Qavah

Waiting.  Even typing the word gives me a bit of emotional upheaval.  Which is odd after nearly 4 years of waiting.  Waiting for answered prayers.  Waiting for doctor’s appointments in yet another sterile, uncomfortable waiting room.  Waiting for results of tests that never really have clear answers.  Waiting for a pain cycle in my child to pass, knowing that nothing I can offer that comes from a medication or treatment ever fully relieves the pain.  Waiting for flashbacks of my bloodied husband or mangled daughter to fade.  Waiting for the memories of the sounds of my small daughter’s screaming and terror to grow quiet.  Waiting for my guardedness to decline, hoping that I will slowly accept the reality of days filled with joy.  One would assume that I have become an expert at waiting well, or at the very least I would have become accustomed to waiting without constantly tapping my foot.  And while I may have acquired some endurance in waiting, enjoyment in waiting has remained somewhat elusive these years.  

Qavah, is one of the Hebrew words for waiting, and it is the word used in some of my favorite verses; verses that I have prayed over Naomi with urgency and faith these last years.  “Have you not known? Have you not heard?  The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He does not faint or grow weary; His understanding is unsearchable.  He gives power to the faint,and to him who has no might He increases strength.  Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait (QAVAH) for the LORD, shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”  (Isaiah 4028-31)

Qavah, is not passive or mournful waiting.  Qavah is actively waiting with anticipation and joy, or waiting, while living in the tension of endurance.  It does not feel like drudgery.  Isn’t that spectacular?  I think about the joyful anticipation I felt as a small child looking at wrapped gifts under a lighted Christmas tree (the memory of which has a pleasant patina and glow, giving it warmth and welcome that cheers me even now).  Or the gleeful waiting of one of our small children as they have played hide and seek with their daddy in these years as a family.   Honestly, much of our waiting in these years since our wreck have been tear-streaked pleadings with God for the deliverance of our daughter; journal pages filled with raw and honest prayers, and questions asking God what He has been doing, if He has possibly forgotten, or when He will ever deliver her.  Many of our days have been spent in the tension of endurance, and have lacked the hopeful expectation that deliverance was actually on the way. 

I have had moments so heavy, that I have surrendered her over to God, barely able to believe that He could heal her, or hope that He would.  I have come to prayer, without being able to ask or imagine anything, and have relied entirely on the Holy Spirit to intercede for me as words have failed.  Have you ever felt that way?  Strength and endurance stretched, but faithfully trusting that God would answer; choosing to believe, all tangible and sensory evidence to the contrary.  Despite many setbacks, we have continued to trust that God would give her hope and a future, and would bring beauty from the ashes left after a young man made horrible choices and shattered the innocence of her healthy, young life.   

Challenges ever present, she has persevered.  She has continued to grow up, as life is never really on hold even when it really hurts.  She has thrived in the reality of her life, and through  her triumphs and continuing struggles we have seen God giving her strength; as no one person could possess hopeful strength in adversity without the help of the Father.  Thankfully along the journey, we have been overwhelmed with gratitude by doors which have been opened by God alone; the appointments that would have been months in the waiting, but just happened to have one opening on the day or time we needed, medical providers who have given her just the right tools to help in really difficult pain moments, compassion from fellow sojourners along broken roads which have helped us to see that we are not alone, and friends and family who have prayed like warriors in battle.  As we have seen God moving, we have had strength to carry on, and some days we have been filled with Qavah.

This summer she had another major surgery, and since that time we have seen so much more vibrancy of life.  As her surgeon released her tethered spinal cord, it was if Naomi was untethered from so many other hindrances in her life.  This fall has been enjoyable to share with her, and I have felt Qavah almost daily, as we have helped her apply for colleges and dreamt about her future.  Since our wreck there have been times that I have wondered if college would even be a possibility for her, which I hate admitting, but has been true more than a few times. However, that fear has faded, and hope has crept in, replacing doubt.  My prayers for her have been filled with gratitude for answered prayers, physical strength, and the joy that is flowing from her.  God has been faithfully putting her life together and helping her move forward.

For one of her applications she submitted an autobiographical memoir of an experience in her life.  It was an essay she had already written for a writing class (as this particular school only required an essay, and encouraged the students to submit anything they felt moved to submit, even if it had been done for a class).  In it she described the joy of having a wheelchair in the Smithsonian Art Gallery last May.   She had endured some curious and some judgemental glances that particular day as she walked the wheelchair into the gallery alone, and then sat down, and wheeled herself from room to room. Which admittedly may have seemed odd, seeing a young, healthy appearing woman behaving in such a way.  She delighted in having a place to sit and gaze at a Monet painting she had really wanted to see.  Because of her need for a wheelchair, she had brought her very own front seat to dwell in a moment; taking in the nuances of a small painting in a huge gallery filled with grandiose works of art.  No need to rush through a room without chairs.  She wrote about beauty in the middle of brokenness.  That essay was submitted, and 3 weeks later she received an acceptance letter complete with multiple merit based scholarships, completely covering her costs for 4 years of schooling.  Just a few weeks later she was invited into the honors program, which will afford her one on one mentoring from the beginning of her education.  

God has been working on her behalf all this time. He has not forgotten her.  His gifts and provisions for her are literally more than I have even begun to ask or imagine.  He took her honesty about life in brokenness, and turned it into a gift that will set the stage for the beginning of her adult life.  As gratitude has replaced almost any other emotion, I have wondered why I ever waited with worry.  Qavah would have been much more fitting when awaiting the answers to prayers whispered to the God who has never failed, never changed, and has always been more devoted to her life than I could ever be.  I am so thankful that “His ability to work has not ever hinged on my ability to perceive His working,” as I heard a pastor put it recently.  

This open door and perfect provision is only one the ways that God has shown Himself worthy of my Qavah. And it has come at the perfect time, for His perfect purpose in her life.  It occurs to me now, that as I pray over each of our children and their lives, hopeful anticipation is the perfect posture for each of my prayers.  God is working, even when I cannot see Him, for their good and His glory.  No need to ever fear, as I know that He can and will work, even if the worst happens.  Even if another person’s choices affect them.  Even if their own failures bring about calamity in their life.  He promised that He would never stop working for the good in all situations.  His promises are unbreakable, even when the world feels like it may be falling apart.  He has never failed.  He’s not going to start now. 

It’s Advent Season.  The time we prepare our hearts to celebrate the birth of Christ.  I feel joyful anticipation as I wait to see how God will reveal Himself to us these weeks.  But even more so, I feel emboldened to allow God’s unchanging love and faithfulness to fully transform waiting for me moving forward in life here before Heaven.  Rather than drudgery, powerlessness and doubt, what if each season of waiting could be filled with Qavah; joyful anticipation, living in the tension of endurance...like a little girl waiting to unwrap perfect gifts from a perfect Father? These last months I have been asking God to give me more of Himself, to allow me to experience Him in whatever way He sees fit.  And this Advent, God has already given me a Christmas present, come early: Qavah, the next step of my growth as His daughter.  These last years have been defined by the word perseverance (which by the way, I wasn’t super thrilled about as a word and yet God has been building it in me); but I feel that the time has come for Qavah.  Don’t Qavah and perseverance seem like a beautiful combination?  Persevering faithfully with joyful anticipation while in the tension of endurance.  What better time than a season marked by twinkle lights, red ribbons, laughing children, and the joy of a promise fulfilled, celebrated as we worship a newborn King to grow in such beautiful expectancy?  

Merry Christmas.  I pray your hearts are filled with Qavah.