Waiting for God

It has been a season of waiting.

Waiting for God to provide direction.

Waiting for renewed strength, a renewed sense of purpose, a sense of direction, passion, and excitement.

Waiting for the strength to walk, to run, and to fly on eagle's wings.

Waiting.

I hate waiting.

I'll do it if I have to.  I'll do it if I have no choice.  But I struggle to wait with grace.

Partly, that's because I'm a doer.  I like to slice and dice a problem into manageable bits and wrestle it into submission.  I love troubleshooting.  I love the feeling of stepping back, finding a solution to something that is broken, and fixing it so it works, or works again.  So I don't much like it when I can't identify the problem, can't break it down, or can't find a solution.  I don't like waiting.

Partly, it's because I'm impatient.  Even when nothing is broken, per se, I hate waiting.  I hate waiting for traffic lights.  I hate waiting for the water to boil.  I hate waiting for my computer to boot up.  I hate waiting in line.  In the world of Marianne, everything should go flawlessly and smoothly all the time.  The waters should part before me, allowing effortless passage -- without waiting.

And that is nothing but pride.  I can't stand the thought that I can't find a solution.  I rail against the notion that there's nothing I can do.  I ought to be able to do it all.  I ought to be sufficient unto myself. Everyone around me ought to know how wonderful I am, and how precious my time is, and how I have big, important things to do, and should just jolly well get out of my way.  How dare they hinder me?  How dare God hinder me?  Doesn't he know how remarkable I am?  Doesn't he know how much I want to serve him, and do big things for him?  I'm a world-changer; doesn't he know that?  How dare he subject me to small things and expect me to settle?  Surely he must know he's wasting my talents?  

It's pride, downright ugly pride.  Every time I steam at a stop light, every time I mumble under my breath about how waiting for my computer to boot up is a waste of time, every time I chafe under my God's direction, I am bowing down to the Idol of Self.

I want to blame others.  I want to blame this culture.  After all, I live in a culture of Do.  My culture measures me by the value of what I accomplish.  Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded that I deserve that faster phone, that more powerful computer, that more beautiful body, that fancier car.  It's always got to be bigger, better, faster, more exciting.  I shouldn't have to wait for it -- 0% down, 0% interest, take now, pay later.  Time is money.  Money is power.  Go, go, go.  And that's all true.  I do live in a culture of Do.

But that's not my culture.  

If I follow Jesus, that is not my culture.  If I follow Jesus, I belong to a culture where the first is last, and the last, first, where the smallest is the greatest, and the greatest, the smallest.  I belong to a culture where my value is measured not by what I do, not because of anything about me at all, but by the value of the one I call Master.  A culture where time is not money, but a gift, given by the Giver, where sometimes the thing that brings the most glory to God is that I simply show up and march.  And wait.

So I can't blame anyone for the fact that I don't wait well.  It is my own depravity.  And yes, it's depravity.  No, this isn't attention-seeking self-abasement.  It's the truth.  Because every time I take secret (or not-so-secret) pride in the fact that I don't wait well, every time I indulge in eye-rolling, deep-sighing (or worse) complaining about having to wait, every time I shrug it off with a flippant comment about not having patience, every time I embrace the values of the culture in which I live but to which I do not belong, I bow again to the god of Self.  I turn away from Jesus and I serve an idol.  And the worst of it all is that I don't really think it's all that bad.  I think he doesn't really mind my betrayal of his love, that he smiles benevolantly when I make a comment like, "Lord, I need patience, and I need it right now!"

Lord, I need to turn from serving myself instead of you.  I need to repent from serving idols of my own making instead of following my Lord, my Saviour, my Creator.  I need to turn my back on the values of this culture, and embrace yours instead.  Father, I need your forgiveness for my pride, my arrogance, my sense of self-importance.  I need the blood of Jesus to cover my sins.  I need a fresh vision of my own sinfulness and your holiness.  Abba, show me yourself.  I need to see you.

And keep me waiting until I do.