If I’m honest, I’m waiting on more than a change in the weather.
And I’m waiting like someone on a bench, late for a court date, because the bus didn’t come: anxious, fearful, and frustrated.
I’m waiting for a lot.
I just returned from a weekend celebration with my family. Before that, I hadn’t seen my parents in nine months.
I’m waiting to see my family again.
I am in practical transition with a new job, new demands, and a new schedule.
I am waiting to land in all the newness.
I am waiting for specific and significant Provision.
I’ve had broken friendships and a broken heart, voluntary and involuntary displacement, loss, and painful consequences of my own sin.
I am waiting for Healing–for the pain to subside–
for love and peace to be more powerful than the ache.
I am waiting for Relief.
I am rebuilding some relationships that suffered at the hands of circumstances, sorrow, and confusion. We’re trying to return to where our knee-jerk reaction is one of trust and assuming the best of each other.
I am waiting for Restoration.
I have family and friends scattered over thousands upon thousands of miles, 5 time zones, opposite work schedules, and terrible busyness. One of my dearest friends has been away for 7 weeks, another one for ten days. I can’t wait for their return.
I am waiting for Reunion.
I don’t know why I’ve been through a few particular difficulties. I don’t know where God is in them, where my sin caused them, what else I can be doing, or what God will do with them.
Like all people with unmet desires and unfulfilled dreams, I wonder if what I long for matches what God has for me. I need to see my fears about God as a task-master or disciplinarian overturned. I yearn to see if the promises of Joy and abundance are true, one way or another.
I am waiting for Clarity.
I am waiting for Revelation.
In all of this, I feel like I haven’t heard God’s voice in a long time. I have been living without the consolation of His presence for far too long. I’m treading water, and with great effort, keeping my head above the despair. Most days.
I am waiting for Assurance.
With everything that’s amiss, with how poorly I fit in, by beholding the difficulty and suffering in lives around me that’s even greater than mine, struggling to embrace the “now” and the “not yet” at the same time, I can’t forget I wasn’t made for this place. I can’t forget I don’t belong here.
I am waiting to get Home.
So I put one foot in front of another, as all that I await leads me there.