Blessed Are the Plodders

One-hundred twenty-seven. That's how many questions my young adult son asked me during a recent three-hour drive. Yes, I counted. I enjoy conversations and tend to answer his questions, which range from reasonable to nerve-wracking.

"How much snow do you think we'll get this winter?"

"What if I ate four packs of Ramen noodles for lunch?"

"Can I buy a $40,000 tractor?"

Answering leads to trickier questions.

"Would you be mad if we got ten feet of snow in one day?" Maybe.

"If I die from eating too much Ramen, I'll go to heaven. Don't you want me to go to heaven?" Yes, but not today.

"Can I drive a tractor in heaven?" I don't know.

He deemed my answer to this last question unacceptable and lectured me about my lack of Bible knowledge. Remind me next time to just say yes.

My son, adopted at age five, is diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Like all people with trauma and prenatal substance exposure, his brain works differently. So navigating life—and long car rides—is challenging. Because they often struggle with executive function deficits and are usually developmentally younger than their peers, raising kids with brain-based differences is exhausting.

Two and a half hours into the drive, my already frazzled brain was spent. Like most foster and adoptive parents, I often feel as if I'm slogging through each day, wrung out and weary. But God calls us to exchange our slogging for soaring; our wrung-out posture for running; our wrestling through life for walking with Him; and our sapped energy for His strength.

But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength;

They shall mount up with wings like eagles;

They shall run and not be weary;

They shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:31 ESV

Earlier in chapter 40, Isaiah points out that Israel was complaining about their circumstances as if God didn't know their situation or care about their problems. They only saw the long road ahead and believed they didn't have the strength for the journey. As a recovering complainer, I can relate.

But God knew their plight. He had a plan. And He does for us too.

The Lord knows our daily struggles and how we feel. And He will meet our every need. We can always trust Him to provide the strength necessary to soar, run, and walk as we wait on Him.

The key is in the wait.

The Hebrew word for wait in this passage is qavah. It means twisting or binding, like when making rope. Rope is made from hundreds of thin strands of fabric woven and tightly bound together. Alone, each strand would easily fail. But together, they are unbreakable.

In Isaiah 40:31, waiting for the Lord is not passive—we don't idly sit around and wait. This wait is active. We actively bind ourselves to God in the waiting. Like many cords wrapped together, we are strengthened when we bind ourselves to Him.

In Luke 24, Jesus instructed the disciples to stay or tarry until they receive the Holy Spirit: "Behold, I send the Promise of My Father upon you; but tarry in the city of Jerusalem until you are endued with power from on high."

Here the word tarry is also active. It means staying in God's presence, waiting with anticipation and expectation until the Promise is received. Sometimes qavah is translated "hope." Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. To wait, tarry, or hope is action that results in renewed strength.

The Activity of Waiting

So what are we to be doing while we're waiting for the Lord? We are to be actively pursuing Him by:

• Studying His Word

• Meditating on His promises and character

• Praying

• Worshiping

• Sitting at His feet

Mary of Bethany lived her life at the feet of Jesus (Luke 10:38). Even when life didn't go as planned—her brother Lazarus got sick, but Jesus didn't come when she expected Him to, and Lazarus died—she still tarried. Because Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, she knew His character. She trusted Him. Her hope was in Jesus, therefore she extravagantly worshiped Him (John 12:1-7), no matter her circumstances.

The Call to Run & Walk

Isaiah 40:31 speaks of running and walking. Jacob walked with a limp. In Genesis 32:22-32, we learn he wrestled with God. Jacob pressed in and wouldn't let go because he wanted more of God. After that encounter, he walked with a limp for the rest of his life—evidence of a life lived waiting on God.

At times our walk may feel more like plodding—trudging along, carrying the burdens of life. To walk and not faint—to be strengthened for the journey—we need to have a longview perspective.

In the Wiersbe Bible Commentary, Warren W. Wiersbe states: "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. The greatest heroes of faith are not those who seem to be soaring; often it's they who are patiently plodding. As we wait on the Lord, He enables us not only to fly higher and run faster, but also to walk longer. Blessed are the plodders, for they eventually arrive at their destination."

The Longview Perspective

I've experienced God's strength to soar in times of crisis. He's given me energy to run and not grow weary on extra chaotic days. But I find walking through the day-to-day pressures of foster care and adoption more difficult to endure.

Times of chaos and crises are inevitable on this journey. So we move like runners on a sprint—a short-distance run. We push through, and the crisis is over. But foster and adoptive parenting is more like running a marathon. We're in the race for the long haul.

Marathons are much more demanding than sprints. Marathon runners have to have the longview perspective. They train, pace themselves, and keep hydrated in order to finish strong.

We must have the longview perspective too.

I heard my friend and fellow Second Mother, Jodi Jackson Tucker, share a message about the longview. She referenced the workers rebuilding the wall in Nehemiah 4:17-18—they carried their tools for labor in one hand and their swords in the other.

The adoption and foster care journey is long and arduous; therefore, we must be equipped. Like wall restorers, we need our tools and swords. And like spiritual marathon runners, we need training to parent kids with trauma, daily time with the Lord to set the pace so we can finish the race, and hydration from the Living Water to survive.

Raising children who suffered adverse childhood experiences before coming to us is a rough road. If we look only at our present circumstances, we'll worry about the future and believe we're failing as parents.

Hope in the One Who Holds the Future

The prophet Isaiah had a calling from God on his life, and he responded with obedience (Isaiah 6:8). Maybe you, like me and Isaiah, raised your hand and surrendered with those words, "Here am I, send me." But when God called Isaiah, He told him upfront what his journey would endure.

God informed Isaiah that his ministry would end in seeming failure (Isaiah 6:9-12). The people would not listen to him. They would be taken into exile, and the land would be destroyed. But there would be a glimmer of hope—a remnant would survive (v. 13).

Isaiah needed a long-range perspective. If he only looked at the apparent effectiveness of his nearly fifty years of dedicated ministry, he would feel like a failure. By human standards, it certainly looked that way. But God didn't judge Isaiah's ministry by the people's response. His success was measured by his obedience to God's call.

While we are called to minister to vulnerable children, our true mission is to be faithful to God. We are to be obedient to the call. It's God's job to accomplish it. The true test of our ministry is not outward success but our faithfulness to the Lord and the resulting inward transformation of our lives.

A Prayer for the Plodders

Lord, I come to You with my empty cup needing to be filled. I exchange weariness for Your strength, worry for Your peace, ashes for beauty, mourning for joy, and despair for praise. Help me to wait on You, Lord. To sit at Your feet, under Your fountain of Living Water. Drench me. Fill my cup—my heart—to overflowing. Fill me with Your goodness, grace, and love. Renew my strength. Lift me up to soar. Help me to run and not get weary, to walk and not faint. Lord, sustain me for the long haul. In Jesus' name, amen.