Sometimes it feels like the doctor’s office – an endless holding pattern.
Passing the time away, flipping through May’s issue of Southern Living.
Watching reruns of Ellen.
Scrolling through your Instagram feed for the second time.
Make that the third.
When the nurse reappears from the mysterious beyond that is the exam room, there’s a flicker of hope.
A wave of anticipation that rivals a kid’s on Christmas morning.
“Is it my name on the clipboard? Will she call me? Has my time come? Will my ‘patient’ wait finally come to an end?”
Other times waiting can feel like a turbulent airplane flight – holding on for dear life.
Quick breaths catching.
Fervent prayers being lifted up.
Pleading for the bouncing and jostling to give way to calm.
The desperation for clear skies makes the driving rain and dauntless winds all the more disheartening.
Knuckles turn white, gripping armrests like they’re the only salvation.
Hoping the wait doesn’t end with a crash into the dark waters below.
Now and then the wait is painful – like the repeated pulse of a needle.
A tattoo driving into bone. No flesh to cushion each blow.
The sensation is irrational.
It builds, it grows, it expands.
First it’s just slightly uncomfortable. Prickly even.
But that initial feeling quickly gives way to something deeper.
Something that brings fat, wet tears to eyes and sends them cascading down cheeks.
“How does each prick feel like it’s cutting deeper? And deeper? Why does this have to hurt so much? Will the pain ever end? ”
But then there’s the joyful wait.
Sitting at the Father’s feet. Gazing up at His face.
Knowing deep in your soul that He’s up to something.
Craning to catch just a fleeting glimpse of His work.
Every now and then He pulls back the curtain and reveals a tiny peek into His plan.
Just a flash of His glory.
And OH…is it beautiful!
But that’s just a taste.
There’s so much more.
The expectant wait continues, and with it a promise that God is about to show His glorious face. The thrill of that day is brimming – no overflowing – with a joy that transcends understanding.
This is a different kind of hope.
It is a hope beyond reason.
A hope fueled by love.
A hope that will not disappoint.
It makes no sense.
But at the same time, it’s the only rational thing in this world.
It’s the doctor’s hand on the doorknob.
It’s the split second before the plane’s wheels touch the runway.
It’s the tattoo artist turning the chair to reveal a masterpiece.
It’s the Father pulling the curtain wide.