Hope When You’re Stuck in the Middle

Hannah is the sensitive one in our family. 

When she was a baby, she cried day and night.

When she was a preschooler, she cried when her big brother pulled on her pigtail and yelped, “ride em’ pony!” 

On the drive home from church, my curiosity got the best of me. Hannah didn’t have streaks of sadness still streaming down her cheeks, but I couldn’t figure out what could have sparked  those  tears in the first place.  After all, when it comes to Bible stories, Lazarus doesn’t strike me as a doleful tale. A graveside miracle, a deadman granted life, a family re-united–those just don’t seem like themes that create a tear-jerker. Unless we’re talking about happy tears.

When the chatter in the van had waned, I caught my daughter’s gaze in the rearview mirror and asked, “Hannah, how was Sunday School today?”

My third-born cast me her signature smile and quickly responded, “It was great….”

But then her blue eyes grew cloudy and she added, “Except for the Bible story. That made me so sad.”

I twisted my torso so I could see my girl in the backseat from where I sat next to my steady driving man. And  I watched moisture well once agin in my tender-one’s eyes as she recalled that age-old story.

Still confused, I asked, “Isn’t the story of Lazarus a happy one? It’s like a grave-side party, right?  Jesus stands right outside of the tomb and calls his buddy back from death…”  I cast my girl an encouraging smile to seal my point.

Hannah was quiet for a moment, then dropped her eyes to the ground and explained in an apologetic murmur, “It’s  just that I felt so sad for those sisters.”  

She glanced at me in search of understanding, and I gave her a slight nod.  “And I just kept thinking how I would have felt if Jesus had let me down like that. If I had begged him for help and then he hadn’t even showed up when I needed him.”

“But, honey,” I prodded, “You know the ending of that story. Jesus does come. Then the sisters get their brother back AND they get to witness a miracle.”

My third-born was pensive, her fingers twisting a strand of blond hair that hung limp in front of her eyes. “I KNOW, Mom,” Hannah replied with a twinge of exasperation. “But the middle can still hurt, even if you know the end.”  

Suddenly, I understood those tears. My little girl had gotten stuck in the middle.

As she’d listened to that story she knew so well, the one we’ve read straight from her children’s Bible dozens of times as she’s sat cuddled near my heart, Hannah had experienced the angst of the middle.  

Perhaps it’s because Hannah has two sisters of her own, or maybe, it’s because she’s crazy about her brothers. But for whatever reason, as her Sunday school teacher recounted that supernatural saga from the eleventh chapter of John, Hannah’s heart had lingered at the tomb with Mary and Martha in those forever long moments that preceded the miracle. 

She’d imagined what it might have been like if Lazarus had been her brother. She’d put herself in the shoes of those heartbroken sisters. And she’d tasted their desperation for a better ending, the ache of their unfinished tale. And as I thought about that Bible story I’d heard since I was a child myself, I suddenly realized that Hannah was right. The middle can hurt.

I was glad my husband was driving the van that day. My own tears would have obscured the view. Because, though I’ve never shed tears over the story of Lazarus, I’ve known all too well what it’s like to wait on Jesus. I’ve tasted the sting of desperation as I’ve pleaded for His power and  wondered if He’s even heard my prayers.

 I guess my little girl isn’t the only one who has ever been stuck in the middle. Her mommy has, too.

And I’m guessing that if you’re still trekking across the dirt of this broken world, you’ve found yourself stuck in the middle once or twice, as well.  

Maybe that’s because the life we’re living on this earth is just the scene before the miracle. And if we’re honest about it, standing on this side of the tomb sure can hurt.

My husband reached for a tissue as Hannah turned to listen to her little brother’s joke, and I wiped away that trickle of tears that was streaking my make-up.  Then, as we  turned up the road that leads to home, I gave my husband and knowing smile, and I thanked God for the promise that someday this muddled “middle” will fade and our story will end with a final and forever happily-ever-after.

Look, I am coming soon…I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. 
                                  -Jesus (Revelation 22: 12-13)