I woke up this morning with a smile on my face. It took me a minute or so to figure out that I had been in that odd place between “dreaming” and “remembering” . . . what I just experienced in a “dream” was an actual event that took place many years ago:
We moved to England in the summer of 1981 with our three children (ages 1, 4 and almost 7.) It had been pretty stressful moving over 5,000 miles with all of us and 17 pieces of luggage (I kid you not!) By that October we had settled into a home and emersed ourselves in village life with our oldest daughter Kara attending the local primary school. For us, living overseas was an opportunity to explore and experience things that might never be open to us again. That is why, when we found out that “term break” meant no school for a week, my husband arranged to take time off work so we could embark on our first family road trip. We booked what was described as “a bungalow” near Holyhead in Northern Wales and on the appointed day we gladly threw the kiddos and assorted “stuff” into the back of our van and drove north and west across England and Wales. As we traveled, the question from our four-year-old daughter asked repeatedly was, “Is that our bungalow?” as she pointed to houses large and small along the way. We told her that there were still many miles between where we were and where we were going, but she couldn’t seem to resist putting the question out again and again. Looking back, I am not sure if she was asking because she wanted to be where we were going, or because she liked saying the word: “bun-ga-low.” (It does have a sort of lilt as it comes off the tongue!) We finally drove across the border into Wales but still had another couple of hours to go. It had been quiet in the back seat as we continued to drive when, on a mountain off to the side of us, the impressive ruins of a castle strewn across the landscape came into view. As we passed we heard Amy start to ask just one more time, “Is that our . . . .” There was a moment of silence, then we heard her discouragement in her voice as she answered her own question, “Nope!” When we finally arrived at our bungalow it wasn’t nearly as amazing as what I think Amy imagined. Even so, we were finally THERE and she was free to go on to her next adventure!
What is it about waiting that is so hard? I have been doing some waiting of my own this week and must confess that it has been harder as each day has passed with no answers. My guess as to why waiting is so hard runs along three veins:
- Impatience, waiting seems like such a waste of time when we want to be actively doing something.
- There’s the fear of being forgotten.
- Having to face that WE are not in control. (Probably the hardest.)
As I waited this week, whenever I was tempted to start to fret the words from Isaiah 40:31 (KJV) continually shepherded my heart: “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” I am convinced that waiting and trusting are two sides of the same coin. Rather than viewing waiting as a curse; we can choose to trust God in our waiting and discover blessing. As we choose to stop focusing on ourselves, we begin to recognize other possibilities that God may have in mind.
- Psalm 130:5,6 “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in His Word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.”
Are you watching and waiting for something or someone, unsure of what “morning” will bring? I Corinthians 13:12 encourages us in our waiting: “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” Join me in giving thanks to God who holds our eternal future in His faithful hands ~
All to His Glory!