I don’t know about you, but I don’t much like waiting.
I don’t like waiting in lines, so I shop on off-hours and avoid amusement parks.
I don’t like waiting for the bread to rise, so I tend to bake it too soon—every time!
I don’t like waiting for others, so I blaze ahead—often to my detriment.
I especially don’t like waiting for significant life events, particularly when they’re not definite. My season of waiting as a single woman was long and hard; I wasn’t sure it would have an end; but when it was complete, I thought waiting seasons were over. I was wrong.
I don’t like waiting. And now, I’m in a season of waiting again.
We’ve been waiting for more than two years for the right full-time job for my husband. Yes, he’s been working in several different places, but no full-time job worthy of his background and experience has appeared. This waiting is in the background of each day, like a shadow that is consistently there regardless of whether you pay attention to it. We’re waiting.
I’ve waited for most of my adult life to buy a house, and we finally found the right place for us. So, while we had an accepted offer over Memorial Day weekend, it took forever to go to contract, and now we’re 3 weeks past our original close date because the seller has dragged his feet on contractually obligated work. We’re waiting.
And we might be okay with this except that I have another waiting that feels heavy and exhausting—mostly my from my 40-pound belly beating and kicking with new life. The baby’s due in 3 weeks, and we’d planned to be in the house before he or she came. We’re waiting, and this one has a timetable.
Even though I don’t much like waiting, in this season of waiting, I want to wait well.
Waiting well requires quiet—something I’m not. But speaking or making a fuss doesn’t make it happen faster. So I’m choosing the quiet.
Waiting well requires stillness—and I like to move. But running after it doesn’t help me catch it. So I’m choosing stillness.
Waiting well requires trust—the opposite of control. I do what I’m called to do, then take my hands off the steering wheel and trust. Trust that that the God who self-humbled in order to redeem a stubborn people will take care of all this. So I’m choosing trust.
Waiting well requires peace—well, it doesn’t really require it; peace is something we give to it. I need to give peace to this waiting for the baby in my womb, the toddler running around my house, the husband who works hard, and, at the end of the day, also for me. So, I’m making peace in this waiting.
Isaiah wrote God’s words to a people who didn’t like to wait:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength. . .” Isaiah 30:15, 18
They rejected those words, but I want to make a different choice–one that brings salvation and strength. . .
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