Waiting is a waste of time. Certainly, better things could be done, like painting the laundry room closet, dusting the cobwebs in the corners of the windows, or washing the kitchen and dining room walls, but no, just waiting…waiting….
Waiting for the phone call that says Dad is okay and that they are bringing him home. But each time the phone rings, there are more problems, more complications, and more things that need to be done. Maybe he isn’t coming home.
Waiting for the phone call that says it is time, he has gone the way of all the earth. It is time to come and cry, time to gather with my family and remember, time to see what should have been, or could have been, if things were different.
Waiting for nature to take its course, for the timeworn body to submit to its mother earth, for the bell to ring that says the round is over and the victory won, for the snow to fall and signal that winter has arrived, for the door of life to close.
Why Lord? Why is death so hard? How can we endure to the end when we don’t know when, where, and how that end will be? Why must we continue to plow forward when the ground is caked with mud, the weeds are thick with roots and shoots, and the plow is dull with chips and dents?
“But they that wait up on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint” (Isaiah 40:31).
Waiting for the door of eternity to open; waiting for the spirit to rise anew; waiting for the angels to sing praises that one of their own has returned; waiting for a new life to begin, for time to fade away, for sadness to be replaced with joy.
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