Waiting is hard work. It sounds like a passive posture. It sounds like a period of not-doing. But those of us who have experienced profound periods of waiting know how untrue that is. Instead, waiting can hold some of our deepest engagement with the things that scare us the most. When we wait, we are forced to face our lack of control and our deepest desires and fears. It is often a deep period of meaning making, either feeding into our beliefs and narratives about how things will work out or maybe our fears that they never will. The vulnerability of waiting can drive us toward hope, growth, and thriving, or it can push us into the arms of our oldest and most engrained ways of coping with hard things.
I find myself in a season of waiting, and it turns out I have a lot of thoughts about it, so I’m going to try something new. I am going to do a series on waiting, both reflecting on my own experiences of waiting, and hopefully creating some prayerful shared space for us to wait together. I will be up front with saying that much of my reflection on waiting will be drawn from my current experiences, which are a very particular sort of waiting— waiting that is mostly by choice. That is not to say that it isn’t difficult, but I have made intentional decisions that have brought me into this season of waiting. I am waiting as I continue to trust my own process of discernment, my sense of call and vocation from God, and the support and encouragement of people close to me who I also trust. There is boldness in this sort of waiting, too, and I have found it to be a field for growth. But I recognize that it is also a privilege.
Other seasons of waiting I have gone through have not had this sense of optionality. I couldn’t make a diagnosis come sooner, or make my body heal faster. I couldn’t decide to wait for what I was searching for or take a different path. Finding purpose in these periods was mostly in spite of my circumstances. In these times, I would have given an awful lot for my waiting to be optional, or to have a sense of inherent purpose in waiting. I could seek to find God at work in all seasons of my life regardless of context, but I didn’t have to embrace those seasons of waiting as a gift.
Regardless of what kind of waiting you are doing, it can feel like a thing you have to hold and cannot set down. It can feel heavy, full of fear, out of our control. It has been helpful for me to remember that even as I hold this period of waiting, I do not do it alone. I am held and supported in so many ways that I sometimes forget to take stock of. So let’s take a moment together to remember what is holding you right now.
What holds you in your waiting? Take a moment to remember and take inventory. Maybe even write them down if that is helpful for you. In a moment of my life when I was very sick, I remember laying in the grass, feeling the ground hold me up, and hearing God whisper to me “as surely as the ground is holding you up, so I am holding you up, moment by moment.”
What is the green grass holding you as you are are waiting? As you wait, picture the things that are holding you. Who or what can you lean back on in rest? Who or what brings you a sense of comfort and support?
I want to leave you with a simple breath prayer to remind us that we are not alone as we wait. I invite you to get comfortable, and to take deep, steady breaths as you pray it. As you notice any thoughts or emotions come up, simply notice them, and invite God to hold those as well. Pay attention to whatever is physically holding you up right now— the ground, or a chair, or wherever your body rests in this moment. Allow yourself to feel it holding you up. Let it be a tangible reminder to you as you pray that you are upheld.
Inhale: You hold me
Exhale: As I wait
Wellspring 