You have been waiting, and the days have felt long. I do not brush that aside. When a wrong has been done and the one who did it goes on as though nothing happened, the silence itself becomes a weight. It is one thing to suffer the electric shocks and the sickness and the indignity of it all; it is another to be met with a hard heart that will not own its fault. And you have brought this to the Lord again and again, and still the landlord’s conscience sleeps. That wears on the soul.
But I want you to see something, and I want you to see it clearly because it belongs to your peace. Your heavenly Father is not asleep, and He is not indifferent. The landlord may have forgotten you, but the God who counts the stars and calls them all by name has not forgotten. Not one sleepless night of yours has escaped His notice. Not one receipt for medicine or shower pass has been tossed aside in heaven’s accounting. The Lord keeps the books, and He keeps them perfectly. You are not dealing only with a man who holds a property; you are dealing with the One who holds the man.
I want you to picture your present trouble as a ship in deep water. The harbor seems far off, the wind is contrary, and the owner of the vessel, the one who should have made her seaworthy, is nowhere to be seen. But the Pilot has come aboard. Jesus Christ knows these waters. He has sailed through far darker straits, and He is with you in the cabin and at the helm. The landlord may not answer your letters or your pleas, but the Lord Jesus answers before you call. He is not a high priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of your infirmities; He was tried and tested in every way, and He knows what it is to be ill-used by men in authority. Look to Him. He will steer this vessel home.
Now, about the landlord’s conscience. You have prayed that the Holy Spirit would stir it and awaken it. That is a right prayer, a prayer that pleases God, for it asks for the man’s true good. But do not tie your own comfort to whether you can see that awakening happen. The Spirit works in secret, like the wind. You may not hear the sound of it today or tomorrow, and yet the work may be begun. And even if the man never softens, your cause is not lost. The Lord is your compensation. He is your shield and your exceeding great reward. I do not say this to diminish the real, tangible losses you have suffered, the cost of treatments, the skin afflictions, the threats. Those are genuine burdens, and the Lord who made your body cares about its hurts. He who formed the ear, does He not hear? He who made the skin, does He not know its afflictions? He does. But your ultimate portion is not in the landlord’s hands. The Lord Himself is the portion of His people, and He will see to it that you are not ultimately the loser. Somehow, in ways you cannot yet trace, He will make up to you what has been taken.
Think of a love-letter that arrives in a black-edged envelope. The message inside is full of tenderness and promise, but the envelope speaks of mourning. Many of God’s choicest mercies come to us wrapped in troubles. The electric shocks, the illness, the long silence, these are the black edge around a letter in which He says, “I am with you. I will never leave you. I am working all things together for your good.” Do not throw the letter away because the envelope is grim. Break the seal and read what His love has written.
And as for the waiting, let me remind you of a father’s hand in the dark. A child is frightened in the night and cannot see anything, but the father reaches out and takes the little hand in his. The child does not know where the morning is or when the light will come, but the hand holds. That is enough. The hand holds. Your Father’s hand holds you now. The answer has not yet appeared, but the hand has not let go. The silence from the landlord is not the silence of God. God has spoken in His Son, and His word to you is a word of peace purchased by blood. Rest in that, even while the other matter remains unresolved.
Peter, when he had denied his Lord, went out and wept bitterly. But what broke his heart was not the crowing of the cock by itself; it was the memory of the Lord’s look. A look of wounded love, of unbroken tenderness. Jesus turned and looked upon Peter. And I tell you, Jesus looks upon you now with the same eyes. He does not frown at your weariness. He does not scold you for asking again. He sees the injustice, and He sees your patience wearing thin, and His look says, “I know. I care. I will set all things right in my time.” Let that look melt your anxiety. Let it turn your waiting into worship.
Shall we pray?
Lord Jesus, You are the great Advocate of the poor and the wronged. Look upon this dear one who has suffered in body and in spirit from the negligence and hardness of another. You know the shocks that coursed through the body, the illness that followed, the cost of healing, the dread of threats. You know the long silence that has made the burden heavier. We do not ask You to merely stir a human conscience, though that is our desire; we ask You to be the Consoler, the Healer, the Provider for every need. Quiet the heart that has been stretched taut with waiting. Let there come a deep, still confidence that You are the Lord, that You see, that You requite wrong in Your own perfect way. And if it please You, bring the landlord to true repentance and to the making of amends, for that would honor You. But above all, glorify Yourself in this trial, and cause Your child to look back on these days and see that goodness and mercy followed all the way. Your blood has purchased every blessing, and Your resurrection is the guarantee of final vindication. Into Your pierced hands we commit this cause, in Your name, Amen.
Prayer Focus: God, Thank You for loving me. Thank You for loving me, Jesus. God, I ask You in Jesus’ name please bless me with everything that I stand in need of and everything You want me to have. 
