Saturday, June 9, 2012

On Waiting

Ever since I was little my soul ached to do. Constantly. I would wiggle in my chair in the classroom because I needed to walk. To move. To discover something new. To touch a tree, to bounce my sneakers on the asphalt,  to find a treasure, to run, to play, to explore. Especially if I knew what I wanted, I couldn't wait. I had to reach out and grab it right then. And most of the time, I did. Sometimes it was spontaneous and beautiful and poetic, other times I would get in trouble. Most of the time, it was both.

I'm still like this. During my five years in college, life presented me with a very close by pear tree that I could reach up and grab whichever one I wanted. Road trips, jobs, India, Colorado, Cherry Street, community, a degree. There was no waiting. It happened. The supply was luscious and endless. It filled my soul to the brim. Nourished my inner and outer adventurer. The pears where sweet and ripe and always there.

Then, God asked me to wait. Well, He didn't really ask me. Because if He had, I would have said no. He's making me. It's dry here. It is not luscious or nutritious or sweet. And it is certainly not an adventure. My eyes feel heavy and my skin feels dry. My bones are dusty. It hurts to move. It's being stuck in an elevator, or in the car at the bottom of a Ferris wheel. And there are definitely a whole lot of tears for being in such a dry desert. I graduated college, and  from everything I knew, I moved away from my sweet pear tree. At once, everything was ripped out from under my feet.

Yet, my heart is still so full, it's bursting at the seams. With dreams and desires of Colorado, of working with the homeless, of uproarious laughter, of raw almonds, of mountain tops, of deer femurs in my back pack. Of new tattoos and new friends and men with beards and bare feet and thunderstorms and of eating black beans out of a can. Of broken-nosed faith and mercies that make you crumble. 

God is still making me wait. And waiting is a lot like Ohio. 

I keep hearing people tell me that God uses these seasons to strengthen us. I know that biblically, it's true. Some of the greatest faith came from some of the hardest and longest periods of waiting. But to believe I could ever be this person, drives me crazy. I don't WANT to fucking wait. I never did. My organs are going haywire because my heart is too big for my body. Everything is insane. Nothing is still. Waiting is not still. Waiting is an exasperated bird convulsing ruthlessly in it's cage because everything in it's heart says fly. 

But. If I believe God is good, then I believe he'll open the door to my cage. He raised Jesus from the dead, I'm sure he can handle my pear tree. 

Everyday want I pray this prayer,
God, you know already how much this season hurts,
you know that I struggle to believe You. To believe what you say. To believe that You are good.
I am depressed, heart broken, and sleepless.
But thank you for giving me such an adventurous spirit.
Thank you for birthing me a woman of the mountains.
I am excited to see what this season of waiting brings.
And I will never truly know how much my wings love to take to the air, unless I am caged from time to time.
Help me Lord, to praise You for my feet even though my hands have been amputated.
Help me Lord, to be like Your son.
Help me Lord, to wait in patience and in gratitude.
Hold me tighter when I need to run free,
and let me go just at the right time.