packed up his goods. Rounded up his livestock. Forced his wife, his nephew, his household to bid goodbye to friends and family. Pulled up stakes and started traveling. Without a map. Without a mileage counter. Without an estimated number of days on the road. The command had been, “Leave. Go. Stop when I tell you.” And Abram had done it. (Genesis 12:1)
Leaving Haran, they travelled to Canaan, south toward the Negev, dipped into Egypt, then headed north again. They didn’t stay anywhere. Not for long. A pitstop here. A rest there. No place was permanent. They didn’t put down roots, plant fields, or build houses. Every time they pitched their tents, it was with the knowledge they would be taking them down again. Soon. They were nomads. All of them. Not by personal choice. By divine instruction. They would live that way until God said otherwise.
Eventually, God allowed them to stop travelling. Settled them in Canaan. Abram’s heart leapt in his chest. Surely now would be the time God fulfilled His promise! Surely his son’s birth was imminent! It wasn’t. And Abram couldn’t stop his mind from wondering why. Why was God delaying the fulfillment of His promise? The promise of a child. A son. It plagued his mind. Kept him awake at night. Kept him silent during their journeys. His rumination revealed no answers. Ever. Abram didn’t know why Sarai had never been able to conceive. Was it God’s will? Abram’s fault? Sarai’s problem? He didn’t know. But it broke his heart. Bent his faith. Offered more questions than answers. Why did God keep promising him all of this land, space for thousands of people, when He knew Abram had no sons? There was no one to carry his name. No one to inherit his wealth. No one except his servant Eliezer. The man would get everything–wealth, servants, livestock, land–because God had chosen not to give Abram a son. Unless there was a miracle. But Abram wasn’t really expecting one. Not this late in the game. (Genesis 12-13, 15:1-6; 16:3; 17:15-18)
Sarai was beyond the age of childbearing. They both knew it. As the years had passed and her womb remained empty, she had given up all hope of being a mother. Watching her do so hurt Abram’s heart. Hopeless, she went through the motions of life. Completing each day’s necessary tasks. Surviving. Not thriving. He’d talked to God about it. After one of the times when God promised him an enormous swath of land brimming with Abram’s descendants, Abram had literally questioned how that could happen. How could there be descendants from nothing? How could they have children now that they were old? How was God going to fulfill that promise? Was He ever going to fulfill that promise? (Genesis 15:1-6; 16:2)
God said He would. Promised it. Again. Repeated His previous words. Abram would have more descendants than he could count. Than anyone could count. Grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. People who could trace their DNA back to Abram through his son. His legitimate son. A child conceived with his wife Sarai. Not an illegitimate child with a maid. Not a son of his servant, Eliezer. No. The promise was for a son. His son. Conceived within his marriage. A child belonging to Abraham and Sarah together. The child God promised. A son. Abraham would be his father. Sarah would be his mother. The child would be a miracle. It would happen. In due season. At just the right time. (Genesis 17:1-8)
Years passed while they waited for the fulfillment of the promise. Years filled with desperation. A time when Sarah convinced Abraham to take matters into his own hands. Try to do God’s job. Have a child by any means necessary. Sleep with the maid. It wasn’t God’s will. It wasn’t part of the promise. Human machinations rarely result in the work of God. Maybe it slowed down the process. Maybe it halted God’s timing. Maybe it made them wait longer than intended. We don’t know the full ramifications of that error. We do know the silence stretched on. For years. (Genesis 16:1-4)
Thirteen years passed in heavenly stillness. Silent years. Years when their prayers for a son went unanswered, their cries seemed unheard, their tears felt unseen. Years when their faith faltered and questioned. Years when their doubt exponentially grew. Years when they simply kept plodding. Faithfully. Determinedly. Listening to God’s voice, obeying God’s commands, while slowly but surely losing hope in what daily became a more impossible promise. Until it happened. After 90 years of barrenness, two decades of stillness, years of heavenly silence, God gave Sarah strength to birth a son. Isaac. The fulfillment of His promise. (Genesis 17:17; 18:10-12; 21:1-7)
For twenty-five years Abraham and Sarah’s faith carried them through weeks of uncertainty, days of discouragement, hours of fear. It walked them through every moment of the journey, every foray into enemy territory, every encounter with Pharaohs and kings. It held them fast against the torrent of doubt. Gave them strength through the silence emanating from the heavens. Offered hope as they eagerly waited for God to fulfill His promise of a child. Faith brought them through moments of silent pain when no child was forthcoming. In retrospect, they could see what they hadn’t seen in the waiting. Although God hadn’t answered their prayers for a son on their timetable, He had immediately answered their prayers. In His own way. With His strength. Strength to have faith when doubt was stronger. Strength to endure when every day was a struggle. Strength to get up, keep going, when the darkness of disappointment made them want to hide away. Strength to trust His heart, believe in His goodness, rest in His care, even when it seemed the promise wouldn’t, couldn’t be fulfilled. Into the echoing silence of waiting, God poured His strength. The immediate answer to the future fulfillment. God’s strength in God’s silence. (Genesis 17:17; 18:10-12)
Just as the land would pass to Abraham’s descendants, so would the lesson. Stuck in Egyptian slavery, his descendants found themselves praying, begging, crying for deliverance. Immediate deliverance. Instantaneous deliverance. The answer didn’t come at their first call. It took a long time. A long, painful time. Years of harsh circumstances, abuse, and death. Weeks when the heavens seemed like brass. Their prayers went unanswered. Their cries seemed unheard. It felt like God was completely ignoring their worsening circumstances. There was no proof God had heard. No action to indicate He was responding. They had no promise He was ever going to come to their aid. Every day they went to their jobs and labored long hours, their hearts continually crying out for a rescue from Heaven, but no answer came, no reply resounded. They couldn’t see it then, but we see it now. Littered throughout the chapters of Exodus, outlining the horrific circumstances the children of Israel endured before leaving Egypt, when the silence from heaven was thick, God gave them strength to endure that silence. When it seemed their prayers weren’t being answered. When it felt like God wasn’t doing anything. When hope seemed lost. They still got up every day and endured their situation while they waited for the answer. They didn’t stop praying. They didn’t stop working. They kept going. Because God gave them strength in His silence. (Exodus 1-15)
The writer of Psalm 138 clearly walked through similar waters, learned a similar lesson. One he chose to share with posterity as he penned the words, “You answer my prayers as soon as I pray them; you encourage me by giving me strength.” We would like those to be two independent sentences. They aren’t. Sometimes the immediate answer to our prayers is not the exact thing we asked for, but the immediate filling with God’s strength. For our circumstances. For our burdens. For our hopes. For our dreams. Strength to carry us through fears and uncertainty, tears and triumphs. Strength to walk in faithful obedience when we don’t understand the timing. Strength to endure hardness and trouble, disappointment and sorrow. Strength to believe in God’s goodness and trust His love even when we don’t see the answer we are waiting for. Strength to understand that sometimes the immediate answer to our prayers is God’s strength to help us carry on in His silence. (Psalm 138:3)
It is the hardest lesson we will learn, possibly the most difficult thing to believe. But if you look back over your life, you will see it is true. In those moments when your knees ached from the amount of time you spent on them, when your eyes burned from the sheer volume of your tears, when your throat was raw from the intensity of your prayers, God didn’t give you exactly what you asked for. He gave you strength to carry on. In His stillness, when it seemed He wasn’t hearing. In His silence, when you couldn’t hear Him speak. In the waiting, while your ragged faith sat before Him in tears and prayers that seemed unnoticed. Whether you felt it or not, God acted. Into the silence, God sent you His strength to carry on. Strength to wait for His timing. Strength to wait for His answer. Strength to keep going in the face of fear, anxiety, mistreatment, and pain. God may not immediately speak change into your circumstances, but He will immediately fill His silence with His strength. (Isaiah 40:31; Psalm 27:14; 37:7; Lamentations 3:25; Philippians 4:6-7, 13)
In his second letter to the church at Corinth, the Apostle Paul tells his own story of finding God’s strength in God’s silence. It cuts more closely to home for us. Continually badgered by something he dubs his “thorn in the flesh,” Paul asks God to rid him of it. Three times he asks. Begs, actually, for God to eradicate that illness, that opposition, that temptation which continually rose up to trouble him. God didn’t do it. Declaring His grace sufficient, His power more than enough, God leaves Paul to endure. But not without His strength. Into God’s stillness and silence over that situation, He sends Paul His strength. For Paul’s weakness. It is never recorded that God relented and fixed whatever the situation was. Instead, He infused His silence on the issue with His strength for the issue. God’s strength for Paul’s weakness, even when God chose to remain silent. (II Corinthians 12:7-10)
You see, friend, God is never doing nothing. He is always busy. Working for you, in you, through you. You can’t always see it. You may not even know it is happening. You might not know who is looking on, watching you bravely carry on, keep the faith, obey God, even when the storms of life threaten to capsize your soul. If asked, you possibly couldn’t clearly explain how you do it. How you get out of bed every day, face those impenetrable, unscalable mountains, and keep going, have courage, maintain faith. But I know. Now you do too. When the exact answers you asked for aren’t readily forthcoming, your prayers are still being answered. Immediately. Exactly the way God knows you need them to be. Into God’s silence flows God’s strength, giving you courage to hope, faith to believe, and strength to carry on while you wait. (Exodus 15:2; Jeremiah 33:3; Psalm 66:19-20; 121:1-2; Ephesians 3:16; I Samuel 30:6; Hebrews 4:16; II Timothy 1:7; Isaiah 55:8-9)