Waiting

It has been a week since the first post. Five days of schooling my children along with driving to ballet, choir, soccer practice, hymn sing, golf lessons, and small group. That was my week in writing. In and out of books and cars. But I don't remember any of this. More accurately it was spanking, rebuking, encouraging, teaching, wrestling, admonishing, reminding, waiting and pleaing, waiting and urging, A long list of busyness, isn't it?



I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in the days of plowing before sundown, baking bread for Sunday morning, walking to the "market", gathering and storing, washing dishes for the next meal, and hanging clothes to dry. I guess remnants of those days remain, but now it is much less physical, less labor-intensive. And so I wonder, when a mother laid down after a week of work, did she think of the folding and hanging? The kneading and sewing? Or did, she too, remember the waiting? What did she wait on? Was she waiting on the harvest, on her children to jump into the wagon, or on the bread to rise?


What am I waiting on? Nathan to be potty-trained? Lauren to write her lower case letters? Ben to read on his own? Dad to come home from work? Or a list of crossed-off tasks? Or am I just waiting for the weekend?


I think of my week and I think of the waiting. It seems endless. Either in cycles of tasks, or in moments that require patience on reserve. But REALLY, what am I waiting for? I am waiting on my Father, who orchestrates and designs the waiting. Waiting for His providence. His blessings. His strong arm. His discipline. His love. All of this for my good, and His Glory. This is how He grows me. He asks me to wait. And yes, ultimately I am waiting to be with Him. My Maker. My Bridegroom. My Heavenly Father. Therein lies the hope in waiting.

Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us.

This is the LORD; we have waited for him;

let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

Isaiah 25:9