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Part 2 of 4
The Posture Between Prayer and Promise
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Today we're dealing with a question many of us face: what do we do between prayers? What posture should we take when we're in the process—between asking God for something and actually experiencing it? Between the promise and the promised land?
Let's look at Numbers chapter 21 for context. The children of Israel were traveling from Egypt toward the promised land. They asked to pass through the land of Edom (Esau's territory), offering to pay for any water their animals drank. But Edom refused and sent men to block their passage. Then, as if that weren't enough, the king of Arad heard they were coming and sent an army against them, capturing prisoners. The Israelites cried out to God, and He delivered them—they won the battle and recovered their prisoners.
But notice the pattern: some things work, some things don't. Some doors open, others slam shut. And now, because they can't pass through Edom, their journey is longer. They have to go around.
Numbers 21:4 tells us: "The soul of the people became discouraged."
That word soul—nephesh in Hebrew—refers to the seat of your appetites, your intellect, your emotions, and your will. Their entire inner being became discouraged. And here's what's important: most of us can be honest about this. We are discouraged on the way. We're headed somewhere. Some things have worked. Some things haven't. And now we face a delay.
The Hebrew word translated "discouraged" actually means impatient. It carries the picture of harvesting wheat—when you cut off the wheat, you sever it from its roots. When you become discouraged, you are at risk of being cut off from your root, cut off from your foundation, cut off from what has held you stable.
So unattended discouragement—that's what we need to address today. That unattended discouragement that says, "I'm done. It's enough. I can't take this anymore. I'm out."
What happens when discouragement takes root? Look at verse 5: "The people spoke against God and against Moses."
Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. Their discouragement spilled out: "Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?" They wanted out. They didn't want this process anymore. It was taking too long. It wasn't going according to plan. Even their own brothers wouldn't let them pass through. This is not how it's supposed to be.
How many times have we gotten here? How many times have we said, "I want out"?
Then they complained: "There is no food. There is no water."
But that's not true. At this very point in their journey, God had already given them water from a rock—twice. The rock traveled with them so that even if they didn't have water in their cup, the source was with them. And for food? God was raining down manna every morning and sending quail every night. Literally, their food was falling from heaven.
But here's the danger: when your soul gets into a discouraged state, it is difficult to see properly. You don't see things as they are; you see things as you are. Your mental and emotional state determines how you perceive reality.
So they said there was no food and no water—making absolute statements—when neither was true. And then they called the manna "worthless bread."
Let that sink in. The same manna they had celebrated, the same provision that was an answer to prayer, their discouraged soul now called worthless. That job you prayed for? That relationship? That assignment? When discouragement sets in, you treat it as worthless. You see it as a burden instead of a blessing.
What was manna? The Bible tells us in Exodus 16 that manna was bread from Heaven. The Psalmist says, "Your fathers ate angel food." This was not ordinary bread. This was provision from the very kitchen of heaven, delivered by God's hand.
Yet because things weren't going according to plan, because they had to take a longer route, because things didn't look the way they thought they should—what God had given them became worthless in their eyes.
This teaches us something critical: unattended discouragement begins to harm our perspective. It skews our perception of what God has done.
Now let's look at John 6:31-35. Jesus is teaching, and He references this very manna:
"Our fathers ate manna in the desert; as it is written: 'He gave them bread from heaven to eat.' Jesus said to them, 'Most assuredly, I say to you, Moses did not give you the bread from heaven, but My Father gives you the true bread from heaven... I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst.'"
Do you see what Jesus is saying? That manna in the wilderness was just a type and shadow—a picture of something greater. The Old Testament is the veiled New Testament; the New Testament is the Old Testament unveiled. What they were eating was merely a shadow of the true Bread of Heaven, which is Christ Himself.
So when those Israelites rejected the manna and called it worthless because of their discouragement, they were—in essence—rejecting Jesus.
And here's what shakes us awake: unattended discouragement leads to rejecting Christ. We often think rejection of Christ only happens at the moment of salvation, but it's a continual choice. Every day, in scenario after scenario, minute by minute, we choose either to believe God or to reject Him. When I complain, when I yield to discouragement, when I call God's provision worthless—I am rejecting the Bread of Life.
That's not just about our feelings. That's serious.
What happened next? Numbers 21:6-7:
"And the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people; and many of the children of Israel died. Therefore the people came to Moses and said, 'We have sinned, for we have spoken against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord that He take away the serpents from us.'"
Complaining exposes you. Unattended discouragement exposes you to attack. The enemy is looking for vulnerability, for any opening. Discouragement gives him one.
And notice what the people asked for: they wanted Moses to pray so God would take the serpents away. They wanted immediate relief. They just wanted the snakes to be gone.
But that's not what God did.
Numbers 21:8-9:
"And the Lord said to Moses, 'Make a fiery serpent, and set it on a pole; and it shall be that everyone who is bitten, when he looks at it, shall live.'"
God didn't kill the snakes. He didn't drive them away. Instead, He had Moses make a bronze serpent and lift it up on a pole.
Think about this. People are dying. Snakes are biting them. And instead of removing the threat, God takes time to melt bronze, shape it into a serpent, and lift it high so millions could see it. Why? Because your heart hasn't really changed. You just want the snakes to go away. But I need to redirect your focus.
Now look at John 3:14:
"And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life."
Jesus is telling us: that bronze serpent on the pole? That was a picture of Me. Of My cross. Of My crucifixion.
God did not kill the snakes. God provided a system to heal and preserve His people in the midst of the snakes. The snakes are always there. The threats are always there. But what kept them alive was not the absence of danger—it was turning their eyes and fixing them on the bronze serpent on the pole, which points to Christ.
They had rejected Christ by calling the manna worthless. And God's answer to that rejection was to put a typology of Christ right before them: "You have to focus on Christ to live. You have to focus on Christ to live."
So what should we do when things aren't working? When we're between prayers and the answer hasn't come? When things aren't going the way we expected?
Refocus. Get your eyes back to where they need to be. Focus on what matters. Remind yourself of what God has done.
Look at Psalm 42:5, 11 and Psalm 43:5. The same refrain appears three times:
"Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Put your hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance."
The solution isn't found in circumstances changing. It's found in redirecting your hope. Your soul is down, yes. Your situation is uncertain, yes. But put your hope in God. Not in the situation. Not in the timeline. Not in how it's supposed to work. Put your hope in God.
For I will yet praise Him.
That Hebrew word yadah—to praise—means to lift up your hands. It also means to confess, to use your mouth to shape your reality. When you praise God, you are confessing His goodness. You are using your words to declare truth.
In between prayer, when things are not going well, when things are not working and going as fast or as well as they should, we leave ourselves open to be beaten by the snakes that are planning to harm us. The enemy is not here to play. He's looking for any vulnerability, any discouragement, yes—discouragement.
Sometimes we feel discouraged, and we don't attend to it immediately. We let it sit. We shift from discouragement into complaint. And the moment we do, the snake can bite.
If any of us here have been beaten by it—where you've left yourself open, where you've complained, where you've labeled what was once a blessing a curse, a burden, worthless—where you've looked down on what God has done for you, even though He has shown you His greatness and goodness—what should you do?
Turn your eyes back on Jesus.
Turn your eyes back on Jesus. With eyes filled with tears. With your heart still heavy. Turn your eyes back on Jesus. And lift your hands in praise. In thanksgiving. "Lord, I thank You. Lord, I give You praise."
Let me close with this thought: people often think faith is for getting things. But getting things is just the hand God uses to walk on you. The process—the delay, the detour, the wait—that process is actually designed to deliver a better version of you. A more mature version of you.
So when you're between the promise and the promised land, when you're in that gap, understand: this is not wasted time. This is formation time.
You cannot leave discouragement unattended. The moment you feel it coming, know that it will affect your eyes. It will affect your words. It will affect how you see God's goodness.
What should you do? Turn your attention back. Turn your focus back. How? Through praise. Through thanksgiving.
"Lord, I thank You. Lord, I give You praise."
That's your posture between prayers.
