A Tap on the Shoulder

There are some wonderful times in life when you cry out for help when no one is around and yet still know that someone is listening. There are other times in life, however, when you cry as loud and as hard and as often as you can and no one seems to care. Both times carry a sense of hope, but only the first results in a hope you can see and feel. Hope still exists in the second situation but it’s so much harder to see because of the added sense of being alone.

That is when discouragement, even fear and despair, come crowding in – snuggling in so close you can barely breathe. Yet in those same moments, when we are most honest with ourselves about where we are and how far we have fallen from the string of hope, that we can get a gentle nudge. It changes nothing for the situation we are in. No earthquakes erupt or thunderclouds crack. The feelings of loss and abandonment might still be there. But sometimes things shift just enough you can feel a tap on your shoulder.

It’s light and easy to miss in the middle of all the grief and heartache. It doesn’t even carry a jolt of energy or a burst of happiness. It’s just a poke that says, “I know and I am still here.”

I often find those moments hard to deal with, especially when all life presents is a run of never-ending problems. There’s so much of it that at times it seems nothing good ever existed. Positivity is smothered or drowned out by all that’s negative. Happiness hides away and it’s hard to remember when things were different.

It’s like when you’re out walking in the woods, and while it’s not winter anymore, nothing is ready to show signs of spring. Everything is still barren. But you know (maybe deep down) that something is going to grow eventually. You know there will be life coming from what appears to be death – a warm spring after a cold winter – but you can’t see it. And the time in between drives you crazy.

That’s when you need that tap.

I’ve faced many of those days in the last year and often desired to be tapped on the shoulder. I prayed for it. I cried for it. I didn’t and don’t always get it. So the only thing I find I am able to do in those moments is just keep looking to the next day… and the next… and then the next. It’s a tiring way to live and it gets discouraging fast.

Yet if you’re able to stop in those hard times – when you’re lost in the middle of the woods – and look up for just a second, you might catch a glimpse hope. It may take several tries, but maybe, just maybe, there might be a deer in the midst of the trees.

And I’m not talking about the one that darts away as soon as you make eye contact. I’m not even talking about the ones that blink at you and then continue to eat as if you weren’t there. I’m talking about the one that is alone, nestled down in the dried grass, content, calm, and unafraid of your presence. It’s eyes are on you the whole time and it’s attentive to every sound you make. It’s not standing ready to run. It’s just waiting and watching.

Those are the ones that really mean something because those are the ones that remind us of God’s Spirit.

It’s a reminder – especially to me these days – that I’m not alone. Even when I want answers, action, and for things to change, I must remember (and be reminded) that God is not waiting for my command. He is there, yes. He is aware of my struggles and is able to help, yes. But He also knows my heart and mind better than I do and knows the world and all its sorrows. He sees my problems and that of the world’s and yet sometimes He waits.

I don’t claim to understand it. But what I so often forget in my frustration is that even when nothing seems to change in that dead forest, deep below the surface life is being renewed. Even though I can’t see it, the trees are getting nutrients and water from their roots. They are pumping life through their trunks and into the branches without my assistance or even notice. Buds will break forth, new life will begin again, and I will have nothing to do with it. Even if the process and the inner workings of the world and my situation are hidden, it does not mean they do not exist or that nothing is occurring beneath the surface.

Right now, I can’t see very far. I don’t see what will be, just what is. But ahead of me there is a deer sitting in the woods looking at me unafraid. It listens and watches my every move just as God in all His goodness does. It’s still a lonely place to be because nothing has changed in an external sense. But God is still there and that knowledge is good.

Even if that’s the only thing I can hold onto right now, it’s still good. The image of the deer might become faint or vanish yet God is still good. Remembering and reminding myself of this truth is sometimes all that can be done.

So I wait – we wait – and watch and cry and pray and cling to the feeble string of hope that soon the life underground will break through the surface and be able to be seen again.