I recently listened to a short autobiography by James Taylor, and he said something that really stood out to me:

“Memory is tricky. We remember how we felt, not necessarily how it was.”

We find the word “remember” 166 times in the New International Version of the Bible. I think it’s in there so much because we have a tendency to forget. Or maybe, to build on what James Taylor said, we have a tendency to remember inaccurately.

In Ephesians 2, Paul makes sure that we remember how it was.

Remember that you were mocked by the religious (v. 11).

Remember that you were separated, excluded, foreigners, without hope, and without God (v. 12).

When we remember accurately how things were — even when those things are bad — we’re much less likely to forget the great things God has done for us. And so, Paul continues to remind us to remember how it is now.

Remember that we’ve been brought near by Jesus (v. 13).

Remember that we have peace because hostility has been destroyed (v. 14).

Remember that we have a family and a Father (v. 16).

Remember that we are home (v. 19).

We’re not the best at waiting, are we? Whether it’s at the DMV, at an amusement park, or at an exceptionally long light, it seems that we aren’t wired to wait.

My guess, though, is that we are, and what we need more than anything is to rewire ourselves to wait because waiting is powerful.

Waiting allows us to prepare, to focus, to plan. It allows us to breathe in so that we can give out. An interesting story in the Bible offers another benefit: waiting can actually make us more productive.

In the book of Nehemiah we find the cupbearer to the king upset over the broken down walls of his hometown and he sensed God wanted him to rebuild them. Now, this wasn’t as simple as a trip to Lowes to get sheetrock. These walls were thick, the project was massive, and the walls were rebuilt in FIFTY-TWO DAYS!

Why? Because before he started to work, Nehemiah spent 4 months waiting for God to give him the plan, power, and provision that he would need.

120 days waiting. 52 days working.

Nehemiah spent more time waiting on God than he did working for God.

[Tweet “Sometimes we need to spend more time waiting on God than working for God.”]

There’s a lesson in that for us, so the next time you feel rushed to do something for God, wait a minute. Or two. Or ten.

It’ll pay big dividends when the project begins.

This morning, I got up before the sun and went for a run. As I always do, I checked the weather app before heading out and noticed that rain was possible within the hour, but I’d have time to get in a (relatively) quick 3 miles. Out the door I went.

About halfway through the run, as I was listening to an audiobook, I heard the sound that sleet makes when it hits the leaves and wondered if it was sleet or rain since the temps were only a little above freezing.

And then, I felt it. That stinging sensation when sleet hits your face and I smiled. Well, if I’m being honest, I did a little more than smile. I actually laughed out loud at the idea that I was running in the sleet.

Now, a thought about pain. The ice hitting my already cold face didn’t actually feel that great. It was a tad painful, but the pain of the sleet made me acutely aware of the fact that I wasn’t running in the rain (something that I’m not really a fan of doing). In that moment, I allowed the pain to remind me of something else — even something that I could be thankful for.

Pain in life can be the same. Pain reminds us that we’re, well, still alive to feel it. I’m not minimizing the deep emotions that come with pain, but I am realizing that pain can have a purpose, and sometimes, in the moment, that purpose is to remind us of what we aren’t experiencing.

In 2 Corinthians 4:17, Paul reminds us that pain here can actually remind us to be thankful for what it is accomplishing for us in eternity. In case you’re wondering what kind of “light” pain Paul was talking about, he mentions a ton of painful moments later in his letter in 11:23-27.

I’m not sure what you’re facing that is causing you pain — or even if anything I’ve written today makes sense — but my encouragement is to ask you to consider what God could be saying through it.

“I’m here. I’m with you, near you. I’m holding you and perfecting you. I’m seeing more and more of my Son in you. I know it hurts, but so often the process that helps us in the long run has to hurt us in the moment. But you aren’t alone, and I am not only the surgeon who cuts you. I’m the physician who heals you and the Father who holds you.”

[Tweet “Often the process that helps us in the long run has to hurt us in the moment.”]