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Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Waiting

JEAN SAID:

I was reading Isaiah 40 this morning. What a beautiful and poetic chapter it is. Verse 31 is very familiar to me and to many people, Lord. And sometimes when we read a familiar verse our eyes, and even our brains, just skip right over it. But my eyes clung to the word "wait" this morning in that verse.

It means so much more than what I usually mean when I talk about waiting. I think of waiting as boring, like standing in line waiting for my turn in the school lunch line. Or wasteful, like sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office scanning magazines and glancing at my watch every 5 minutes. That's the way I tend to see waiting.

But, here, in Isaiah 40:31, it means much more. It means waiting on tip-toes with expectancy and hope. Like the day our son married K. We sat on the front row and waited expecting K. to come down that aisle at exactly the right moment. The time came and went. Two minutes passed. Five minutes passed. I was eager to see how beautiful she was. When the first chord of the "Wedding March" sounded we stood and turned to look at the back of the garden. I had to stand on tip-toe and bob my head this way and that to try to see around the people between me and the main aisle. Finally, I caught a little glimps of her white veil. I kept adjusting my view point as she took one step after the other and came closer and closer to the front row. Even though I had seen her try the gown on at the bridal shop (wearing athletic shoes and a pony tail), I had no idea of what the full effect would be. I was eager to see her now. I was hopeful of seeing her fully arrayed in her bridal beauty.

And I wasn't disappointed. K. was a gorgeous, breath-taking bride. She was worth the wait.

Help me to wait on you, Lord, with expectancy like I did that wedding day.

In the middle of a hopeless situation help me to wait with hopeful anticipation for you to work, like I did in that garden.

GOD SAID:

We have different time tables, you and I. You're used to living in the here and now. I live in the center of eternity. I hold your "time" in My hands and I hold you in My hands, too. You can wait while I work out the details of your life with irritation, anxiety and worry, or with eager anticipation and hope. One way promises exhaustion, broken relationships, and stomach ulcers. The other way promises renewed strength and mounting upward toward me like eagles soaring toward the sun. You get to choose.