When You’re Just Done

It was a crisp, almost-fall day 10 years ago when we set out to our local State Fair. My mom, my two sisters, my nephews, and my daughter were all so excited to see the sights, ride the rides, and of course, eat that deep-fried fair food. The day was warming up nicely by about lunch time, when we decided to let the kids ride their first ride. The oldest three (including my daughter) were 3 years old, a good age for them to ride their first official amusement park ride.

This particular ride was a line of trucks that rolled around a circular track, going up and down small hills as they drove along. The boys were ecstatic and quickly found their seats. However, Kendall, who is about as far away from a risk taker as you could possibly find, took a little convincing. “It doesn’t look like it goes fast,” we encouraged her. “Doesn’t it look like fun?”

She finally relented and took a seat next to one of her cousins. And the ride took off. It seemed okay at first, as we watched the trucks go around once. The kids were all smiles. But the ride picked up speed as it went, and it became a bit rougher the more trips it took around that circle. 

It wasn’t long before the kids came around to where we could see them again as the ride progressed. My mom and sisters snapped pictures of my laughing nephews. And then there was Kendall, sitting in her seat, rigid as a board, looking straight at me, and repeating the phrase, “I’m done. Done. I’m all done.” 

I can still see her solemn little round face in her cute little bob haircut and yellow shirt and flowery skirt, appealing earnestly to her mother:  “I’m done. Done. I’m all done.” And with every lap of those trucks around that circular track, Kendall kept that stance. Every time I could catch a glimpse of her face, she was staring out at me directly, repeating the cry of her heart:  “I’m done. Done. I’m all done.”

What she didn’t understand in her 3-year-old brain was that, while I would gladly lie down and die for her, I couldn’t stop the whole ride just because she was ready to get off. She didn’t enjoy the ride like her cousins did. It had seemed fun at first, or at least an exciting adventure, but once she was buckled in and the ride had taken off, she decided she’d had enough. 

A friend shared a meme on Facebook the other day that read:  Hi, I finished my free trial of adulthood, and I’m no longer interested so I would like to cancel my subscription. Is there a manager I can speak to?

It’s funny because we can all relate to that. When my sisters and I were children, we used to think that growing up was just the best thing ever. We could not wait to be adults. Adulthood was our holy grail. Boy, were we surprised when we arrived here. The responsibilities can be both monotonous and overwhelming at the same time. Disappointments and hardship abound. Life can be incredibly unfair. It’s a lot harder than it looked from the outside.

It reminds me of Kendall on her first ride. We’re done. We’re all done. If someone would just come and rescue us and get us off of this ride, we’d really appreciate it. But it’s not that easy, is it? We have to stay on this ride, hold on during the twists and turns, and believe that there is hope waiting for us at the end. Not only that, though, we need hope for today.

That’s why I love Exodus 14. God has used Moses to bring the Israelites out of Egypt – a huge feat! But Pharaoh decides that he wants to go and bring them back. And he goes after them, with horses and chariots and his army. When the people see them coming, they are understandably frightened. And a bit sarcastic. 

Verses 11-12 tell us:  They said to Moses, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? Is not this what we said to you in Egypt:  ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians?’ For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.”

You may recall that the Israelites had gotten used to their lives in Egypt. When God called Moses to go and speak to Pharaoh on their behalf and bring them up out of slavery, Pharaoh actually punished the Israelites by making their work even harder. And Moses was so confused and upset. 

In Exodus 5:22-23, we see him bring his frustration to the Lord:  Then Moses turned to the Lord and said, “O Lord, why have you done evil to this people? Why did you ever send me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has done evil to this people, and you have not delivered your people at all.”

That’s the phrase I identify with so strongly in times of distress:  . . . and you have not delivered your people at all. Have you been praying for a certain situation in your life, one where perhaps you or someone you love has been grievously wronged, and you have pleaded with God to show up and make things right? Or perhaps you’ve been praying for guidance in a particular situation, and you simply have not received it. 

You’ve done all you know to do, but nothing has happened – at least nothing you can see. And you have not delivered your people at all. We are done. We are so done. We have trusted God to intervene, trusted Him to answer our prayers and provide for our needs, but quite frankly, it seems as if He has not delivered us at all. 

We can take heart in Moses’ words, his answer to the people as they asked him if he had brought them into the wilderness because there weren’t enough graves in Egypt (ouch!). We read in Exodus 14:13-14:

And Moses said to the people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”

In the context of this story, we see God deliver the Israelites in an astounding way. He parts the Red Sea. We read in verses 28-29 that the waters then come back together and drown Pharaoh’s army, not one of them remained. But the people of Israel walked on dry ground through the sea, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left.

Moses was right. These particular Egyptians never did bother the Israelites again.But what about us? What about the heartbreak and injustice and the daily battles we fight today? Those who cause us pain and are difficult to live with or work with or go to school with – we will see them again, probably many more times, often every single day. What then? 

I have to believe that when we’re at that place where Kendall was on that ride, when we’re just done, that we can be confident in God’s ability to fight for us. We, too, can fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord. I have to believe that God will fight for us as we put our trust in Him. 

Often this does require our silence, our giving up the right to fight for ourselves, to make our voice heard. Certainly there’s a place for speaking up as well, but sometimes it’s in our silence that we are proving that we trust God the most. 

That we know when we make it through this particular trial, when we’re safely on the other side, we can look back and see His hand and know that He is the One who brought us through. Not our own eloquence. Not our own persistence. Not our own tenacity or fierceness or even intelligence. But His hand. 

And we’ll see, as Moses did, that God does deliver His people. He just has His own timetable and His own plans as to how and when He does it. Our job is to fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord. To know and to keep on believing that God will fight for us as we lean into Him and place our trust in Him alone.