Three years into marriage, Ty and I moved into our first home and bought a beautiful solid oak dining room table-and-chairs set. I sat alone at this table one morning gently running my hand across the smooth top as filtered beams of light seemed to bring its veins to life. My heart, too, was alive with hope. I could see it: someday this table would be full. All six chairs would be occupied. Twelve hands would cup one another in prayer meal after meal after meal. I could just see it…

Fourteen years and three kids later, I plop down in my favorite green chair to enjoy a quiet mid-afternoon moment. I notice the open cabinet above our refrigerator…

“How many lunch boxes do you see?”

Whoa…I know that voice. That voice is different from the others in my head. And I knew His question wasn’t so much a question but an answer. I couldn’t help but smile. There were four. Four lunch boxes for four children.

But nine months later the test results would tell us otherwise. Three, yes. Four? No. Impossible.

Today I sit folding my three-year-old’s outgrown clothes, placing them into storage totes. The crib, the Bumbo, the Johnny Jump Up, the infant carseat – I’ve saved them all. Because I still see it. I’m still believing for baby #4 …

 

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Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hebrews 11:1 NKJV

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Faith. Yes, it’s a belief. And yes, it’s a hope. But it’s so much more.

Faith has a sort of substance to it. A hope so tangible it compels a person to do things that seem absurd and ridiculous at times. Faith compelled Noah to build an ark for a flood – a little odd when such a thing had never happened before. Faith compelled Abraham to leave his homeland and just start walking. That’s risky. Faith compelled Gideon to whittle down his army of 32,000 to a measly 300 soldiers to go into battle. That’s a death sentence. Marching around a city seven times in the hopes that its fortified walls would just topple over? That’s ridiculous. Commanding the sun to stand still. Really, Joshua? That’s bold.

But faith doesn’t stay silent, does it. Nor can it remain hidden. Faith inevitably exposes the heart from which it flows. The very nature of faith is that it leaves evidence that points to a belief.

Noah’s hammer and nails, and those scraps of wood littering his property… those were his substance, his evidence, his proof that he really believed a flood was coming.

An alabaster jar, and a mess of oil and tears smearing the floor… this was her substance, her evidence. She really believed he was the Messiah, worthy of her worship.

The scars that remained even after Jesus’s resurrection… these are the Savior’s substance of things hoped for and His evidence of things not seen – proof that by His wounds we really are healed.

The ESV uses two different words in place of substance and evidence:

Now faith is the ASSURANCE of things hoped for, the CONVICTION of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

Assurance. Conviction. Hmmm…

A faith that is assured… what does that look like? To live with a conviction that the things unseen are sometimes more real than the things that are seen… how does that feel? I wish I could ask Abel, Rahab, and Moses, whose faith made them worthy of mention in Hebrews 11. I wish I could ask John the Baptist, Paul, Stephen, Peter, and countless others whose faith cost them their lives.

It’s easy to bolster our faith through envisioning its mountain top experiences: walking off the ark, parting the sea, walls crumbling, the sun standing still, and the stone being rolled away. We can’t help but exclaim, “Amen! See, God did it!” Sign me up for moving some mountains! Faith is exciting. Faith is powerful!

But faith is also painful.

We mustn’t forget the years of mockery, barrenness, and oppression…

Twenty-five years Abram and Sarai watched their elderly bodies age, waiting for God’s promise of a son.
Forty years the Israelites wandered in the wilderness waiting to enter the promise land.
Four days Lazarus was dead – DEAD – waiting for Jesus to bring him back to life.
Twelve years of hemorrhaging before the women touched Jesus’ robe and was finally healed.
Thirty-three years Mary mothered the Son she knew was God’s, watching him bleed so faith could bloom.

To live in the substance of things hoped for, with assurance that they will come to pass, means your heart is alive with belief even when human reasoning says impossible. To bare the evidence of that kind of faith is humiliating at times, like 2×4’s in Noah’s yard or claiming to be a virgin when your belly’s two feet out! Why not hang a billboard advertising, “WEIRDO, NEXT LEFT.”

Our one empty chair at the end of the table seems to mock me, You really think God is going to give you another?

Doubt casts a shadow that makes faith feel dark and cold; then the snake slithers in to whisper his lie of old, “Did God really say…?”

It’s easy to forget. It’s easy to wonder.

I look at the changing table full of burp clothes, baby blankets, bottles, and crib sheets. Let’s just get rid of it all! The crib, all those totes of baby clothes and bags of toys, the full wardrobe of maternity clothes – I just want to clear it all out. Because the things we can see, like test results and 28-day cycles, continue to shout Impossible! It’s easier to agree with what’s seen than to continue believing for the unseen. I’d rather move on than to keep my heart alive with unfulfilled desire.

But I can’t. I can’t move on. And I can’t get rid of even one thing… Why?

Because I still see it. I still see a full table, with twelve hands completing the circle. I still see four lunch boxes.

These clothes and furniture, these toys and bottles: they are my substance of things hoped for… my evidence of things unseen. And, yes, sometimes the evidence is painful. At times the “assurance” feels absurd. The “conviction” makes me crazy. But I’d rather believe for the impossible than settle for the probable any day!

What about you, dear reader? Do you have something you’re desperately believing God for? Something that compels you to hope in the impossible? Something God has whispered into your heart? I’d love – seriously love – to hear your story and pray for you! Or if you have a testimony of God doing the impossible in your own life, then PLEASE leave a comment at the end of this post or message me on Facebook and do share! 🙂

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Niki Schemanski is a wife of seventeen years and homeschooling mother of three children. A love of singing led her into an early career in performing arts at eight years old. After college Niki became a worship pastor and has been in ministry ever since. She and her family reside in Durango, Colorado. (Read More: About The Author)