She sat quietly that evening.
For the first time in months, there was no noise.
No telephone ringing.
No office demanding her attention.
No children asking questions.
No familiar voice beside her.
Just silence.
She had once prayed for a quiet life.
Now that she had it, she didn’t know what to do with the quiet.
Everything she had trusted seemed to have disappeared.
The job was gone.
The money was different.
The people she thought would always be there had moved on.
The comfort she had built her life around was no longer comfortable.
She looked at her hands.
They were empty.
Or so she thought.
She remembered Joseph.
His brothers threw him into a pit before selling him into slavery.
What kind of future could a young man imagine from the bottom of a pit?
Yet the pit did not have the final word.
The same Joseph who entered the pit would one day stand in a palace.
She thought about Job.
He lost what he had built, what he loved, and what made his life recognizable.
His faith was shaken.
His understanding was stretched.
But somewhere in that terrible season, Job discovered something about God that comfort had never taught him.
She thought about David.
Before the crown came the wilderness.
Before the throne came caves.
Before the public victory came private battles.
And then she thought about Jesus.
Betrayed.
Rejected.
Mocked.
Crucified.
Yet what appeared to be the darkest moment became part of the story of salvation.
She lowered her head.
Maybe, she thought, the enemy is not always the end of the story.
Maybe the loss is not always the end.
Maybe the rejection is not always the end.
Maybe the closed door is not always the end.
And perhaps the most frightening question was not:
“Why did this happen to me?”
Perhaps it was:
“What has been inside me all along that I never had to use?”
She began to think about people she had known.
The woman who lost her job and discovered she could make beautiful jewelry with her hands.
The man who suddenly found himself raising children alone and discovered a tenderness and strength he never knew he possessed.
The young person whose family could no longer provide everything and who learned to work, create, negotiate, build, and lead.
The person who lost a business and discovered another one.
The person who went back to school.
The person who started writing.
The person who discovered that the very thing they had been praying to escape had forced them to discover who they were.
She smiled.
Perhaps God had not suddenly given them gifts.
Perhaps He had simply created circumstances in which the gifts could finally be seen.
There are talents that comfort never introduces us to.
There are abilities that remain asleep because life has always been easy.
There are dreams that remain buried because there was never a reason to dig them up.
Sometimes it takes a storm.
Sometimes it takes a wilderness.
Sometimes it takes an enemy.
Sometimes it takes losing the very thing we thought we could not live without.
And sometimes it takes silence.
She looked toward the window.
Then she prayed.
Not for everything to return exactly as it had been.
Not anymore.
She prayed for wisdom.
She prayed for discernment.
She prayed that God would show her what was still inside her.
And in the quiet, she began to understand.
Her job was not her God.
Her possessions were not her God.
Her relationships were not her God.
Her beauty was not her God.
Her comfort was not her God.
They were blessings.
But they were never supposed to occupy the throne.
The Creator must remain above His creation.
She remembered the words:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
And:
“Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.”
Perhaps that was what the season had been teaching her all along.
Not that God wanted her to suffer.
Not that every enemy had been sent by God.
But that nothing could be allowed to take His place.
She looked at her hands again.
They were still empty.
But somehow they no longer looked empty.
They looked capable.
She began to imagine.
A book.
A business.
A classroom.
A new skill.
A new idea.
A new beginning.
She laughed softly.
The storm had not put those things inside her.
They had already been there.
The storm had simply forced her to look.
And suddenly she understood something she had never understood before:
Perhaps the enemy had not come to introduce her to her destruction.
Perhaps, in God’s hands, the battle had become the classroom.
The wilderness had become preparation.
The loss had become an invitation.
And the silence had become a place where she could finally hear the Creator again.
She closed her eyes.
“Lord,” she whispered, “forgive me for the times I worshiped Your gifts instead of You.”
Then she smiled.
She would still pray for her enemies.
She would still forgive.
She would still protect her peace.
But she would no longer waste the lesson.
Because there was something inside her that needed to come out.
And perhaps there is something inside you, too.
Something the comfort never required.
Something the success never demanded.
Something the easy season never revealed.
So if you are standing in a difficult place today, do not only ask God,
“Lord, when will this end?”
Ask Him,
“Lord, what are You revealing in me?”
Because sometimes the battle introduces us to ourselves.
Sometimes the storm reveals what God placed inside us long before the rain began.
And sometimes, the thing we called the enemy becomes the unexpected classroom where we finally discover who we were created to be.
Author’s Footnote
Sometimes the very thing we call an enemy, a loss, a rejection, or a hardship becomes the instrument God uses to reveal what He has already placed inside us.
There are seasons when God allows us to downsize without being destined to stay small.
A physician may arrive in a new country and, for a season, work in a different role while pursuing the credentials needed to practice medicine again. A professional may have to begin again. A parent may have to rebuild. Someone may have to take a job they never imagined taking, return to school, learn a new skill, or walk through a season that feels like a step backward.
But a temporary change in position does not mean a permanent change in purpose.
Joseph had a pit before he had a palace.
David had a wilderness before he had a throne.
The journey may change your surroundings, your income, your title, or your comfort, but it does not have to change what God has placed inside you.
Scripture reminds us:
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” — Jeremiah 29:11
That expected end is the destination God has purposed according to His wisdom, not necessarily the destination we imagined for ourselves.
And sometimes, the road to that destination includes seasons we would never have chosen.
“But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good.” — Genesis 50:20
And:
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” — Romans 8:28
So do not despise the season simply because it looks smaller than the life you once had.
A season of preparation is not a sentence of limitation.
God may be using the very journey you wanted to escape to prepare you for the place you have been praying to reach.
By Joan A.Roberts
Mother/wife/soldier/doctor
Visit my blog for more insights
Divineaccolades.com
