God in the In-Between

Let’s be honest. Nothing is as uncomfortable as feeling like the walls are closing in on you and there is no way out no matter how much you try by your own strength to figure it out. None of us can confidently say we do not question God, His existence, His presence, and even His plans for us when such happens to us. This week we want to talk about this place... the in-between. It is one of the loneliest places to be, whether you believe in God or you don’t.

Welcome back to The Threshold! If you're dropping by this morning with a fresh cup of coffee (or let’s be honest, whatever lukewarm leftover brew is sitting on your counter), grab a seat.💝

Think about the kind of in-between that doesn't come with a neat transition date or a safety net. It’s when you look at your life and see zero progress—failing out of school after pouring your absolute soul into the books, or even having been lackluster at best with your school work, staring at a blank screen with no job, no money, and no clear path or plan. It’s the heavy, suffocating fog of depression and anxiety where even getting out of bed feels like scaling Everest. It’s losing a loved one and being thrown into such a dark, shattered headspace that grief pushes you to make really bad decisions with far-reaching consequences. It’s experiencing the bitter sting of hatred from others and family, and sometimes waking up not even having a secure place to stay.

I know this space intimately because I’ve been there before, standing right where the floor dropped out, wondering how a human being is supposed to survive the wreckage. This is one of the places where most people retreat into themselves, giving the enemy free reign to their minds and perpetuating a deep state of despair. These are the things we want to speak openly about here on The Threshold and challenge the status quo. Pretending to be okay during these moments is the reason we see so many people falling into the trap of feeling like, because everyone else seems to be making it, they are total failures and life is meaningless—leading them right into the snare of not even trying anymore.

There is a story in the Bible that I have a love-hate relationship with that captures this feeling brilliantly: the story of Joseph in Genesis, spanning from chapter 37 all the way through chapter 50. In his case, the walls that were closing in on him weren't just random bad luck—they were machinations orchestrated by his own flesh and blood.

The Pit, the Sibling Venom, and the Throne That Outlived Nations

Let’s look at the gruesome, ugly details of Joseph’s story. His brothers didn't just disagree with him; they looked at a seventeen-year-old kid with a God-given dream and felt a green, festering hatred so deep that they stripped him raw, threw him into a dry, bone-chilling cistern to starve to death, and sat down nearby to casually eat lunch while he screamed for mercy (Genesis 37:23–25). That wasn't a family disagreement; that was calculated, psychopathic malice from the people who shared his blood.

For over a decade, Joseph’s resume went from "favored son" to "slave in Potiphar’s house" to "forgotten prisoner rotting in a dungeon." If you’ve ever felt the absolute whiplash of betrayal and family hatred, you know the Joseph wilderness.

What if he had given up? If Joseph had let bitterness swallow him whole in that prison cell, he would have died a bitter, nameless convict. Egypt would have had no grain when the catastrophic seven-year famine hit, and his entire family—the very brothers who tried to murder him—would have starved to death in Canaan.

Instead, God redeemed the unredeemable. Through a series of divine pivots, Joseph went from the dungeon to Pharaoh’s second-in-command overnight (Genesis 41:39–41). The solutions he built—storing grain through the years of plenty—didn't just save his own skin; they outlived him, feeding starving nations across the ancient world and preserving the lineage that would eventually bring Christ into the world. When he finally stood face-to-face with his terrified brothers, he didn't exact revenge; he looked at the wreckage they caused and declared, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives" (Genesis 50:20).

Sarah’s Impatience, Hagar’s Pickle, and El Roi in the Wastewater

We cannot talk about the in-between without looking at how human panic makes things infinitely worse. Think about Sarah. In her deep disappointment with God’s delayed timing to give her a child, she decided to take God’s promise of making her a mother of nations into her own hands. She forced her Egyptian slave, Hagar, into a terrible pickle—making her lie with Abraham (Genesis 16:1–3).

The result? A toxic cocktail of jealousy, status-tripping, and a bitter, scorching hatred between Sarah and Hagar that ultimately led to Hagar being cast out into the brutal wilderness of Beersheba with a skin of water that ran dry, sitting under a bush to die with her child (Genesis 21:14–16).

If you have ever made a messy, desperate decision out of anxiety and panic, only to watch your life blow up in your face, Hagar is your girl.

Yet, when Hagar was at rock bottom, crying in the dust, the Angel of God called to her. She gave God a name that changes everything: El Roi, the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13). Your desert is not a place where God’s GPS loses signal. Even when human manipulation and family betrayal push you into the dirt, El Roi is sitting right beside your broken pieces.

Ruth’s Gleaning Fields: From Desolation to Redemption

Then there’s Ruth. No magical shortcuts here either. Her story opens with a triple-whammy of absolute devastation: a cross-border move, the death of her father-in-law, and the death of her husband. She was a penniless, foreign widow walking back to a town that eyed her with suspicion, carrying a bitter mother-in-law (Ruth 1:20–21).

There were no angelic interventions for Ruth—just the grueling, calloused-hand reality of waking up at dawn, walking behind the reapers in a blazing sun, and begging for scraps of leftover barley just to survive (Ruth 2:2–3).

What if she had given up? If Ruth had stayed in Moab wrapped in her grief, or given up when the grain fields felt too exhausting, she would have faded into obscurity as a forgotten statistic of war and famine. But because she kept putting one foot in front of the other in the dirt, God quietly stitched together a redemption arc. Boaz redeemed her, she found a home, and she was written directly into the genealogy of King David—and ultimately, Jesus Christ (Ruth 4:13–17, Matthew 1:5).

Jesus is the Closer: Rest for the Weary Wearer

Even Jesus didn’t get a bypass. Right after the heavens tore open at His baptism and the Father declared, "This is my beloved Son," the Spirit drove Him straight into a desolate desert for forty grueling days, surrounded by wild beasts and fierce temptation (Mark 1:12–13).

If the Son of God had to walk through the wasteland, why do we act like our dry seasons mean our faith is broken?

The wilderness isn't proof that you’ve missed God’s will—sometimes, it’s the exact place the Spirit leads you to strip away your dangerous reliance on yourself, applause, control, and comfort, so you finally learn how to surrender.

Jesus didn’t survive the desert just to leave us stranded in ours. He went ahead of us so He could look across the dry cracked earth of your current season, look right past your anxiety, your failed plans, and your heavy depression, and whisper the sweetest invitation ever uttered:

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

— Matthew 11:28–29

Finding Practical & Biblical Solutions in the In-Between

So how do we actually survive this? The threshold or the in-between is not the end of your story. Depending on who you believe, who you let into those vulnerable rooms of your heart, and whether or not you walk into the divine invitation God is offering you, the middle can actually become a brand-new beginning.

Here are a few sound, practical, and biblical ways to navigate the wait:

Stop isolating in shame: Bring your raw, unfiltered reality into the light. Share your burden with God, a trusted community, a Christian counselor, or a safe mentor instead of letting depression lock you away in the dark (James 5:16).
Surrender your own timelines: Like Sarah, trying to force outcomes out of panic only breeds disaster. Release your grip on how you think things should look by now (Proverbs 3:5–6).
Accept Christ’s invitation to rest: Let Him be the one who offers you real solutions, sits with you in the dust, and provides the supernatural strength you need to wait (Isaiah 40:29–31).

You don't have to white-knuckle your way through it anymore. Drop the pretense, drop the heavy armor, and lean into the One who renews your strength.

Pause at The Threshold

Take a deep breath. Let your shoulders drop away from your ears. Before you click away today, chew on these:

Where are you currently waiting for God to show up in a situation that feels completely dead?
What would it look like today to stop fighting your wilderness and let El Roi—the God who sees you right here—tend to your wounds?

As you lean into this waiting season, let His ancient promise be your anchor:

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord."

— Psalm 27:14

"Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

— Isaiah 40:29–31

You don't have to fake strength this morning. If you're tired, let Him be your rest. Grab another cup of coffee, and remember that you are never walking through the wasteland alone.

What to Expect Next Week

Next Wednesday morning right here at The Threshold, we are tackling Episode 3: "When Prayer Feels Empty – What to do when God feels distant." Bring your honest questions, your doubts, and yes, another cup of coffee. Until then, grace and peace as you walk through!

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