When I was little and living in Brazil, my big sister and I went to my cousins’ house for a slumber party. My parents dropped us off in the early afternoon and were to return the next morning. I watched them drive away and felt my stomach fall.
Suddenly, my aunt was too strict with us girls. My clothes weren’t right. I didn’t like the food. But my sister had suffered through this with me before. This time I’d stick it out.
I approached my aunt.
“Aunt Lurdes, when is tomorrow?”
“Well, it starts after you go to sleep. So when you wake up, your parents will be here,” she said, sensing the real reason behind the question.
There. That was it. I’d go to sleep and tomorrow would come. With the sun, my parents would arrive and everything would be well again.
So I went to bed.
I woke up and was not consoled. Where were my parents? Aunt Lurdes tried to explain that it wasn’t tomorrow yet. I had just taken an afternoon nap. But she had said that after I slept, it would be tomorrow and my parents would be there. And they weren’t.
Mamãe and Papai returned that night to pick both of us up. (I refused to leave without my sister.)
Twenty years later and I haven’t changed much. I like things to happen quickly, and I want a schedule. This urgency doesn’t translate well into my faith. “That I may decrease and You increase, Lord,” I pray. Then I open my eyes and look around. Have I decreased yet? Has He increased? Can I move on to praying about something else?
It is a hard truth to swallow: that faith progresses, and it doesn’t fit into 5-step plans. In “No. You Can’t Have It All Now,” Daniel Darling says that change more often occurs over time. He writes, “The greatest life change is the result of a hard, slow slog of sanctification—the work of the Spirit.”
I can’t just go to bed and hope that when I wake up, everything will be different. That’s not how most things work. I can, however, go to bed trusting that the One who separated day from night loves and takes care of me.
Written by Aline Mello
