Faith for the In-Between: When Life Feels on Hold

It was annoying.

I had just spoken at a huge event. A beautiful group of humans that I loved being with, so much so that I took home a souvenir. Covid.

Annoying, but fine. I’ve had Covid twice before and both times recovered.

But this one? Just seems to hang on and on.

I am now at week six of not having fully recovered from my symptoms. I’m not sick, per se, just achy, super-sensitive to heat, not able to concentrate, and exhausted. Exhausted like I’ve never been exhausted before.

This is beyond Covid, but not yet “long Covid.” I’m in the in-between of something called “Post-acute COVID-19.” Not recovered from the initial infection and not out of the woods from the possibility of long Covid.

And friends, here’s the thing: I don’t want to borrow trouble, but not knowing is hard. Do my husband and I make plans for that trip to Houston? Do I work on getting new clients for my business or hold off until we know more? Do I push through and write that book proposal, or do I do my best to just rest and hope this all blows over?

When I think about the possibility of feeling like this for months or years, I feel overwhelming sadness and anger. Why didn’t we take that trip when it was merely inconvenient instead of impossible? Why didn’t I push through on that project when I had the energy? I’m tempted to fear the future, while grieving what’s past at the same time.

But sadness and anger are not places I want to set up camp. What I’m doing instead (and trust me, nothing in my nature is wired for this) is to learn to live here — in the waiting.

While waiting in the in-between can feel incredibly lonely, I know that I’m not alone in this experience.

Some of you, my friends, are in your own in-between:

Waiting for a diagnosis.
Waiting for a spouse to change.
Waiting for a child to recover.
Waiting for financial stability.
Waiting for a relationship to heal.
Waiting for a new job or direction.
Waiting for hope to feel real again.

I know the discomfort of those in-between spots. The ache of not knowing. The almost-wishing for a bad outcome, just so you don’t have to live in the unknown. It can make you feel crazy — like it’s all just a colossal, frustrating waste of time.

But we are not marking time by marching in place. We are actually standing on holy ground.

Turns out, we’re in good company. Moses also found himself in the in-between. In his case, he stood between a flock of sheep and the supernatural sign of a burning bush. God told him, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5 NIV).

The in-between is often where we find what we need in order to move on to the next thing. Moses didn’t know it, but he was about to have one of the biggest pivots in human history.

But first, God needed to teach him a few things:

There is no shame in being scared. Moses hid his face in fear when God spoke to him from the burning bush. If you aren’t a little scared in this holy place, you probably aren’t paying attention. But here is the key: Faith doesn’t erase fear; it steadies us in the midst of it.

Doubt does not disqualify you. If even Moses had doubts, then it makes sense that we will too. While Moses was saying, “Who am I that I should … ” he was also being prepared to answer God’s call. Whether we understand what God’s up to or not, we can still be sure that He is good.

God meets us where we are. Moses wasn’t ready to greet God with, “Here I am; send me.” But God was patient and had the answers to all of Moses’s hard questions. Our Father has what we need for today. Tomorrow, He will meet us there, but for today, what He has given us is enough.

Limits aren’t always a bad thing. What Moses saw as a limitation — his stutter — led to a brilliant partnership with the brother he hadn’t seen in over forty years. God paired up Aaron with Moses to be a spokesperson, and together they led God’s people out of slavery. Limitations are not the enemy — but our hustle to accomplish everything, to prove our worth and value is.

When we find ourselves in an in-between time, it may be that God is asking us to take off our sandals, to rest from our usual responsibilities and priorities, and to allow Him to teach us. This is our faith lived out —not just in the mountaintop moments, but in the waiting rooms of life.

Covid has forced me into a kind of waiting I never would have chosen — a body that won’t bounce back, plans I can’t yet make, energy I can’t seem to find. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe this is my burning bush moment: God asking me to take off my sandals, to pause, to pay attention, and to let Him teach me here.

The waiting may ache, but it is not wasted. This, too, is holy ground.