Willing to Wait

Life is full of waiting. We wait for paperwork to arrive in the mail, investments to grow, and phone calls to come. We wait for our kids to graduate, our incomes to go up, and the scale to go down. We wait in government offices, theater lobbies, bus stops, and airports.

None of us are any good at waiting. We want results, and we want them yesterday. With the whole world on fast-forward, it irritates us to have to push the pause button, especially when anxiety is running high. A friend of 3 decades recently received a surprising cancer diagnosis. It began with a routine appointment and a bit of question-worthy data.

One test led to another, and in just a few days, she’d heard the shocking news. After surgery to remove a tumor, her doctor told her it would be another 2 weeks before he could give her the details of her post-op treatment, and suddenly she’d been plunked into some very worrisome wait-time.

The waiting rooms of doctors’ offices might just as accurately be called “anxiety rooms.” As a person waits, she may have an open magazine on her lap, but her mind is far away, pondering the what-ifs. Whether we’re upset about new symptoms, waiting for a specific diagnosis, or wondering what our treatment will be, the feeling is the same: apprehension.

I remember waiting to hear what was physically wrong with Nate, wondering if our lives might radically change with what we would be told. My friend, too, has experienced that same nervousness, but she’s made a conscious decision to submit herself to whatever God allows into her life. Asking for prayer, she sent a group email that included a unique testimony. Not knowing what would happen, she was able to calmly write, “I’m in God’s waiting room.”

The minute I read that I knew she was going to rise above her circumstances, because she had lined up with God’s sovereignty over her life, even a life involving cancer. No fidgeting while waiting, no “why me,” no “how could you!” and no anger. Sure, she has questions, but she has fixed her gaze on her heavenly Father and is accomplishing a supremely difficult task: waiting patiently.

While the world’s waiting rooms are marked by angst and dread, God’s waiting room has divine purposes for each occupant. Instead of magazines to read, he offers security. Instead of stale coffee he hands out contentment. Instead of frayed nerves, he provides inner peace. My friend has been brought to a screeching halt, but God hasn’t. He’s energetically putting a plan in motion that will eventually pour considerable blessing into her life.

And he’ll do that because she has committed to an obedient stay in his waiting room.

“Since the world began, no ear has heard, and no eye has seen a God like you, who works for those who wait for him!” (Isaiah 64:4)

Heart to Heart

It’s strange what might cause a healing widow to jump back to days of mourning, even years later. Today someone in Bible study said the words “asking my husband,” and that was all it took. I didn’t cry or let on, but my attention left the Exodus study and riveted back on Nate and his absence. I won’t be able to ask him anything again, no matter what.

Two weeks from now our family will mark the second anniversary of Nate’s death. This year has been much better than last, and we’ve all made great progress in learning how to handle his being gone. Today, though, I needed to revisit 2009.

Back at home, I went to the basement and retrieved my two year old wall calendar on which we wrote the details of Nate’s cancer and its forced experiences. The October 18 square, a Sunday, is packed with writing: Mom and Dad’s #68 anniversary (if they’d been living); Nelson to TN, moving out of 168; no church today; sermon CD at home; Casey’s birthday (a friend who once lived with us); family photo.

That last one brought a powerful memory. Nate was about to finish up 14 radiation treatments, and as we’d met with doctors during those weeks, we’d learned he didn’t have as long as we first thought. Although we’d only known about his cancer for 26 days by Oct. 18, we became aware his time was growing short. Little did we know he had only 16 days left.

But our family was together, including three unborn grandbabies, and we decided to take a group picture. Although Nate was in great pain, he smiled unendingly while we posed and posed some more. Those were, as I recall, his last broad grins.

Tonight while working at the computer, I had a hard time focusing on anything but Nate and thought a beach sunset might help, despite overcast skies. Since the dogs love to chase the car home (wonderful exercise), I decided to drive.

As I opened the car door, there on the driver’s seat was a magnificent gift left anonymously by someone who’d been the Lord’s messenger to a pensive widow: a giant, heart-shaped potato!

It was as if God said, “I know you’re missing Nate today, and I want you to know I’m very close by, loving you.” I was astounded by this tender touch.

Maybe someday I’ll learn who my benevolent stranger was. Meanwhile, I send a cyber-thank-you to whoever you are, for all the world to see!

And how good to know that while God was taking care of me, he was also watching you as you delivered your unusual, timely gift. It was just what I needed. Thank you!

“It is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds.” (Psalm 73:28)

The Power of Love

Last night Jack, his cousin-dog Sydney, and I were out walking under twinkling stars. The wind was fierce, but the sky clear and the moon bright, coaxing me to put my flashlight away.

When we got to the corner where we had to decide to walk toward the beach or turn away from it, both dogs ran a bit toward, as if to say, “Please?” Although it was after midnight, I gave in, and we headed for the sound of roaring waves. They raced up the hill ahead of me, anticipating happy dances and creek cocktails.

When I got there, they were well into their playtime, romping in the dune grass and rolling down the hills. Crashing waves were iridescent in the moonlight, and the wind was gale-force. I put my hood up to shield my eyes from blowing sand, but it didn’t do much good. In just a few minutes my teeth were gritty, and sand was up my nose. Our visit was brief.

Today the waves were still wild, despite calmer winds. In a massive body of water like Lake Michigan, it takes nearly 24 hours for the water to calm after the winds cease, and my mind wandered to the biblical story of another stormy lake. The Sea of Galilee was known for unexpected storms just like Lake Michigan, and tradition says the Jews shied away from it for that reason.

In the story, it was Jesus who suggested they climb in a boat and head out onto the lake to get away from the ever-present, ever-needy crowds. If the disciples worried about a sudden squall, they kept it to themselves. Jesus, exhausted from non-stop ministry, fell right to sleep in the boat.

Knowing how badly he needed rest, they let him sleep, but eventually the storm they feared blew up, and panic moved them to wake him. He commanded the wind and waves to quit, and afterwards probably resumed napping.

Today while standing at the shoreline, it occurred to me Jesus really performed two miracles that night: halting the wind, and leveling the water, which normally would take a day or so. Looking up the story at home, I noticed something else.

The disciples were afraid of the raging wind and swamping waves, but after Jesus eliminated both, they should have been comforted. But Scripture says they had moved from fearful to terrified. Of what?

Of Jesus! (Mark 4:41)

Though they’d watched him perform wonders before, this time they saw the immensity of his power and that he can use it however he wants. What restrains him from using that power to eliminate every problematic person, place or thing from this world?

Love.

Love for his disciples motivated him to use his power against the storm. Love for us motivates him to refrain from using his power against us.

It’s all about his love.

“One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: “Power belongs to you, God, and with you, Lord, is unfailing love.” (Psalm 62:11-12a)