Men trust God by risking rejection. Women trust God by waiting.Carolyn McCulley
At the time I’m writing this, I’m 33 weeks pregnant with twins, and the final weeks of a twin pregnancy are nothing if not a meditation on waiting in the face of discomfort.
On waiting in the face of the kind of certainty that’s perforated by a million needles of unknowing. The outcome – knowing that pregnancy will eventually end – is certain. But the shape of that outcome is a secret that’s just out of reach.
While I’d like to tell you that I’ve been waiting gracefully, internally poised and trusting that everything will happen in divine right timing, the truth is that my waiting has been messy at times.
I’ve been impatient. I’ve complained. Instead of savoring the moments of quiet that I’m told won’t last for long, I’ve wished them away. And while there have been moments of joyful anticipation and hope, they’ve been equally matched by moments fraught with worry and doubt.
If I’m honest with myself, and with you – this waiting is not so unlike other seasons of waiting I’ve experienced. Time and time again, I am humbled by the way life requires me to surrender by forcing me to wait.
When we wait – for a baby, for news of a decision, for test results, for a situation to turn around, for a semester to end, for a relationship to heal – we’re forced to come face to face with the reality that we’re not really in control most of the time.
As much as we try to manage the outcomes of our lives, and as carefully as we try to plan, we aren’t quite as in charge as we’d like to think we are.
We are infinitely vulnerable.
It’s precisely this vulnerability that makes waiting an astounding act of courage, even if we haven’t chosen it.
Waiting does not have to be graceful or without fear to be worthy. Waiting does not have to be free of anxiety or impatience. It’s possible to be kind to ourselves by embracing our waiting exactly as it is: full of hope, full of anxiety, full of joy, full of doubt.