For God Alone

For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.

He alone is my rock and salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken. - Psalm 62:1-2

The heart does not want to wait. We are hardwired with impatience, and all the more, as the world around us swirls with distractions and fast-paced “satisfactions” that drag us further and further away from the stillness Scripture prescribes.

Then comes control: whose life am I living here, mine or God’s? I know in my mind that I am hidden in Christ – that it is no longer I who live, but he in me – and yet my day-to-day life may often tell a very different story. It may proclaim my own Kingdom, my own power, my own will.

But we long for it to be different.

And it can.

Psalm 62 is a prayer that may not feel like our reality, but we pray it so that our hearts might latch on to what we are saying even as we say it. We hope to become people whose souls are so marked by trust in God’s good character that we are willing to sit still in the quiet and wait. We hope to be so certain of God’s secure and steady hand that we cannot be shaken by our circumstances.

How long will I wait?

How long will I wonder?

How long till You speak to me?

We cannot help but ask. We cannot help but feel entitled to answers. Our brother Job understands it better than anyone. And yet, our God does not owe us answers. When He gives them, He does so generously and for a purpose, and in the same way, when He does not give them, He does not withhold in vain. The fruit of our waiting on God will often, if not always, be far greater than the fruit of knowing an outcome or a timeline.

Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; 

God is a refuge for us. – Psalm 62:8

Waiting is first a discipline that blossoms into a way of being. Despite (and in the midst of) our restlessness, we choose to plant ourselves firmly in the ground and wait. We preach to our hearts that God is who He says He is. We sing to our souls that He is our refuge. We recite to our anxious minds that God’s promises cannot and will not fail us, even when the outcomes are not what we expect.

We wait on purpose; we keep doing it until the stillness and the silence begin to feel like home. Somewhere along the way, this rhythm becomes the undercurrent of our lives. Somehow, as we return to this place repeatedly, pouring out our hearts and listening for God’s response, the silence becomes a comfort rather than a dreaded nightmare.

We know we are safe there. We know that the story is written and that the hand of the Author cradles us as we wait for him to act or to speak.

Lord, You have spoken; still I forget: power and love are Yours.

You will remind me time and again; great is Your faithfulness.

The good news – possibly the best news in all of this – is that we don’t do any of it alone. God is not far off, watching us struggle to be patient and scoffing at us or disappointed in our humanity. He is near us. We are sitting in the quiet with a Friend, with a Protector, with One who understands us and sees us and cares about it all.

When we begin to fear or strive, he whispers again, “This is mine. You can rest. Watch and wait with me.” He never tires of reminding us who He is and who we are. He does not grow weary of our fighting for control, our anxious wondering, our desperate hoping. He knows who we are, and He has chosen us to belong to Him. And those who belong to Him have refuge.

So, fellow impatient waiter, take refuge today.

Pour out your heart before God.

Be satisfied in His quiet, still nearness.

You are safe there.

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