Let Us Trust in Him and Wait a Little Longer

Despair was a terrible looking man, with shaggy hair and beard and clothes made of the rough skin of wild beasts…He drove [the pilgrims] before him across the fields to his house, which was called Doubting Castle and put them in a dark dungeon, locking the door behind him.

All day and all night they lay there upon the bare ground, without either food or water, and not even able to see each other. Hopeful crept close to Christian, and they clung together, wondering whether the giant would soon come and put them to death…In the morning the giant took his club and went down to the dungeon. When he had beaten the boys, he left them again in the darkness, and they were so bruised by the heavy blows that they could not move but lay upon the ground all that day, moaning with pain. The next day Despair visited them again and seems surprised to find they were not dead. He told them that he would never let them leave his castle…

Christian said, “It is dreadful here. We cannot bear it much longer and we shall never be able to escape.”

“You must not talk in that way,” replied Hopeful. “You are forgetting all that has happened to you before. Just remember what a long way you have traveled and how many dangers you have been in. You were not afraid to fight with Self, and the King helped you to conquer him. You passed safely through the Death Valley, and even in Vanity Fair the King did not let you be killed. Let us trust in Him and wait a little longer.”

(“Little Pilgrim’s Progress”, adapted from John Bunyan’s classic by Helen L. Taylor)

2 responses to “Let Us Trust in Him and Wait a Little Longer”

  1. Oh, how the waiting is hard. Let us trust. Let us trust. Let us trust.


  2. melissa moslow Avatar
    melissa moslow

    This morning I stepped into one of the classrooms of our school, now hollow and silent because it is summer, to spend some quiet time in prayer before starting work at my Front Desk. Lying on its side on a top shelf of the classroom cupboards I saw it. On its side. Silent too. Like the room. A Cello. A Cello without strings.
    It struck me. The sight. Like a face without eyes, this cello stared back at me, stark and silent. I found a place at a table in this art room, among pottery and easels and cans of colored pencils. I sat staring at this instrument for a long, long time. Taking in the silence and refusing to consider the metaphors clamoring for a turn to speak in my head. I took in the silence and the picture of it. Soaking it in and feeling it deeply. Some longing. A wordless longing.
    Then I opened my Bible, looking for the passage of scripture that had awakened me on my bed early this morning. The one that appeared jumbled in my groggy mind as I woke slowly to the day. The one that I could not recall even with effort until I determined that I would, first chance, seek it out on the page and read it out for a review. I should know it by heart! I should. God knows I’ve prayed it for enough years over my family and self. But it alluded me until sitting at that table in the silent room at school. I took my eyes off the cello and opened my Bible and headed to Ephesians 1:15-19 and beyond! And as I turned the pages I recalled the verse that HAD come to memory on my bed that morning. The only one I could pull up into words which I spoke aloud on my bed so that my faith would not wane in the first moments of the day. I had said then and I heard it again as I turned to Ephesians the prayer of Romans 15:13 “MAY THE GOD OF HOPE FILL YOU WITH ALL JOY AND PEACE AS YOU TRUST IN HIM SO THAT YOU MAY OVERFLOW WITH HOPE BY THE POWER OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.” When I came to Ephesians and read aloud my familiar and illusive prayer of many years the part that stood up and commanded my full consideration was this : “…in order that you may know the hope to which He has called you,…”
    And there it was. The picture of the string-less cello in words on the page.
    “OH, GOD!” my heart cried, “Give strings to the cello. Put a voice on it, please. Give hope to the silent instrument, my faith, in need of song and sound. I fear my heart is silent and my faith is voiceless on this day. I am so tempted to despair! Remind me of the things You have already done and the things You have promised to do for me and mine. Remind me Lord, so that I may find my voice and sing from the belly of my soul what I KNOW to be true. Like the cello. That’s how I feel. Ready and made for song and sound and voice. But without the strings.” I stayed with Him in prayer awhile. For myself and others. Before it was over I could “see’ strings on the cello and a bow playing its voice at the hand of a musician. I could “hear” the low, deep, rich and soulful sound of it as the music expressed HOPE and TRUST and that “hanging on” faith that had been voiceless hours earlier.
    Loving you from here, Angie. Believing God for His good for you. Believing that you do not wait in a dungeon alone. And that your freedom is certain, if not silent for a time.
    Thank you for your entry today. It ministered to me! It reminded me of our shared humanity and need of our Companion, HOPE.


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