March 18

When You Have What You Need

It's the waiting that is hard. Sometimes it's the waiting for healing, physical or emotional. Sometimes it's the waiting for hope, for the darkness to lift, for the sun's rising in the morning to feel like possibility, not another opportunity to worry, to wonder if this day will be any different than the next.

It is heavy, the ache of lost hope. It has a smell, too–like decay, sometimes covered in the masquerade of new clothes, a tired smile, a pretend "fine" when it is the last thing you feel.

Sometimes we ache for what's next when what's right now is actually what we need.

For months I was waiting to move back into our house, to be in the space I know and love. And then when we moved back in, days before Abby went back to school and workers were still in our house on a daily basis–I was waiting for my back, which I had injured, to heal. I was impatient at the forced slowing down, the inability to do all the things I was craving to do. And yet surrendering control–even being forced to it–is a gift I have needed. I am accepting this, bit by bit.

Wisdom from friends echoes the words of the Father. "Listen. Wait." And I realize how precious it is to be forced to slow. So, still, I continue to try to be patient–listening for His voice without always wondering what's next.

What hard-to-recognize gift is before you right now?