You have cried out for revelation, for guidance, for understanding to come to you now, this very hour. I do not wonder at it. The ship in deep water with no star in sight longs for the break of day; the child in a darkened hallway reaches out a cold hand for the father’s firm grasp. That longing is not presumption. It is the homing instinct of a soul already made alive by the Spirit of God, for only those who have been taught the beginnings of grace know enough to pine for more.
And mark this: the prayer you are breathing, that the Lord would order your steps, that He would open His Word to your heart, did not originate in you alone. He planted it there. A ship does not hoist its sails unless the wind is blowing; you would not be crying out for His orders unless He had already begun to steer you. So take heart. The very ache for clarity is a token that you belong to Him. Did He not promise, “You shall guide me with Your counsel”? He stands ready to fulfill it.
You say now, and I hear the urgency in it. I am not about to scold it, the Lord loves to be pressed. Yet let me whisper a little word: sometimes our Lord’s “afterward” is as much a part of the mercy as the guidance itself. Samuel pled with Israel for twenty long years, and they seemed deaf. The time was long, but constant dripping wears away stones. When the hour struck, the whole house of Israel lamented after the Lord. Had Samuel forced his clock to move faster, the heart-work would not have been half so deep. Your now may be stretched, in the wisdom of Jesus, into a holy waiting, not to torment you, but to widen your soul to receive a larger blessing than you can imagine.
Think, too, of those “Fear nots” sprinkled through Scripture like daisies in a meadow. Isaiah, the prophet who spoke so richly of Jesus, fairly bundles them together: Fear not, I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. It is as though the Lord gathered a whole armful of comforts and pressed them into your hands, saying, “These are for you.” So even if the step ahead is yet hidden, you need not be afraid. The Guide is with you in the fog, and His hand is as near as your own breathing.
I would have you consider this as well: the Saviour once turned to His disciples and asked, “Have you understood all these things?” He still asks it of every hungry learner, but He never despises a slow scholar. The Teacher is patient. He takes aside His own and quietly opens the riddle of the kingdom until light breaks in the soul. If you are sitting at His feet, looking up into those tender, watchful eyes, you will not miss your lesson. He will make the truth plain; He will burn it into your heart as with a hot iron, so that you will one day say, “This I know, and this I rest upon.”
So let me bid you, while you wait, to keep the prayer before Him. Let your whole being say “Amen” to whatever He appoints, a glad, consenting “so be it.” That is the quiet echo of a soul that has cast its crown before the throne. When you cannot see the next stone in the causeway, trust the One who can. The river of life never runs dry, and the trees on its banks bear fruit in season, and, for those who hunger, sometimes out of season too. Your understanding will come. More than that, the bright fellowship of the Bridegroom’s presence will be with you, which is better than a thousand explanations.
Lord Jesus, You are the faithful Witness, the Amen. Look upon this dear heart that cries for light. In Your own time and way, speak the word, and let there be light. Until then, fold them safely in the peace that passes understanding, and guide them by Your counsel, till the morning breaks and the shadows flee forever. Amen.