A Dark Closet Kind of Faith

Learning to wait, trust, and believe the light will come

The other day, I was on FaceTime with my grandkids. Somehow, even through a screen, we’ve learned how to play together. One of their favorite games is hide-and-seek, and I’m often recruited as a silent partner, brought along, by whoever is hiding.

On this particular day, my three-year-old granddaughter chose a dark closet as her hiding spot. She pulled me in with her, the screen wobbling slightly as she settled into the shadows.

“Be quiet,” she whispered, her voice full of excitement.

We whispered back and forth, stifling giggles, sharing that secret joy that only hide-and-seek can bring. Time passed slowly in that dim little space, the light completely shut out. After a while, I told her she must have found an excellent place to hide since it was taking so long to be found. The waiting felt long.

Eventually, I wondered out loud, “Are you sure someone is still looking for us? Maybe you should go check. Maybe go find them?”

She didn’t hesitate.

With calm certainty, she reassured me every time: it was okay. They were still looking. We were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing. From my perspective, the waiting felt uncomfortable. The darkness made doubt creep in. The silence made me restless.

But not her.

She trusted the moment. She stayed still. She didn’t feel the need to rush the door open or prove anything. She simply believed, quietly and completely.

Then, just like she said it would, the closet door opened.

The light returned.  

The waiting ended.

The moment made sense.

Long after the game ended, the lesson stayed with me.

Because faith can feel a lot like sitting in a dark closet.

We don’t move. We don’t see much. Time stretches longer than we expected. Questions whisper in our minds. We wonder how long it’s supposed to take. We wonder if we’re doing something wrong. We wonder if the door will ever open.

I’m reminded of the counsel given to the Israelites when they stood trapped between the Red Sea and an approaching army:
“Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.” (Exodus 14:13)

Faith isn’t always bold.

It isn’t always confident or clear.

Sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it’s simply choosing not to leave.

A dark-closet kind of faith.

Maybe faith really does look more like a three-year-old in a dark closet than we realize.

Trusting she’s seen, even when she cannot see.

Knowing she is not alone, even when it feels so dark. 

Waiting without fear.

Resting in the certainty that the one who loves her is near even though not physically present but fully aware, present, and attentive.

She didn’t panic in the waiting.
She didn’t push the door open.
She didn’t abandon the moment when it took longer than expected.

She held on.

And when the door finally opened, the light filled the very space that had once felt small and uncertain.

I want that kind of faith.

The kind that doesn’t rush the moment.

The kind that stays rooted when silence stretches on.

The kind that knows that even in the dark, we are not alone, because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are there, watching, seeing, and staying.

The kind that believes light will come, even when it hasn’t yet (especially then).

Because maybe faith, in its simplest form, is staying still long enough to let the door open and maybe faith is simply staying still in the darkness, trusting the light knows exactly when to come.

XOXO

Tiffanee