I've written a lot about it because I do a lot of it.
I'll be honest. My point in this post is not to encourage. I'd d like to host a good, ol' fashioned pity party.
Some of my worst moments are while I wait. What is it we wait on?
...for her to wake up.
...for a nurse to check up.
...for a PCA to clean up
...for a doctor with orders to call up.
...for her chemo to start up.
...for the healing to show up.
Waiting means our situation is in suspended animation. There is nothing I can do/say/think that will make the clock start ticking again. There is nothing I can do but talk with myself or God. When I talk to myself, I'm spinning over fear, worry and a lot of frustration. In my self-talk, I end up chasing my tail around in circles - ending more dizzy than I started.
Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I mess with the myriad of apps on my phone. Sometimes I drink or eat or run or read. Sometimes when the waiting is too much to bear, all I can do is try to escape. Sometimes, waiting actually creates a physical pain in the center of my chest, making me short of breath.
The waiting is THE WORST PART OF THIS SITUATION.
*********End of Pity Party*******************
But I'm far enough into this, both spiritually and emotionally, to know how I should be managing the waiting. (But as you can see from above, I don't always want too.)
On Tuesdays, God and I have a running conversation. It is the day of the week I'm required to wait the most. You could call it prayer but in my mind, it is more like I'm leaving the door of my heart open so either one of us can walk through at any given time. Everything I'm thinking and feeling I make accessible, all day and this helps a lot.
Yesterday I challenged myself to imagine that as we walked through our day, whatever it held, I would not think I was alone - but to see Christ standing, sitting, walking, listening beside me. There is an old hymn called He Walks With Me and this was my effort to put that into practice.
We waited for a room until well after dark. At 9 pm we turned off all the lights and rested until Bed Control called. Laying there in the dark, I had a "Kirk Franklin" moment. He has a song called "I Am God." There are a few lines here I'll share that sum up my 2nd-to-last conversation with The Lord:
Its not easy waiting on you. Its not easy believing that you got this together. But without faith it's impossible to please you. So we'll stand right here before You. You got me. You got me. You got me!
I always come back to a confession of faith like this. I don't understand what/why He is having us walk this path of extremity. But, despite everything, I do know the last line of that song is true:
BE STILL AND KNOW I AM GOD!
Moses said that to the Israelites as they fled the Egyptians. Actually, Moses added a key element to the equation of waiting:
The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still. (Exodus 14:14)
Be still, Amy, so I can do my work. Do not interfere for My plan is perfect and already laid out. I am here - I am working/fighting on Sophia and your behalf.
Be still so you can see what I am doing.
Those who hope, wait, trust and have faith in the Lord will renew their strength.
So, when we finally got here and got settled, in my last "conversation" with Him, I pictured Him sitting on the edge of my bed - with His Hand on me and watching Sophia sleep. Finally, I could be still.
We are still waiting this morning. We are going on 13 hours of being at the hospital and she hasn't started chemo yet. As part of my "conversation" with Him this morning, I'm trying to believe her chemo is delayed for a good reason.
I'd like to think The Lord is fighting to make sure her white blood counts come up from being low yesterday, but I may never know why we had to wait this time. Or any other time.
I will try and rest in that. I will picture Him next to me, hearing my frustration and listening to my heart cries. This way, I can escape chasing my tail and return to peace.
I will try and be still Lord, no matter what!