Welcome to Pomoja Ministry. There is a question
that becomes difficult to ask when you know God
can intervene. If God can open the sea, why wait
until Pharaoh is almost upon Israel? If God can
calm the storm, why allow the boat to begin filling
with water? If God can heal Lazarus, why remain
where he is for two more days? If God knows what
we need before we ask, Why are there seasons
when the answer seems to come only after we have
reached the end of ourselves? We believe God
is able. That is exactly what makes waiting difficult.
Because when you believe someone cannot help
you, you eventually stop expecting help. But
when you know he can, every passing day raises
another question. God, when? I prayed, when?
I cried. When? I kept worshipping. When? And
perhaps somewhere along the journey, the question
becomes even more painful. God, are you going
to come at all? This is where the mystery of
divine intervention meets the mystery of divine
timing. Because sometimes God moves immediately
and sometimes he waits. Not because he has ceased
being God. not necessarily because we have done
something wrong, not necessarily because our
faith is insufficient, and certainly not because
our pain is insignificant. Sometimes scripture
simply places us before a God whose timing we
do not yet understand. And perhaps one of the
deepest forms of faith is learning to trust God,
when we know he can move, but he hasn't moved
yet. There may be no better place to begin than
Bethany. Lazarus is sick. His sisters, Mary and
Martha, send word to Jesus and listen carefully
to their message. Lord, the one you love is sick.
They don't even need to explain the relationship.
The one you love. Surely Jesus will come. Surely
love will move him immediately. Surely this qualifies
for intervention. But John tells us something
difficult. Jesus loved Martha. Jesus loved her
sister, Jesus loved Lazarus, so he stayed where
he was two more days. That almost sounds contradictory.
He loved them, so he waited. We would expect
scripture to say, he loved them, therefore he
rushed to Bethany, but he doesn't. And by the
time Jesus arrives, Lazarus has been in the tomb
four days. Martha meets Jesus and says something
that perhaps many believers have whispered in
different words. Lord, if you had been here,
my brother would not have died. In other words,
you could have stopped this. I know your power.
I know what you have done for others. I know
what you are capable of. So where were you? And
later Mary comes. She falls at his feet, and
she says essentially the same thing. Lord. If
you had been here, two sisters, same wound, same
question. And Jesus does something extraordinary.
He does not rebuke their grief. He does not give
them a lecture about having more faith. He sees
Mary crying. He sees the people crying. And scripture
gives us two words. Jesus wept. Never confuse
God's timing with God's indifference. Jesus knew
resurrection was minutes away and still entered
their grief. That means knowing the ending does
not make God insensitive to the pain of the middle.
Sometimes people will tell someone suffering,
just trust God. And yes, trust him. But biblical
faith does not require pretending something doesn't
hurt. Jesus knew exactly what he was about to
do and Jesus still wept. Then Jesus approaches
the tomb and says, take away the stone. Martha
immediately objects. Lazarus has been dead four
days. There will be an odor. Human possibility
is not merely weak now. Human possibility is
finished. This is important. If Jesus had healed
Lazarus while he was sick, they would have celebrated
healing. But now, Jesus is standing before a
tomb. The category has changed. They were asking
for healing. Now they need resurrection. And
perhaps sometimes we become afraid because the
situation has moved beyond the answer we originally
expected. You prayed while there was still time.
Then the deadline passed. You prayed while the
door was still open. Then the door closed. You
prayed while there were still options. Then the
options disappeared. And you begin thinking,
now it is too late. But too late is a human measurement.
We measure possibility according to what remains
available to us. God is not confined to our remaining
options. Jesus stands before what everyone else
calls final and says, Lazarus, come out, and
the dead man walks out. Now understand this carefully.
This story does not mean every situation we lose
will be restored exactly as Lazarus was. Jesus'
miracle at Bethany is a particular revelation
of his glory and authority over death. We should
never use someone else's miracle to condemn a
grieving person for not receiving the same outcome.
But the revelation remains. Human finality does
not limit divine authority. When we reach the
end of what we can do, God has not reached the
end of who he is. Now return to Israel. God could
have stopped Pharaoh in Egypt. He could have
prevented Pharaoh from pursuing. He could have
taken Israel another route. Instead, Israel reaches
the Red Sea. Water ahead. Egypt behind. Mountains
and wilderness around them. No visible escape.
And Israel panics. They ask Moses, was it because
there were no graves in Egypt that you brought
us to the desert to die? fear begins rewriting
their interpretation of deliverance. Think about
that. God has already delivered them from Egypt,
but because they cannot understand the present
moment, they begin questioning the deliverance
itself that happens to us. A difficult chapter
can make us reinterpret everything God has already
done. Maybe I misunderstood God. Maybe he abandoned
me. Maybe the promise wasn't real. Maybe I should
have stayed where I was. But Moses tells them,
Stand firm, and you will see the deliverance
the Lord will bring you today. Then God opens
the sea. Why there? Why not ten miles earlier?
Why allow Israel to reach the place where there
is no visible road? Perhaps because there are
revelations of God that only become visible when
human alternatives disappear. If Israel had escaped
through ordinary geography, they could have explained
the escape by geography. But when the road goes
directly through water, nobody can confuse the
source. There are moments when God permits us
to reach the end of our own map, and then reveals
he was never limited to our map. Then there are
the disciples. Jesus tells them, let us go over
to the other side. They enter the boat. A furious
storm develops. Waves break over the boat. The
boat begins filling with water. And Jesus is
sleeping. Think about the emotional contradiction.
The storm is awake. Jesus appears asleep. The
water is entering. Jesus is silent. Experienced
fishermen are panicking. Jesus seems unbothered.
Finally they wake him and say, Teacher, Don't
you care if we drown? Notice the question. Not,
can you stop the storm? But, don't you care?
Because prolonged difficulty can eventually make
us question not God's ability, but God's heart.
You prayed, nothing changed. You waited, nothing
changed. The water kept entering, and eventually
the heart whispers, does God care? Jesus rises,
rebukes the wind, speaks to the waves, and suddenly
there is calm. The storm that terrified the disciples
responds immediately to the voice of the one
who appeared to be sleeping through it. His silence
was not powerlessness. His apparent inactivity
was not lack of authority. And perhaps this is
something we need to carry with us. God does
not have to look anxious for God to be in control.
We interpret urgency through panic. God doesn't.
This may be one of the hardest things about divine
timing. Our emergency does not always produce
visible urgency in God. And that can be deeply
uncomfortable. We have deadlines. God has eternity.
We see today. God sees what today is connected
to. We see the immediate consequence. God sees
the entire road. That does not mean deadlines
are irrelevant. It does not mean we become irresponsible
and say, God will handle everything. Faith still
acts wisely. Faith still prepares. Faith still
works. Faith still seeks counsel. Faith still
knocks on doors. But after we have done what
we can faithfully, there are moments when the
remaining battle is simply Can I trust God without
controlling the clock? Because sometimes we don't
merely want God's answer. We want God's answer
by Thursday. We want God to move before the meeting,
before the deadline, before the money runs out,
before the person leaves, before the opportunity
closes, before everyone sees what happened. And
sometimes he does. but sometimes Thursday comes
and nothing happens, then Friday, then Saturday,
and suddenly our theology is being tested not
by whether we believe God exists, but whether
we believe God remains faithful after our preferred
deadline has passed. We often say delay is not
denial, and there is truth in that statement.
But we need to handle it carefully, because sometimes
the answer actually is no. Sometimes the door
stays closed. Sometimes what we wanted never
happens. Sometimes God's will takes us somewhere
different from our request. So faith cannot simply
mean, if I wait long enough, eventually God must
give me exactly what I asked for. That is not
surrender. Faith says something deeper. Until
God makes his will clear, I will not interpret
waiting as abandonment. Maybe the answer will
be yes. Maybe the answer will be no. Maybe the
answer will look completely different from what
I imagined. But while I wait, God remains God.
That is the anchor, not the outcome. God. We
call something late when it passes the time we
expected it, but Scripture repeatedly shows God
working beyond human deadlines. Abraham and Sarah
reach an age where the promise appears biologically
impossible. Israel reaches a sea. Lazarus reaches
a tomb. The disciples' boat begins filling. Jesus
reaches Calvary, and in each case human possibility
becomes smaller. while dependence upon God becomes
greater. Again, this does not mean God deliberately
creates every crisis in our lives, nor should
we romanticize suffering, but it does mean our
inability to see another option is not proof
that God has no options. Maybe that is the difference.
Late means it did not happen according to my
clock. Too late means nothing can be done anymore.
And perhaps we should be very careful about telling
Almighty God when nothing more can be done, because
we know the limits of our ability. We do not
know the limits of His. So what do you do between
the prayer and the intervention? This may be
the real question, because most of life is not
lived at the moment the sea opens. Most of life
is lived before it, before the answer, before
the door, before the explanation, before the
reversal, before you understand. And this is
where faith becomes practical. You keep praying.
You keep obeying. You keep doing what is right.
You keep working where God has given you responsibility.
You keep guarding your heart. You refuse bitterness.
You refuse to manufacture an outcome. You refuse
to call God unfaithful because he did not follow
your schedule. And sometimes, you become quiet.
Not because you have stopped believing. Not because
you have surrendered to defeat. But because you
have reached the place where you no longer have
another argument to make. You have prayed. You
have cried. You have asked. You have knocked.
And eventually faith whispers, God, I trust you.
There is a quietness that is not resignation.
It is surrender. There is a silence that is not
emptiness. It is confidence. There is a stillness
that says, I cannot move this, but God can. And
perhaps now we can begin seeing why the season
waiting after this one matters so much, because
sometimes divine intervention happens. after
quietness has taught us how to wait. One of the
greatest mistakes we make is assuming, I don't
see movement, therefore nothing is moving. But
throughout scripture, God's activity frequently
begins outside human awareness. Before Joseph
reaches Pharaoh, Pharaoh has a dream. Before
Esther enters the decisive moment, a king cannot
sleep. Before Peter leaves prison, believers
are praying in a house. Before the stone is rolled
away, resurrection power has already done what
no human being could do. What if some of the
waiting seasons we call empty are not empty at
all? What if pieces are moving that we cannot
see? What if God is working in another person's
heart? What if something is being prepared? What
if something is being prevented? What if God
is changing us before he changes the environment?
We do not know and we should not invent. The
invisible does not mean inactive. Silent does
not mean absent. Waiting does not mean forgotten.
And perhaps this is one of the hardest lessons
of divine intervention. We often want evidence
that God is moving. Something we can see, something
we can hear, something we can point toward and
say, there, God is doing something. But faith
does not always receive evidence before it receives
an invitation to trust. Sometimes nothing around
you appears different. The phone has not rung.
The door has not opened. The answer has not arrived.
The situation has not changed. And yet, somewhere
beyond what you can see, something may already
be moving. Think again about Joseph. Joseph is
in prison, and from Joseph's perspective, nothing
has changed. Same walls, same confinement, same
unanswered questions. But somewhere outside that
prison, Pharaoh is sleeping, and Pharaoh has
a dream. Joseph does not know it yet. The prison
still looks exactly the same, but the event that
will eventually bring him out of that prison
has already begun. That is extraordinary. Joseph
wakes up as a prisoner without knowing that somewhere
in the palace, God has already allowed a question
to arise for which Joseph carries the answer.
The prison hasn't opened yet, but something has
shifted. And maybe somebody needs to hear this.
You do not have to see the movement for movement
to exist. Again, I am not promising that every
waiting season contains a hidden promotion or
that every closed door will suddenly open. We
cannot manufacture promises God has not made,
but scripture gives us permission to reject one
dangerous conclusion. Because I cannot see God
working, God must not be working. You simply
do not know that. There may be conversations
you have not heard. There may be hearts being
changed that you cannot see. There may be doors
being prepared that you do not yet know exist.
There may be dangers from which God is protecting
you without ever showing you what he prevented.
There may be something developing in you that
will only become visible later. Or perhaps the
work of God in this season is not primarily changing
the environment. Perhaps He is changing you.
And that too is divine intervention. We have
spent much of this season talking about what
God does around us. God moves them. God carries
us. God stops what is coming. God reverses the
battle. God opens doors. God makes a way, but
there is another form of intervention that can
be much quieter. Sometimes God intervenes inside
you. The situation hasn't changed, but somehow
you have. The thing that once terrified you no
longer controls you. The uncertainty that once
kept you awake no longer owns your peace. The
person whose approval you once desperately needed
no longer determines your worth. The door you
once begged God to open no longer controls your
happiness. The outcome you once believed you
could not live without, you have finally placed
into God's hands. Nothing outside changed, but
something inside did. And maybe we underestimate
how miraculous that is. because sometimes we
ask God, change the situation. And God begins
by changing the person standing inside the situation.
We pray, God, remove the storm. And sometimes
God says, I am going to teach you that you can
sleep in the boat. We pray, remove the pressure.
And sometimes God strengthens something inside
us that pressure can no longer crush. We pray,
Give me the answer. And sometimes God gives us
peace before he gives us explanation. That is
intervention too. Paul understood something about
this. He prayed repeatedly about what he called
a thorn in his flesh. He wanted it removed, but
the answer he received was, my grace is sufficient
for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.
God did not answer Paul in the way Paul initially
requested, but God did answer. Grace entered
the place where removal had been requested, and
sometimes divine intervention does not look like
extraction. Sometimes it looks like sustaining
grace. You thought the miracle would be getting
out, but the miracle became discovering. This
did not destroy me. I am still here. I still
believe. I still worship. I still love God. I
still have hope. I still have compassion. My
heart did not become bitter. My faith survived
what I thought would destroy it. And suddenly
you realize God has been intervening all along.
Now we can return to the title of this conversation.
when God arrives at the last moment. But perhaps
we need to correct something. Does God really
arrive at the last moment? Or does he arrive
at the moment that only looks late to us? Because
God was already at Bethany before Jesus physically
walked toward the tomb. God was already at the
Red Sea before Moses stretched out his staff.
God was already in Joseph's story before Pharaoh
dreamed. God was already in the boat before the
disciples woke Jesus. The intervention became
visible at a particular moment, but God's presence
did not begin at that moment. That's different.
Maybe what we call, God finally showed up is
sometimes simply, I finally saw what God was
doing. And that changes how we understand waiting.
Because now I am not waiting for an absent God
to arrive. I am walking with a present God whose
timing I do not yet understand. That is a very
different kind of waiting. I am not abandoned
in the hallway waiting for God to find me. He
is in the hallway. I am not alone outside the
closed door waiting for God to come open it.
He is beside me at the closed door. I am not
walking through the valley hoping God eventually
catches up. Remember what we discovered earlier
in this season when I thought the footprints
beside mine had disappeared. Those were the moments
he was carrying me. So perhaps the greatest revelation
of divine timing is not. God will eventually
come. Perhaps it is. God is already here. And
because he is here, I can wait. There is something
else we must confront. Sometimes our greatest
source of anxiety is not the situation, it is
the clock. How long? When? By what date? At what
age? Before what deadline? We begin measuring
God's faithfulness against calendars we created.
By now, I should have... By this age, I thought
I would, after this many years, surely. I prayed
for this long. I have waited this long. And slowly,
without realizing it, the clock begins judging
God. But scripture says, my times are in your
hands. Not. My times are in my anxiety. Not.
My times are in other people's expectations.
Not. My times are in the timeline I created when
I was 20 years old. Not. My times are in comparison
with somebody else's testimony. My times are
in your hands. That does not mean we become passive.
It means we stop allowing time to become evidence
against God's character. Somebody else's breakthrough
at 30 does not mean God forgot you at 40. Somebody
else's door opening quickly does not mean your
waiting has no purpose. Somebody else's testimony
is not your calendar. And comparison is dangerous
during waiting because it makes us ask, God,
why are you doing it for them and not for me?
But you do not know their entire story, and they
do not know yours. Faith does not require God
to duplicate somebody else's journey. Faith says,
my times are in your hands. Now let us go into
the place where faith becomes difficult. What
happens when the deadline passes? You prayed
for the relationship and it still ended. You
prayed for the opportunity and someone else received
it. You prayed for the door. and it closed. You
prayed for the answer before a certain date,
and the date came and went. What then? Is God
still faithful? This is where faith must become
deeper than outcome, because if our faith only
survives when God gives us the answer we expected,
then our faith was ultimately anchored in the
answer, not God. The three Hebrew men standing
before the furnace understood this. They said,
our God is able to deliver us. That is faith.
But then they said something greater. But even
if he does not, that is surrender. God can. We
believe he can. We ask him to. We trust his power.
But our worship is not held hostage by the outcome.
That is mature faith. And perhaps this is where
divine intervention becomes mysterious. Sometimes
God intervenes by changing the circumstance.
Sometimes God intervenes by changing the direction.
Sometimes God intervenes by carrying us through
what did not change. And sometimes we will not
fully understand what He was doing in this lifetime.
Faith leaves room for mystery. Not because faith
has no answers. but because faith knows God is
greater than our answers. Jesus once told a parable
about workers hired at different hours of the
day, some early, some later, and some at what
scripture describes as the eleventh hour, almost
the end of the working day. There is something
about the eleventh hour that speaks to human
hopelessness. Because by the eleventh hour, you
have probably stopped expecting anyone to come
looking for you. The day is nearly finished.
Other people have already been chosen. Other
people have already been working. Other people
seem ahead. And then, someone comes looking.
Perhaps that is why scripture contains so many
stories where intervention appears near the edge.
Not because God enjoys terrifying his children.
Not because every believer must be pushed to
breaking point. But because scripture repeatedly
reveals something about God's sovereignty. The
clock does not intimidate him. The sea does not
intimidate him. The tomb does not intimidate
him. The furnace does not intimidate him. The
prison does not intimidate him. Human impossibility
does not. intimidate him. And therefore, when
you reach a place where you genuinely do not
know what happens next, you do not have to pretend
that you do. You can simply say, God, my times
are in your hands. There is a dangerous thing
about reading Bible stories after we already
know the ending. We know the sea opens. Israel
didn't. We know Lazarus walks out. Mary didn't.
We know Joseph reaches the palace. Joseph didn't.
We know the storm becomes calm. The disciples
didn't. We know Sunday comes. The disciples standing
near Calvary didn't. We read their Friday knowing
Sunday. They lived Friday without seeing Sunday.
And perhaps that is where somebody is today.
You are living a chapter whose next page you
have not read. And because you cannot see what
happens next, fear is trying to write the ending
for you. Don't let fear become the author. Maybe
the answer comes tomorrow. Maybe it takes longer.
Maybe God answers differently than you expected.
I cannot promise you which, but I can tell you
what scripture allows us to know. The chapter
you can see is not the entire book. And therefore,
Do not let one unfinished chapter convince you
that God has abandoned the story. So perhaps
tonight, or this morning, or wherever this conversation
finds you, you do not need another explanation.
Maybe you have already asked every question.
Maybe you have replayed every possibility. Maybe
you have calculated every outcome. Maybe you
have tried every door, and perhaps the invitation
now is much simpler. Open your hands and say,
God, I have carried this long enough. I have
tried to understand it. I have tried to predict
it. I have tried to control the timing. But today,
I place the clock back into your hands. My times
are in your hands. If you move today, I will
worship you. If I must wait tomorrow, I will
worship you. If you open the door, I will follow
you. If you close the door, help me trust you.
If you answer the way I prayed, I will thank
you. And if your answer takes me somewhere I
did not expect, give me enough faith to follow,
because I am beginning to understand something.
You do not have to arrive. You are already here.
You were there when I prayed. You were there
when I cried. You were there when the deadline
passed. You were there when the door closed.
You were there when I could not understand. You
were there when I thought I was walking alone,
and when I could no longer see your footprints
beside mine. You were carrying me. So I will
wait. Not because waiting is easy. Not because
I understand. not because I know what tomorrow
holds. I will wait because I know who holds tomorrow.
My times are in your hands. My unanswered questions
are in your hands. My future is in your hands.
My family is in your hands. My purpose is in
your hands. My life is in your hands. And perhaps
divine intervention has never simply been about
God arriving at the last moment. Perhaps the
mystery is discovering. He was there the entire
time. And that brings us somewhere extraordinary.
Because we began this season asking, what happens
when God intervenes? We saw him move what we
could not move. We saw him help. We saw him carry.
We saw him sustain. We saw him establish boundaries.
We saw him reverse battles. And now we have discovered
that even during the waiting, he was already
there. But there is one final perspective we
have not explored. Sometimes you cannot recognize
divine intervention while you are living through
it. Sometimes you only recognize it when you
look back. You look at what should have destroyed
you, what almost happened, what didn't happen.
the door that mysteriously closed, the danger
you escaped, the strength you somehow found,
the season you thought would bury you, and suddenly
the words of David become personal, if the Lord
had not been on our side. Maybe that is the final
mystery, not simply asking, God, where are you?
But one day looking backward and realizing if
God had not been there, Where would I be? That
is where we are going in our final conversation.
Conversation 10. If the Lord had not been on
my side. Recognizing divine intervention. When
you look back. Until next time. Stay prayerful.
Stay faithful. Keep trusting God even when you
cannot understand His timing. And as we prepare
to close the mystery of divine intervention.
Always remember, you are not alone.