More Than One Right Answer

December 17, 2020

More Than One Right Answer

Come, my people, enter your rooms
and close your doors behind you;
hide for a little while
until indignation runs its course.
~Isaiah 26:20 NASB

As a young mom I often prayed and sometimes begged for alone time. I may or may not have picked an occasional fight so others would go away when these didn’t seem to work. Unhealthy, I know. But effective in the short run. 

Perched within an empty nest and surrounded by a global pandemic, I now wonder if God stock piled his “Yes” answers, like making deposits in a bank account, and gave them to me in one lump sum this year.

I’ve had lots of alone time.

When Colorado’s cold snap chased me inside, and covid spiked, I reevaluated my response to the crisis. I considered public health mandates, my risk factors, and how my choices could affect others. I prayed for wisdom, knowing there’s usually more than one right answer.

Nestled within a praise chapter that follows an apocalyptic warning in Isaiah, I sensed the wisdom and restraint within this verse: “Come, my people, enter your rooms and close your doors behind you; hide for a little while until this indignation has passed” (Isaiah 26:20). This calm, common-sense answer washed over me as I lingered with those words—just stay home and wait for a while. This will pass.

My right answer is a personal one—not a political, public health, or economic statement. I am grateful for grocery clerks, medical personnel, and those who provide other goods and services and navigate safety measures well. I admire pastors, churches, and organizations that continue to find creative ways to meet people’s needs. Parents who juggle home-schooling and working from home have my deepest respect. Their right answers look different than mine.

Whether frantic with increased demands, or closing the door behind us, we’re all waiting for something.

I’m waiting to share a meal with my family and laugh around a dinner table. I’m waiting to hug my grandchildren and smother them in kisses. I’m waiting to wear lipstick and not a mask. I’m waiting to meet friends for coffee, lunch, or a hike. I’m waiting to worship in person with my church family. I’m waiting to feel safe again. I’ve had practice waiting, I’m sure you have too.

I have waited poorly—scrambling to take control of my life and the circumstances that hijacked my plan. I have filled waiting with distractions, opinions, or rage against the impotency I felt. I’ve been anxious and fearful. But I’ve also waited well.

When Ray died five years ago, life as I had known it shattered and fell from my bones. I’ve had to grow into a repurposed life. I resisted the urge to take control and waited for unforced rhythms of grace to find me. I experienced the comfort of God’s presence when I made room for Him. And He continues to faithfully restore my life from loss even as He has accompanied me in the waiting.

Whether this alone time is my lump-sum answer to a young mother’s frazzled prayers, or the reality of widowhood, retirement, and an empty nest sucker-punched by a pandemic, I want to wait well—to emerge better than I began, because I have encountered Jesus.

For what are you waiting? And how will you wait?