Everything was wet this morning.

Drenched

in those

tears

the season

releases

as warm

and cold

meet

again

after a long

absence.

A kind of gloomy anticipation

hangs in the air.

Water droplets

heavy,

enshrouding

everything

in mystery.

 

And there’s this waiting.

Because the Sun is rising.

Waiting is good.

I can say it now.

I’ve known it.

More intimately

than I would have liked.

I wrestled it.

I wept through it.

And eventually

I praised God

in it,

for it.

 

Waiting is good.

It increases

anticipation.

It heightens

enjoyment

when the thing waited for

comes.

Waiting is difficult.

Cause there are a lot of “what ifs.”

You can’t see very far.

There is much

about waiting

that is

mystery

and choosing to

embrace it.

 

Waiting is healing.

Like convalescing,

like resting

that one more day

after a sickness

to ensure full restoration.

 

Waiting restores.

If we ran headlong into everything

it would be painful.

Moving slow

is life-giving.

Slowly rise, Sun.

Take your time

revealing

what’s beyond.

 

All the mystery,

I need to embrace it

cause if I don’t

I’ll always be wanting

what I don’t have.

What I can’t see.

Yet.

I need to give mystery

allowance.

 

Waiting reminds me

that I’m not God.

 

Waiting reminds me

that I am a child of God.

 

I’m safe

in the waiting.

It may feel humbling

at times,

but it’s a good place.

Waiting is healing.

Waiting is restoring.

Waiting is increasing

future enjoyment.

Waiting is allowing

for the unknown.

 

So I wait for the Sun.