I have a cold.
It came via Jack, via Max. Andres is threatening to get it too. The whole week has been aspirators, runny noses, interrupted sleep, the grumpies, soup and waiting. Waiting for a chance to take care of the Christmas errands that I love which have now morphed into a chore. Waiting to feel good again. Waiting for the energy to clean my messy house. Waiting for my husband not to have to work late AGAIN. Waiting for the chance to write down all the great ideas I have planned for mamaguru.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
As I write these words I am suddenly reminded that this is the season of Advent: a holy month of waiting. I don’t feel very holy right now. All my brilliant ideas for a stress-free holiday seem false in light of my grumpy cold and dwindling time to get things done. I am an impatient patient.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Well, it never really is fun is it? My mind is jumping to pregnancy and all the waiting involved. My husband used to purposefully annoy me by calling me stagnant instead of pregnant. The grain of truth in his poor word choice was the real reason I didn’t appreciate his joke. Although in so many ways pregnancy is about changing and growing, there is also an aspect of waiting and stagnation. Everything is on hold. I got antsy then, and I’m antsy now.
And yet, what am I waiting for? Isn’t this the very life I dreamed of forever? Isn’t this the life I worked so desperately to achieve?
Ahh, I’ve got it. I know what’s wrong, why I’m so antsy. I’m thinking too much. Thoughts take us to the future or back to the past, but they never rest in the here and now. I need to be present to appreciate the presents I already have in my life.
Breath. It’s always the answer.
So how is waiting supposed to be holy if I shouldn’t be focusing on the future anyway?
My guess is that it’s about living in the moment, but knowing somewhere in the back of your mind that something wonderful is about to happen…
and being ready for it.
I am ready now.
Joy, come and find me. I am waiting
patiently.
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