waiting

Playlist on the drive:

Lord, I'm Ready Now, by Lauren Daigle

Be Held, by Casting Crowns 

Go ahead; look them up on YouTube. This can wait. 

Now look up psalm 40 (or 39). The one that starts "Surely, I wait for the Lord..."

It's the next part that I'm counting on so many times. The part about lifting me up and placing my feet on solid ground; on rock. In safety, far from the mire, the muck, the raging sea. I heard those songs, one followed by the other, and repeated again and again "surely, I wait" on my way to the adoration chapel, where I now sit, alone except for the company of the Lord; blessed by the silence and solitude where I can cry out to Him and ask again, "what is it You want from me?"

To let go. As the song says, to let go and be held. To let Him hold me, rather than the other way around. Even as I hold my faith, I realize I need to give it away. I need to let it go if I hope to keep it. 

Surely, I wait. 

I wait for the strength to let go. 

I have an anchor tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. It's been there about two months. Before that, I drew an anchor in the same spot for six weeks or so. Some people ask about it; some do not. Some pretend not to see it while they rather obviously "sneak" glances while talking with me. The anchor is a symbol for hope, but that's not exactly what I was thinking of when I fist started using an anchor as my reminder to pray always. Rather, I was thinking of despair. 

Surely, I wait for the Lord. 

When I first read this verse, it was part of a penance - select a psalm, any psalm, and pray through it. All of it. For a long time, I couldn't get past the first few verses, and could only really concentrate on this first message: Surely, I wait. The wait threatened to consume me, to distract me. Slowly I realized that surely, in context, held more confidence than I was attributing to it. I reread: confidently, I wait for the Lord, and He heard my prayers. Again and again I tell the kids I work with to pray because God will and does listen. Again and again I wish someone would remind me. Because again and again I find myself focused on the wait. Not the anticipation, the wait. 

The anchor and the grappling hook have much in common. Both hold fast. Both require the user to trust, to have confidence, to be sure. My anchor keeps me from drifting, whether in calm waters or raging storms. My grappling hook keeps me from falling, assisting me in my climb. I was told once that "God could have flashed lightening and kept this from happening, but He didn't. There must be a reason." 

Surely, I wait for the Lord. He could lift me, literally, if He wanted to, and literally place me on solid ground. Or He could be my grappling hook, holding my rope fast to the rock that is my destination. Or He could be my anchor that keeps my boat from being tossed around unnecessarily, and crushed against some obstacle. I am prepared: I have a hook, an anchor, some faith. 

I've been concerned that what I am holding is some big, imposing falsehood disguised as truth or need in my life. But what if what I'm holding is simply a mustard seed? Doesn't it, too, need to go? Mustn't it fall to the ground to grow? 

Surely, I wait for the Lord. 

Surely, I wait. 

Surely. 

I wait. 

I wait, in anticipation. 

Surely. Just be held. I'm ready now.