The house is quiet except for the buzz of the computer. Dishes are still in the sink. Load of laundry waiting to be done in the hamper. The blessed gift of sleep awaits.
Waiting.
So much waiting to be done or said. Unfinished conversations hover in the air, waiting to be released and completed (for now anyway). Unfinished chores and duties shuffle and shift in the back of the mind, waiting to step to the forefront and be dismissed as done.
Waiting.
I'm waiting too. Waiting for enlightenment, patience, peace, certainty, gratitude, simplicity, empowerment, confidence...too much to list. The wish for what you unreasonably hope for and the cold reality of what is square off in the corner, and though pipe dreams put up a good fight, the cold shower of how things really are hits the knockout every time. But still crazy hope lingers.
Waiting.
The disciples waited after Jesus ascended into heaven, not knowing when the gift of the Holy Spirit would come. Or what would happen when it came. It ended up being ten days of waiting and praying. I wonder if it was excruciating, unnerving, exhilarating, uncertain, frustrating, empowering...? I know a little about waiting. It was all of the above. Waiting for my beloved to return from a long absense, waiting so many years to conceive, waiting for my child to be born, waiting for things to get better, waiting to get smarter or wiser. Or thinner.
Waiting.
Come Holy Spirit. Until then, I'll wait. And pray. With all the reserves of crazy hope within me.
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