The Blessed Agony of Waiting

I wish I were as good at waiting as Carson, my seven-year-old nephew. The other day he said with all the sincerity and excitement only a grade-schooler can embody, “I’m so excited about Christmas Eve, it makes my legs wiggle.”

His waiting is marked by eager excitement (okay, yes, mostly for the presents Santa will bring). But my waiting, I’m sad to say, is usually marked by impatient toe-tapping and eye-rolling. And sometimes even by dread or detachment.

At times I feel like I’ve spent the better part of my years waiting. I grew up in a family with three women and one bathroom. As the youngest of those females, I didn’t earn the best spot in line. I live a block from a train track, and I can’t count the wasted hours I’ve spent in my trusty Honda waiting for another line of train cars to pass. I’m a 38-year-old never-married woman, and the wait to find a good man who’s a good fit for me has at times seemed unbearable. And for the past seven months I’ve been waiting to hear back from the countless companies to which I’ve sent my resume, longing for one of them to hire me.

I don’t know when I went from waiting well and eagerly, like Carson, to being the impatient and sometimes gun-shy wait-er I often am now. Perhaps all the cumulative waiting wore me out. Or our culture, where waiting is unheard of, where we value our instant gratification and have founded entire industries and food groups on that value, has permeated my thinking.

When Carson said his leg-wiggling comment the other day, I wanted to rub his head, let some of his anticipation rub off on me. Especially in this advent season. When we wait for a holy, humble baby. When we remember those generations that waited with great expectation for a Savior.

Rushing around with our Christmas shopping, party-going, and concert-attending, we often neglect this part of the Christmas celebration. We so often forget that before “For unto us a child is born,” (Isaiah 9:6) came these verses (1-5):

“Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.

You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as men rejoice when dividing the plunder.

For as in the day of Midian’s defeat, you have shattered the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of the oppressor.

Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire.”

Only then do we get the famous Christmas verses. Only with these verses in mind do we truly appreciate what comes next:

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.”

Remembering the oppression and strife and sin that came before helps us appreciate what Christ brought and changed with his miraculous birth.

I think back to my family’s wait for my leg-wiggling nephew to arrive. Years of infertility and miscarriages preceded his adoption into our family. And because we waited with my sister and brother-in-law so long for this boy, his presence is so cherished. (As is his sister’s, who was adopted a couple years after.)

I remember well waiting in the Kansas City airport with my parents to meet our new family member. When my weary sister and brother-in-law finally exited the plane with our wide-eyed Carson in tow, my dad kept snapping pictures and my mom kept saying, “He’s here! He’s finally here!” I just stood there silently crying.

The long wait made this moment all the more sweet and meaningful. And looking back, I know it formed us by giving us a huge object lesson in just how valuable a son/nephew/grandson is. A new family member! Our family member.

My waiting for a husband and for a job keeps me mindful of just how valuable these things are. Reminds me they aren’t givens. That good gifts come from God, and not from any of my own efforts. My waiting and longing for good things helps me not to take them for granted when and if they arrive.

And waiting for the Christ child helps us not take his saving presence lightly. Helps me remember why our God took on human flesh. Helps me marvel at this familiar story afresh.

The kind of marveling that brings me to my knees. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, even makes my legs wiggle.

Edible Benevolence

It was a good trade. I lent my friend Mark some DVDs and he gave me 12 containers of fish, chicken, and beef he and his wife had gotten on the cheap through their food co-op.

The government had Cash for Clunkers. We had Movies for Meat.

I obviously got the better end of that trade. I get to keep the meat; Mark’s eventually going to return my DVDs. But this wasn’t true bartering. This was benevolence.

As Mark told me, “We don’t have tons of cash to give to our unemployed friends, but we have lots of meat!” So that’s what he gave, and what I’ve been happily eating ever since.

It’s just he latest kindness that’s been extended to me during my six months of unemployment. The person I now think of as my Anonymous Caffeinator has sent me three different Starbucks gift cards in the mail. Twenty-five bucks each! Another friend—who lived through her husband’s unemployment years earlier—sent me a check out of the blue for $250. I was blown away. Another friend recently shared her Mario Triccoci gift certificate with me, allowing us both to get fancy manicures. I thought of her and smiled every time I looked down at my deep purple nails. A childhood friend sent me a care package filled with generous gift cards and other fun, thoughtful gifts.

Other friends have sent encouraging notes, taken me to lunch, fed me dinner in their homes.

And while all of this is testament to what amazing friends I have, and to God’s provision for me through all these folks, I think there’s something else going on here as well.

I’m realizing how much people want to help.

Right now I have a very visible, tangible need. So people are doing something about it. And I’ve been learning to be a gracious receiver—to humbly accept these acts of generosity. Without shame or a compulsion to reciprocate, but simply with gratitude.

These people have been able to help because of my willingness to receive and because of the visible need. My pastor summed this up really well a couple Sundays ago when he looked out at our congregation and spoke of all the needs present. He mentioned that some are really visible, like the high schooler who recently broken his arm and is now sporting a cast. And then he talked about his daughter-in-law who suffers from depression. Such a huge—and invisible—need. He encouraged us to be mindful of these silent hurts.

I thought of my loud, obvious struggle right now. And then I thought of all the other less loud, less obvious struggles I’ve had over the years. The ones I haven’t always shared with others, denying myself the help that’s been poured out on me in the past months. My pride, my fear, my self got in the way of the help I wanted and needed.

This season has been a great lesson for me in being real with others, even with our needs. Letting others be present with us in these broken moments. Because when they show up there—with a kind word, a prayer, a gift card—it’s a blessed thing indeed.

I’m vowing to be more open and more on the lookout for the silent needs in others. And as gracious and generous as my friends have been to me.

People want to help, I’ve learned. I have a freezer full of meat to prove it.