A Lesson on Seeking: the listening wait

It’s the theme of my heart, the struggle of waiting, the fight for a patient soul.

I’ve got a patience banner hanging in the kitchen, specifically for those moments of frantic chopping right before lunch, when we’re all snapping each other’s heads off, teary-eyed from low blood sugar.

The words tell me to be patient because He’s patient toward me.

FullSizeRender-58FullSizeRender-60 FullSizeRender-61And in those tiny moments that expand upon themselves, it’s all pressure, and it’s our eyes watching the clock tick and calendar days blast by, while we keep chopping, bone weary and afraid.

But waiting is the long-term, too, the weeks and months of asking, seeking, knocking.

And then He says, “Dear one, you knocked once and walked away before I even got to the door. You asked and closed your ears. You sought two seconds for instant gratification, and left thinking I’d abandoned you.”

If I must hang a patience banner over the microwave in the kitchen, maybe a perservere while waiting and remember to listen banner should be strewn across all walls, over every inch of square footage, wrapping itself around my apartment building and even entangling itself in my car.

Because I need to see the reminders every single place I tread, every minute of every day– or I forget.

And He doesn’t just answer once and move on to the next customer in the service line.

But He journeys with us through every answer, every closed and opened door, every adventure sought.

And we must escape ourselves, get out of the tiny hollows that consume us, because they are endless, bringing more impatience, more questions, more doubt.

We must move ourselves back into the quiet, where deepest waters flow;

we must hide out under vast wings of white, where shelter is always promised and never lost;

we must allow ourselves to be held still and silent in nothing but embrace;

we must open ears, heart, very soul, to discover peace in the constant seeking hours;

and we must not let our hands grow weary of knocking, or our tired fingers give up on the Voice who formed them with breath.

No, we must not give up on the listening wait.

 

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