Hurry up and wait

When I moved to London years ago, I remember feeling so grateful for the Tube (underground rail or subway) system. Having previously lived in South Africa where everything is fairly far apart coupled with the then rudimentary transport system in my area, I really needed a car to get around. As you know, to drive a car, you need a drivers license, money to buy a car, to fund insurance; fuel and maintenance costs. Whereas in London, all you needed to get around was a reasonable amount of pounds to buy a Tube ticket for the day or the week and you could virtually access any part of the city and beyond. Life was much simpler so I didn't mind the rush hour, being sandwiched between smelly armpits or the heat in summer. I remember overhearing people complain when the next Tube was in 5 minutes or even 3 minutes. I used to think, that's not long, what are they complaining about! 

After a while the novelty wore off a bit. It didn't take me long to grow accustomed to waiting just a few seconds or even a minute for a train. I started to take it for granted. So when I had to wait double that time, or, God forbid, longer I felt justified in my frustration. Unfortunately, I fell into the same trap of train disdain as most fellow travellers. 

The truth is my lifestyle doesn't provide me the opportunity to wait for much, which means I'm more inclined to want immediate answers and when I don't get them, there is a great likelihood, I'll opt for the quickest solution, just to avoid THE WAIT.

In the ultra modern age that we live in, everything happens faster than ever before. Waiting more than 2 minutes at a red traffic light starts to feel uncomfortable. At the supermarket, we look for the shortest queue even if we are not in a hurry. When we're planning a journey, the quickest route our GPS offers is usually the one we take. When I am researching something, all I need to do is type my keyword into an internet search engine and et voilà I am instantly greeted with an excess of information. If I need to communicate with someone across several time zones, I can instantly reach them on any of several social media applications. I am able to instantly transfer money via online banking. No doubt some of this modern living is wonderfully convenient and that makes it quite enjoyable. But the microwave mentality it engenders does not help us to truly grasp the concept of...waiting.

Psalms 27:14

Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.

Isaiah 40:31

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

In biblical times the concept of waiting was not so much a matter of time but a matter of life. Farming and animal husbandry were the major sources of income and food. To harvest a crop, it was necessary  to have arable land and access to water. It would also require a plough, possibly even building one's own plough. Then the process of readying the soil, sourcing seed, planting it and then...waiting for the rains. Provided the rain came at the right time etc. one could start to hope for a harvest. But first you'd have to wait for the crop to grow. Each season required it's fullness of time, each season involved a waiting period. To eat the bread, the seasons of ploughing, sowing, growing, harvesting, threshing and grinding would have to have been fulfilled. Today, we mostly get our bread at the shop, making sure we stand in the shortest queue to save time.

So how do we cope, for example, with waiting on God's promises to manifest? 

I heard something that struck me as truth recently, 'the promise is contained in the journey, not just the outcome'. I realised from experience that the journey toward the fulfilment of a promise is part of the fulfilment. A farmer doesn't plant a seed without expecting a harvest, however between planting and harvesting, he is on a journey that requires enduring faith and patience. 

When I look back at the promises that have manifested in my life, the major celebration was really the change that took place in my soul in the time of waiting for the promise to manifest. Receiving a promise from God is an invitation to change, often through the renewing of our minds. That change is imperative in order for us to be able to steward the fulfilment well. 

Waiting isn't an idle, passive posture of boredom that passes the time until the promise falls into our lap like a rescue package. We don't need to be rescued, we have already been rescued when Jesus died and rose up for us. To wait on God is to trust God. Yes, it's exciting when we receive a promise from God but how often does that excitement quickly fade because we perceive the process or waiting as a delay. We are so much in a rush to see that promise manifest that sometimes we think God has forgotten the promise He made to us. God does not have a bad memory and He is not a man that He should lie. He is all knowing, all the time. Part of Isaiah 55 says, 'No word issues out of His mouth and returns to Him void, it accomplishes what it is sent for and prospers in the thing for which it is sent.' His promises are not empty but Yes and Amen in Christ.

Have you ever noticed that God is not in a rush? He doesn't hurry, ever. Jesus never seemed to be in a rush, even when He was seemingly interrupted on His way somewhere, He didn't rush off again (Mark 10:46 on), the story of Bartimaeus is one example.

Another one is when Jesus didn't rush to Bethany to pray for Lazarus. Actually, He tarried! He understood Father's will and He knew that to the glory of God, Lazarus would be raised to life. 

A further one and certainly not the last can be found in Genesis 18, when Abraham spotted The Lord outside his tents in Mamre and invited the 'three men' to stop and eat with him. He asked Sarah to prepare bread from fine meal and a young man to prepare a calf. They didn't have an oven or a microwave for that matter. How long do you think it took to bake the bread and cook the meat? Notice, The Lord waited for the meal to be prepared and He took time to eat with Abraham. 

There is a freedom in waiting on and trusting in God that cannot be learned outside journeying toward a promise. God is as interested in our journey as He is us reaching the destination. In every step He is wisely preparing us to be able to enjoy that fulfilled promise to the fullest. What does He gain from it all? He gets to show us more of His character, His faithfulness (which delights Him!) and we get to become more and more the people He destined us to be in His Son. Trusting God is a journey and how exciting that that ends in us being rewarded with a fulfilled promise! Trusting a trustworthy God to fulfil His faithful promise is rewarding for us, so let's hurry up and wait well. 

A Dream Come True

A Family For A Moment

(Here's a short and true story I wrote a few years ago, I am publishing it to commemorate what would have been my dad's 70th birthday on January 31st.)

I remember the afternoon of the 22nd December 2006 like it was yesterday. I even remember the yellow dress I wore that day. My Mom had called me during a usual working day to ask me to come home immediately.  Once I put down the telephone I was sure of my mission: drop everything I was busy with, tell my boss I had to leave and get home as fast as possible.  This kind of interruption and frantic pace had become a normal way of life back then. I liken it to what actors must experience when they leave their immersed characters and the movie set behind and return home to their families. They probably get very good at switching hats (or so I think). So that afternoon I had on my “lets get Dad to the hospital as fast as we can” hat. I left work behind and instantly forgot about it. The journey home was a blur.

I do however recall the journey from Dad’s bed to the car and our brave attempts at trying to get this whisper of a man into the “yellow submarine”. Mom’s car was a bright; banana-yellow, the kind that is usefully and instantly recognisable in a parking lot. Dad was just about ready to gingerly board the yellow submarine when his shorts began to wobble and give in to gravity. To be honest, he wasn’t really wearing his shorts; they wore him and as a result, they dangled precariously from his bony hips. We managed to rescue the shorts - and his dignity in the broad summer daylight. Again, I cannot remember the drive to the hospital nevertheless I am certain of one thing, that I broke a few speed limits en route. 

I can see Dad now, lying in the emergency admission ward. There were a few young; newly qualified doctors around, one was trying to find a suitable vein and failing.  I watched with unease. I could feel my legs growing heavy and I swayed a bit. I immediately stepped out into the hallway to catch my breath. I simply did not want to faint and cause further worry. I needed to keep it together. I needed to be strong yet I didn’t want those needles to invade Dad’s veins. I didn’t want his body poked and prodded. Was this not my Dad who prided himself on his neat hair, being cleanly shaven, dressing decently and carrying himself well? Was he not the man who stood tall, upright and healthy and had the best general knowledge of anyone I knew? No he was not this Dad. He was a different Dad. He had changed. He was now my wasted, tired, sore and dying Dad.  Apparently if we had arrived at the hospital any later than we did, Dad would have died. Speed limits are sometimes worth breaking.

Facing the prospect of death day after day is understandably cumbersome. It’s like carrying a weight on your shoulders, perhaps a few bricks on each one, sometimes they feel heavier and other times lighter but the bricks are always there. It’s hard to move around and think clearly. It’s difficult to gain any sort of sensible perspective on day-to-day life. Going to work and analysing stock prices was like going to the park with friends, a respite. But it was short-lived as the reality of a dying household waited for me each day. But in this daily battle I learned that every second that death does not come is worth living. 

My brother arrived at the hospital a short while later. I am sure he broke a few speed limits too and frankly no one cared. Dad was whisked off for x-rays and just like in the movies, the doctor called us into a little room and shut the door. He asked us if we would like to sit down. This is when you know don’t you. You know its not good news. Does sitting down make it any better to handle I wondered. I paced continuously, unable to rest in the knowledge of the sad news that I knew was inevitable. As soon as the doctor said what he had to say, my brother collapsed. Now I know why they ask us to sit down. It was shocking to see this young man, my brother, crumple so easily to the floor. In that moment I had great compassion for my family. I gathered them together and I did the only thing I knew how to do, I prayed. Even in the midst of this catastrophic news, my heart was wild with hope, love and compassion. In the midst of death, there is life.

Three days later, Mom cooked her annual sumptuous Jamie Oliver-style lamb roast with all the trimmings. Yet instead of our usual gathering around our finely laid dining table, toasting Christmas, the festive fare was packed into cooler bags and off we went to celebrate in the cancer ward. Dad was desperate to be home for Christmas but his condition was more than desperate, so on doctors’ orders, he remained in the hospital. We gathered around him, all somehow managing to fit on the single bed. We chatted and laughed. We wished him a merry Christmas and we ate together. My brother became Dad’s trusty barber, deftly trimming Dad’s nose hairs and giving him a hearty shave. What a wonderfully intimate and loving thing to do. My heart swelled within me as I watched father and son. I sometimes wanted to let out a great howling wail of sorrow and yet the love I felt somehow comforted me.

In the meanwhile, I felt compelled to read the text messages on Dad’s mobile phone. I was working my way through them to my heart’s content when my mom pointed out that it was rude to read other people’s messages. I acknowledged her protest, persevered and then behold…I found the reason for the rebuke. The text she sent Dad was simple; it was a message of forgiveness and love. In my eyes, my parents suddenly moved from standing on a bridge over troubled waters to floating on a river of peace.  Their married years of strife, bitterness, anger, disappointment and regret were replaced with forgiveness, reconciliation and love. I did the only thing I knew how to do, I thanked God. 

As I shared this most special and wonderful Christmas ever, in a grey hospital room on the cancer ward, with my Mom, Dad and brother, I realised that my dream had finally come true. I had a real family for the first time in my life, there was love, there was joy and even in the midst of death, there was life. 

Choices

Choices 

For your choices are witness to your free will

It is with this will that we become 

More of who we are intended to be or,

More of who we dream of being

It is out of this daily choice 

That we live content in the higher but narrow way

Or find ourselves speeding on the worldly motorway

It is in the here and now that life waits for no man

That time flies against your youth, fast forwarding

Either to eternal treasure or dreamy momentary pleasure

You choose

© Nikita Reddy April 2007