I am an extraordinarily patient person. Most days. I’ve been told this throughout my life. Few things rattle me. I function well in a crisis; I can almost feel the blood inside me slow down and my synapses fire more astutely. It’s a gift I’ve been told. I don't mean this in a boastful way. I have other weaknesses I can talk on for pages, trust me.
The greatest crisis I was part of in high school aside from adolescent drama and all its theatrics lied in baseball. I was thrown in the proverbial deep-end of competitive girls windmill ball quite unknowingly and innocently as a teenager. I didn't even particularly like the sport but there was a friend, and a friend's dad who was a coach, and a spot on this team, and I could throw a ball and run and hit without crying or breaking a nail so I was a shoe in. To be truthful, I wasn't particularly good at baseball. In hindsight these girls had been playing for years and traded sports cards from their cereal boxes since kindergarten. They were groomed for the sport from birth, I picked up my first glove at 12. But it turned out that I could catch and I could field, and every once and awhile connect with the ball and get on a base. So I wasn't entirely ousted or shamed. Almost beat up, but more on that another time...
By the end of the season I found my groove and at least a shred of confidence. I was part of baseball AAA provincials, and I routinely remember confusing? frustrating? freaking out? spectators with my calm baseball demeanour. Those in the stands were left on the edge of their seat, as I would at the last minute calmly but accurately snag that fielded ball from the air in a make it or break it kind of moment. People would say I looked almost careless, not preparing in physical form to lunge and place myself where needed. They didn't expect I'd be ready as they didn't see all of the outward commotion and performance that often goes along with athletes. I've never been one for much of a show. I trusted that it would all work out in the end and more often than not things fell into place. I was able to wait patiently. In baseball, and in life.
The greatest crisis I was part of in high school aside from adolescent drama and all its theatrics lied in baseball. I was thrown in the proverbial deep-end of competitive girls windmill ball quite unknowingly and innocently as a teenager. I didn't even particularly like the sport but there was a friend, and a friend's dad who was a coach, and a spot on this team, and I could throw a ball and run and hit without crying or breaking a nail so I was a shoe in. To be truthful, I wasn't particularly good at baseball. In hindsight these girls had been playing for years and traded sports cards from their cereal boxes since kindergarten. They were groomed for the sport from birth, I picked up my first glove at 12. But it turned out that I could catch and I could field, and every once and awhile connect with the ball and get on a base. So I wasn't entirely ousted or shamed. Almost beat up, but more on that another time...
By the end of the season I found my groove and at least a shred of confidence. I was part of baseball AAA provincials, and I routinely remember confusing? frustrating? freaking out? spectators with my calm baseball demeanour. Those in the stands were left on the edge of their seat, as I would at the last minute calmly but accurately snag that fielded ball from the air in a make it or break it kind of moment. People would say I looked almost careless, not preparing in physical form to lunge and place myself where needed. They didn't expect I'd be ready as they didn't see all of the outward commotion and performance that often goes along with athletes. I've never been one for much of a show. I trusted that it would all work out in the end and more often than not things fell into place. I was able to wait patiently. In baseball, and in life.
Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord. I recently purchased a children’s worship cd for my daughter, Olivia, and she particularly liked hopping and bopping to this particular tune. She asked, “What are were waiting for, Mommy? The Lord to die?” And, I am reminded that somewhere between the birth, and crucifixion, I needed to spend more time talking about what Jesus did during his lifetime, what he’s doing in ours now, and what it means to wait on him.
As an adult I've become a worker bee, a do-er, and to be honest, this whole idea of waiting for someone to do something for me, just seems like a waste of time, and a whole lot harder than baseball. Beyond that, trusting, that a force I cannot see will prevail for me, is really hard to grasp and submit to. What if He doesn’t show up for me? What if years pass by, and time is wasted. No one likes to be left behind. Our tendency is to take the wheel and steer our ship without a map or lighthouse.
But, if I am to be truthful with myself, I must acknowledge and accept that times when I have marched ahead on my own accord striving to accomplish or reach that next goal, without God, I fell flat on my face, and spent months, years even, picking up the pieces. My pride makes it difficult for me to accept that God is running this race with me, and I need Him for sustenance, for guidance, for wisdom, for strength, for endurance. I’m reminded that my waiting is not passive, but very active, in movement, in unison with the one who knows my name and my heart. He speaks into me to go faster, to slow down, to turn, to nourish my body, and yes, at times to stop and breathe. I learn, with every step, that it is in the waiting, that I know Him more deeply. He reveals himself to me more clearly, and I’m anything but alone in my race. So, I will wait on him. He is proving himself trustworthy.
"The Lord is wonderfully good to those who wait for him and seek him." Lamentations 3:25
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