We both wait, my friend and I.
She is far better in the waiting. She knows how to be still and quiet. I can see her now with her hands folded in her lap and her face still as she watches and takes in every detail.
I am anxious in the waiting and pace. I check and recheck. I wish I could push through the waiting. I wish that I could manipulate the events in exactly the order I think best.
But both of us know that neither of us have the power to push forward any faster or hold on any tighter than what The Master Planner allows. So we wait.
She waits on the end while I wait on a new beginning. She sits at her father’s bedside. The hospice nurse says only a few more hours, maybe a day. She sits close by, in case he needs her. She reads his face for signs of fatigue. The waiting is hard.
I check on Big Girl several times a day. I feel her swollen belly and I read her face for signs of labor. I stay close by not wanting to be too far in case she needs me. She is so tired. The waiting is hard.
And yet, time will not be pressured to move any faster or slower. Because as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, the Lord will accomplish every thing that concerns those of us in the waiting.
Perhaps she waits so that she can say goodbye as a daughter should. Perhaps the waiting has brought her strength for what lies ahead. The waiting for the end is a sweet, terrible time. It draws every ounce of her energy but she waits there for the end of the circle.
Perhaps our waiting serves to heighten our awareness of this new life. Where my friend draws strength to wait from her memories, we wait strengthened by hope of what lies ahead. We wait for the circle of life to begin here in our midst.
The Master Planner does all things well. He even plans our waiting. We find ourselves worshipping in the waiting….my friend and I. In a few days, all will be different for both of us. But now… here in the in between we wait together, a secret bond between friends.