Waiting. I’m not a fan.

I usually run tight with my schedule, doing last minute tasks before I leave for an appointment. Consequently, sometimes I make others wait for me. That’s a problem.

Sweet William often threatens to break into song with “Waitin’ On a Woman.“

Waiting rooms are on my list of least favorite places. I always bring something, a book, a magazine. I can update my planner or return text messages. Don’t waste the minutes. Never let it be said that I sat with nothing but my thoughts.

And perhaps herein lies my issue, listening to my own internal talk.

Waiting is a necessary part of life, common to all humanity. I waited for Christmas as a child, waited for the birthday when I’d turn 16, then 20. I waited to get married, to get pregnant. Then waited nine months for that sweet baby boy to be born.

I wait for the cake to bake, the soup to simmer, them needing time for flavors to mingle and textures to form that please the taste. In the waiting, the recipe becomes what it was meant to be.

Soul, are you listening? In the waiting, you become who you were meant to be.

In the quieting of my frantic soul and the calming of my fretful mind, I learn to wait with hope. I remember I am not alone on this journey.

The Psalmist breaks into his own song as he waits:

I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. (27:13-14)

Waiting in confident faith, waiting to see the good things of God, here is where my endurance increases and courage rises for the days before me. I learn to trust the One who knows the end from the beginning, who patiently waits for me to become who He meant me to be.

Waiting can be a good thing. Maybe I could even become a fan of it.

Monday grace.