I am waiting. So far, I am not very good at it.
Listen, I should tell you that I have a long, colorful history with God and his faithfulness. In all the years I’ve walked with him (we’re up to year #31 this year), he has never, ever forgotten me. This, I feel, is a track record worth paying attention to. He has loved me better and longer than any of my junior high crushes, though I read their letters with much more attention than I did his for many years. He has cradled my heart in his hands more carefully than I treat my favorite bowl from Spain that has broken twice and made me cry both times. He has given me a freedom that reaches deep down into my heart, ignores the dirt and grime I let accumulate there, and pushes and nudges me until I agree to stand up and dance again.
In short, I know that he knows I’m waiting. In fact, he’s in charge of the wait.
But I keep sending him these addendum notes to our meetings. I’m really good at addendum notes. They go like this. “God. Hello. Thanks for the great meeting yesterday. I forgot to mention how I’d like you to hurry. Also, I am worried that you are not covering all the bases? Are you sure you know what you’re doing with Publisher X? They are really good at marketing over there and you might want to consider their history with contemporary women’s fiction. Plus, you’re kind of late. And I kind of need to know what you’re up to all the time because I like to control the universe and I’d like to take that little job off your hands.”
Can you believe his patience level with me? I would expect a smiting every now and then, but I have yet to be smote.
The thing is, I know the end of the story. I don’t know the details and I know I won’t write it as well if I keep trying to wrestle control out of his hands. But the end of the story is a good one, full of grace and struggle and triumph and sadness and a whole lot of waiting. Deep breath. Let the clock tick on and let me, please, take all those minutes and hours and let God do something beautiful with them.