Waiting.  It’s not my strongest ability.  It’s not even close to the top ten.

You’d think it should be.

For most of us, it is one of the activities in which we have the most experience.  Hours.  And hours.  Waiting.

She said she needed to go see the Social Security folks.  And, would I go with her?  I agreed, so earlier this week, we set out for our destination.

We expected a really long wait.  The full waiting room (don’t you just love that name?) didn’t allay our fears in any way.  Rows and rows of folks.  All waiting.

Everyone has been there.  No, not necessarily at the Social Security office.  I mean waiting.  We’ve all been there.  At the doctor’s.  The hospital.  The courthouse.  The DMV.

I love how the waiting rooms are full of lively conversations, laughter, and joy.  Oh, wait.  They’re not, are they?

Silence.  Dread.  Expectation of failure.  These are the emotions of the waiting room.

I sat, watching (in silence) the same people walk one by one out the door of the government office the other day.  Not one was crying.  Most were even smiling.

Still, the faces of those waiting were grim, with a host of feelings written in their eyes, on their mouths.  Impatience.  Disgust. Worry.

My companion and I sat, mostly in silence as well, our own emotions written to be read by other observers, I’m sure.  We sat and awaited the adventure before us—the adventure of the interview.

Yes.  I did say that. Adventure.  What is to come.  Anticipation.

They do come from the same place, you know—adventure & Advent.

The time before, when we wait.  Waiting, in hope or in dread.

This time of year is tricky.  With the rest of the world, we await the coming joyous event.

I look around me and I see a lot of emotions.  Somehow, folks don’t all seem joyous.  Many are downright sad.  Others seem disillusioned, almost bitter.

Somehow, even the folks who have been all happy-clappy through this season in years past seem a bit more sober.  Introspective, even.

I wonder.

Maybe I was the happy-clappy one.  The one who couldn’t see through my own giddy expectation to notice others weren’t enjoying the waiting.  Perhaps I, who awaited the coming day with wonder, couldn’t see that others just sat wondering when it would all be over.

I see them now.  

Sometimes, I am them.

We drove along this evening, the Lovely Lady and I.  It seemed they filled my vision, the Christmas lights spelling out the word HOPE in foot-high letters on the fence. 

She didn’t see them.  I motioned in the general direction and still, she didn’t see them.  Frustrated, I stabbed my finger straight at them and her eyes followed it across the field ahead.

Oh!  Now I see it!

I intended to take a photograph later, but I forgot.  It was well past midnight again when I wandered over that way.  This time I couldn’t see the letters.  Pulling my light jacket tight against the frigid north wind, I walked right up to the fence, a quarter of a mile away.  Then I saw that they were still there, just not lit up.  In the middle of the cold, dark night, they were still there.  Even though I couldn’t see them.

The letters are still there.  They’ll shine again tomorrow. 

They will.

HOPE. 

In letters that reached to the sky, He wrote it.  Some don’t see.  Some can’t see. Not without help.

HOPE. In letters that reached to the sky, He wrote it. Some don’t see. Some can’t see. Not without our help. Share on X

While we’re waiting, perhaps we could talk amongst ourselves.  It’s time to point to hope.  To talk about hope.  To live in hope.

We do.  We live in hope.  We live there.

The world is waiting in the dark night. (Isaiah 9:2)

Waiting for hope.

Hope will shine bright.

It’s time to point the way.  Time to speak up in this waiting room.  Time to walk out in joy and wonder.

While the world waits.

Hope will shine.

 

Hope looks forward to the Glory to come; in the weary interval of waiting, the Spirit supports our poor hearts and keeps grace alive within us.
(A.W. Pink ~ 1886-1952 ~ English theologian)

 

The people who sat in darkness
    have seen a great light.
And for those who lived in the land where death casts its shadow,
    a light has shined.
(Matthew 4:16 ~ NLT ~ New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2018. All Rights Reserved.