The humid, still heat presses down upon the earth taunting the parched fields. Thunder sounds high above. Clouds roll and gather all around us, heavy with empty promise, like a bud that never blooms or a pregnant woman who never gives birth. A weeklong deluge early in the planting season means some crops are nearly ready to harvest, others have stalled, stunted and thirsty. None will give high yields. The greens, which are usually plentiful during the hunger gap between planting and harvesting, are sparse in the meadows. The price of livestock is going down as many are selling seeking ways to get capital to feed their families. We all rise expectantly looking to the sky, wondering if today something will change.
We wait. We wait for lockdown to end, for an announcement to illuminate what will come next. We wait to see whether cases will rise or fall, spread or focalize. We wait for more vaccines to be delivered to the country. We wait for the rain. We wait for a harvest, however meager. We wait for schools and transport to open. We wait for teammates to return. We wait for the birth of our child and wisdom on whether, when and where to travel for the event. We wait for glory. We wait on the Lord.
Waiting can be as oppressive as the humid heat, suffocating and cloying. It makes our minds itch to plan, and our bodies to go. It makes us idolize the rewards we envisioned claiming in our now interrupted future, whether it is finishing a year of school, a vacation away, or simple freedoms. It undermines the value of present rest and thwarts forward momentum. Waiting consumes our thoughts, distracting us from unique opportunities. And yet, how better can we be still and know that He is God?
How does the promise for those who wait upon the Lord grow wings and fly? I’ve pondered this, sometimes fruitlessly, reaching for a goal as elusive as steam. Other times, it particularly illuminates a scripture shining light on my identity and earthly vocation. I’m not waiting on just anyone to make up their mind or get their act together. I’m waiting on the will of a sovereign, all-powerful, all-loving heavenly king and spouse. He reigns over the flood. He reigns over the drought. He is king over the hearts of rulers. It is He who quickens the womb and brings forth life. He does not fail to see my struggles. Neither does He fail to make a way through them.
Waiting is submitting. Submitting to a will I cannot divine perfectly. Submitting to the call of the simple everyday needs that still exist. Submitting to today, and leaving tomorrow in God’s hands.
I wait on you Lord. Teach me how to wait on you.
I’ve made my plans
I’ve laid up my hopes
And I’ve seen ‘em change a thousand times
When I tremble
At the thought of
The unknown next
I remind myself
That I never really had a clue
Cause nothing, no nothing
Goes through without you
I wait
And I wait
And I wait on you
You’ve set my every trial
Solved all of my tomorrows
You know just what I need
Even before I do, so
I wait
And I wait
And I wait on you