"I knew this day would come!!!"

“THANK YOU GOD!! THANK YOU GOD!! THANK YOU GOD!!! THANK YOU GOD!!”

I was downstairs mopping the floor. The kids were upstairs playing quietly (yes, that does happen occasionally) when I heard Dutch yelling –YELLING — at the top of his lungs.

“THANK YOU GOD!! THANK YOU GOD!! THANK YOU GOD!!”

I ran around to the stairs, looked up, and smiled. Dutch was jumping up and down hugging … Max.

~

It had been a rough week. Wednesday night we put out an APB. The tears were flowing. We were searching. Dutch was frantic.

Where was Max?!

In our home, the Maxes are sacred. Each child has one, a small stuffed puppy, and for whatever reason both kids named theirs Max. So Heidi’s Max and Dutch’s Max are best friends and both kids sleep with their own Max tucked into bed with them. But then the unthinkable happened:

Max went missing. We looked high and low. Dutch sobbed. We prayed.

Still no Max.

For days this went on. Dutch prayed everyday.

Still no Max.

Then that Saturday morning I heard the yelling celebration and took the stairs up two at a time. At the top I slowed to peek at the celebration scene, and as I reached the top of the stairs I saw Dutch jumping around the room, beaming, holding his stuffed puppy. I stayed quiet, just watching, and he exclaimed,

“I knew this day would come!!”

I knew this day would come.

First off, I love my boy. He talks like he’s 40. But secondly, What an exclamation of hope.

I knew this day would come.

The next morning I rolled out early for my quiet time. Honestly, things had felt dry. There are plenty of things I’m praying for that, shall we say, haven’t appeared quite yet. I quietly and tiredly asked God to please throw me a bone because I could really use a Word from Him. I opened to Mark 9.

The scene is roughly the same as ours was when Max was lost–crisis and commotion. Jesus asks the crowd what’s going on. A man steps forward and explains that his son has a problem a lot bigger than a missing stuffed animal. He has a spirit that makes him mute, seizes him, throws him down; he foams at the mouth and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid, and the disciples couldn’t do anything about it.

The kid was demon-possessed.

Jesus asks the boy’s father: “How long has this been happening to him?” The boy’s father responds:

“From childhood.”

Oh God. Almost this boy’s entire life was characterized by suffering, torture, torment. The man had seen no relief. How many times had he asked for prayer? How many time had he himself pleaded for his son to be healed? He’d been disappointed more times than he could count.

And yet he asks one more time.

He risks the crush of disappointment and asked one more time for his son to be healed. And when Jesus questions his faith he replies,

“I believe! Help my unbelief!”

Yes. He believed long. He held onto hope. And for that part of his heart where he knew he could no longer believe he cried out to Christ and asked, “Help my unbelief!”

Help me believe long.

The boy is healed, completely, miraculously. Jesus commands the spirit to never enter him again. The boy is freed forever.

Because his dad kept on believing.

Sometimes heaven seems silent. For days Dutch prayed for Max, to no avail. For years the man sought help for his son and found none. For decades some have interceded for wayward children, for healing, for breakthrough.

Some of you have endured those long seasons of silence.

In prayer it is God’s job to conquer us. It is our job to believe long. No matter how long, we keep believing.

Because you just never know when Jesus will come on the scene.

And when he does, we can jump around like crazies and confidently proclaim,

“I knew this day would come!”

Believing long, with you. Thanks for reading.