I must be crazy.
Here I wait while the world moves around me. Summer arrives, tide rolls in. Swimsuits move from full price to sales to clearance. Vacation pics are posted. School supplies fill shelves and calendar days slip past.
And here I remain.
Waiting for my life to begin again. Waiting to put down new roots. Waiting to wash dishes in my own sink, to gather my kids around me again, to plan my own version of normal.
Voices shout against this waiting. Beat down the doors. Get out there. Go. Do. Look. Strive.
I know how to strive. My personal history book has countless chapters of striving. Hard work. Long hours. Make a list, then check it off. I’m good at it, really.
I’m not good at waiting.
My own voice shouts loudest. What are you doing? Are you crazy? How will you get to where you want to if you’re not striving?
Maybe that’s why the message has been simple and consistent.
"Wait on the Lord. Wait, I say, on the Lord."
Wait on the One who sees my need and therefore provides.
Wait on the One who paves his streets with gold.
Wait on the One who cherishes me, who wants to simply hang out with me as if I’m the most important woman in the whole universe to him.
Can I do it? Can I choose to wait for and hope for and expect the Lord to show up with a home of my very own?
I want to justify this waiting. I want to reason it out, explain it away. Make it make sense.
Make sense to whom?
I’ve got all my eggs in one basket. I’m absolutely counting on God. I don’t have a Plan B. It’s all or nothing here.
I would have lost heart unless I believed I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
He’s a good, good Father. And so I wait.