The Space In Between

What happens in the void of waiting?

This space in between the trial and the victory?

These moments of unknowns and not yets and hoped fors?

Often, this is where the struggle seems most real. More real than the adrenaline-pumped throes of battle when sword is in mid-swing to strike against a foe. More real than the victory shout of routing the enemy and occupying territory long desired.

This space in between is where hearts are either confirmed in convictions or destabilized by the questions filling these moments of silent waiting.

The struggle lies in the stillness.

In the calm before the storm where we grapple with extremes – of either good or bad, victory or defeat, relief or devastation.

This is where the wrestling of my spirit is most agonizing. Caught between the what was and what will be — here in this moment of waiting for the dawn of resurrection.

Is it any wonder the world scoffs at hope? Shakes its head at the fantasy of joy and anticipation for a life that is anything other than what it has always known?

Just another day. Another typical, ordinary, common day. Another Messiah come to declare His place as the long-awaited consolation and hope of a nation at odds with the world in which it’s living. Of a people not belonging, yet desiring to belong.

The beloved aching to be loved.

These moments in which the majority of life is lived out seem all too mundane. Monotonous ticking of seconds turned to minutes turned to days, then weeks, then months, then years until we’re almost tricked into thinking there will be no coming dawn. Just the sameness of these twilight hours.

Forever waiting in this void of wondering what’s left to hope for.

Until… the crack of light seeps slowly across the horizon. So subtle in its approach that untrained eyes will not notice the gradual shifting of shadows surrendering to its glow. So slow in coming that unprepared slumberers may miss out on it altogether. Those who refuse to look for light will be deceived into closing eyes against its unveiled brilliance, thinking all is but a dream.

But for those willing to anticipate through the silence and the empty, these are the ones who will be roused from stupor with divine awakening of heaven’s Champion.

While the world slumbers on, tuned hearts will hear the growing roar of tomb door’s rolling as death’s grip slackens, cut free from stifling hearts with its finality. Ever. Again.

Can you hear it, my friend?

In this space of solitary confinement when the world would have you numb to hope, can you hear the stirring of heaven’s gracious whispers through the silence?

Can you feel the gentle brush of angel wings in flight, hastening to greet you in your quest for a Savior come to overcome?

He is there to meet you with the hope of Easter dawning, breaking through the stillness for once and for forever. Nail-scarred hands extended, reaching for one and for all who will rise to see Him coming.

Here in this moment of joy unspeakable and full of glory, He cannot be contained.

Hope cannot be denied.

Mercy cannot help but have its way as this space in between gives way to His place in this space of souls He has come to save.

Lift up your head, dear one, and wait no longer. Your redemption is here.

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