Over the course of my walk with Jesus, there have been times when I have asked God for something in prayer, not fully knowing what I was asking for. God, in His magnificent grace, gently shepherds my soul and eases me into the wisdom through which He established this world. (Proverbs 3:19)

Sometimes He will speak directly to my heart and reveal a perspective that I had not previously considered. Other times He will remain silent as my eyes are opened to the simultaneous joys and horrors that make up this life. Through it all, one thing stands out to me starkly: we are, with our entire beings, longing for Eden. Right now I am longing for Eden.

Eden: the original place where God dwelt with man and sin had not stolen the perfect unity between us and our Father. The place before there was wrestling and striving. Where there existed no disappointment or pain or loneliness or confusion.

I’ve been wrestling with this waiting for Eden. This in-between phase. And it hurts. Deep down I know it’s not supposed to be this way. This isn’t how it’s all supposed to turn out. Her toddler is not supposed to be diagnosed with cancer. She is not supposed to experience the birth and death of her first baby in the same moment. She is not supposed to miscarry five babies. He was not supposed to be abandoned by his wife after four years of marriage and the birth of two beautiful children. I’m not supposed to be childless when I turn 30 next year. If I was the author, I would not have written it this way.

Yet here we are. Waiting for Eden. Longing for Eden.

In the quiet moments lately I’ve been just turning to God and asking Him why. Why are these things happening? What else is going to happen that I’m not ready for and I don’t understand? Why did this person turn away from You, God? What could have happened that would cause them to reject You? Will I end up turning away from You? Will You keep me?

Tonight on my drive home I asked God if He would help me understand. His response was, “I’m not asking you to understand right now. I’m asking you to trust.” Trust is hard sometimes.

Elisabeth Elliott has a quote that really made an impression on me. She said, “He makes us wait. He keeps us on purpose in the dark. He makes us walk when we want to run, sit still when we want to walk, for He has things to do in our souls that we are not interested in.”

After this quote comes to my mind, I remember. I am reminded of the hope that we have. God gently directs my thoughts toward our hope of returning to Eden someday – of spending eternity in His presence, reunited in perfect wholeness. And how those babies who didn’t get a chance to breathe on earth are alive and thriving in God’s glory, how they’ve skipped this awful waiting season. And though that hope does not by any means erase the pain of empty arms and empty wombs, I like to think it does settle snugly like a blanket on the weary mind.

We have this hope. This hope. The hope of Eden again, thanks to Jesus. This hope set before us that can be encouraging in moments that are otherwise hopeless and lost. It is, as Hebrews 6 says, like an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. “It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf” (verses 19-20).

I don’t know about you, but recently my heart has been needing an anchor. I have felt unstable, sad, confused, afraid, faithless, and ultimately like a wave that has been driven and tossed by the wind. I need this anchor. I need this hope. I need my Jesus.

The thought occurred to me on my drive tonight that maybe God has me in this place for a reason. Maybe I need to walk in this weakness so I can better see His strength. Maybe instead of trying to be strong and brave I can just come before Him as a child and ask Him to hold me. And He will walk me through it. And He will carry me. He will carry me as I wait.

Wait for Eden.