SHOULD WE EXPECT ANOTHER?

There I was again - fasting, praying, crying. It was the sixth day. My lips were dry from tongues unceasing, and my eyes sore from tears that had no timetable. Yet, the heavens remained quiet. No answer. No shift. Just silence.

“For how much longer will you accuse Me of unfaithfulness when you've not asked the right question? For how much longer will those tears linger when you're not praying aright?” His voice interrupted my grief.

“What? But Lord... I pray long in tongues over this matter. I cry. I wait. What else should I be doing?”

He replied with a gentleness that pierced deeper than any rebuke:

“Yes, you pray in tongues... but you're not letting Me pray through you. You come with your script. You refuse to yield. You do the tongues and walk away unchanged. Unbroken.”

Unbroken.

That word lingered like a verdict.

You see, I wasn’t battling an infirmity like Paul nor facing barrenness like Hannah. I was stuck. Desperately stuck. And what made it worse was that I was stuck for the "wrong" reason - stuck because God insisted I remain quiet while my righteous soul was vexed by everything around me. I wanted a fight, a fire, a platform -and He gave me silence. That wasn't fair!

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Two years earlier, I tasted the sweetness of God. I lived with my elder sister while waiting for admission, and during those months, Jesus became overwhelmingly real. Through the Saving Grace Missions Fellowship (SGMF), I experienced fellowship like never before - burning hearts, praying lips, open Bibles, genuine friendships. It was heaven on earth for a 17-year-old girl who had just discovered what it meant to hear God.

Then came His Word:

“I am giving you admission — not just for certificates, but for impact. I will equip you for your generation.”

I believed Him.

A few months later, I was admitted. And the dream felt like it was beginning to manifest- or so I thought.

It's been two years into my supposed divine assignment, everything felt dry - arid, deserted, and disappointing.

There were no real prayer partners. No burden bearers. No spiritual fire. Even the fellowships seemed like empty shells. My coursemates? Their conversations alone were enough to vex my righteous soul daily.

And suddenly, the Word I had once held on to felt like a distant echo. Did I really hear God? Was this the right school? The right department? The promised training ground? This didn't look like preparation for nations. This looked like punishment.

I loved the Lord with all my heart. All I was asking for was a community where I could know Him better. Was that too much to ask?

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I was trying to get a grasp of His verdict on my unbrokenness when He whispered again — this time, with Scripture:

 “There are many who say, ‘Who will show us any good?’ Lord, lift up the light of Your countenance upon us.”

— Psalm 4:6

At first, it made no sense. Why that verse? Why now?

Then, gently but firmly, He spoke again:

“That verse has been the silent cry of this land since before I sent you here. Many of your course mates will do anything to fill the emptiness in their soul. That dry atmosphere you despise? That’s not the failure of this place - it’s the question they’re asking. Who will show us any good?”

He paused.

My heart sank.

“Behind their rebellion, behind the vanity, behind their mockery of the sacred - is a yearning. A thirst. An unspoken desperation. And I sent you to dig wells. But instead... you've just complained.”

It broke me.

I had spent two years pointing fingers at the darkness instead of shining light. I had judged the thirsty instead of offering water. I was the Isaac who should dig wells until I named a Rehoboth.

How many people have groped in darkness while I murmured?

How many have fainted of thirst while I grumbled?

How did I become a judge when He sent me a saviour?

Just then, as the tears fell without restraint, I heard the most sobering whisper in my spirit:

“Are you the saviour, or should we expect another?”

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T'was mercy that brought me this far. After that experience, I didn't feel I was deserving of the university community or even God's trust.

The one time heaven trusted me 

The one time heaven needed me

The one time God was so sure of water for His people 

Could this be your story?

You know there's more to your admission than certificates 

The fact that you noticed the dryness could be a sign that you're their Isaac 

They'd close the wells up but don't give up. He that sent you has an intent at heart

There's a Rehoboth in view. And just then, when you dig it, you can say,"the Lord truly has made room for us and in this land, He shall prosper"

Brace up, soldier

You were called for such a time as this

And while you're here, they'll not need to expect another 

The End.