On Waiting

We fall asleep holding hands. Wondering if this will be the night. Will our hearts be expanding even more soon? Will we wake to the beginning of welcoming new life? The nights are broken up by multiple trips to the bathroom interspersed with attempts at finding a comfortable position allowing me to sleep. Our breath falling together in time. The sounds of summer and insects and lightly falling rain. 

Our hands and bodies and hearts connected, waiting. 
We try to stay cool in the oppressive July heat of Missouri. The water table provides a welcome reprieve for our toddler. Under the shade of two, tall Oak trees we watch her splash and play. We see the water flying everywhere. We see her smiles and glee. Some friends come over and we get the sprinkler out. More water and laughter and smiles. I sit and smile, too.

The water splashes us all, connecting us as we wait. 
Each morning before the sun gets too hot I take the time to water our garden. Our sunflowers reach to the sky attracting goldfinches gathering their morning meal. The hummingbirds come to find nectar from the zinnias. More and more tomatoes turn red and orange. The sounds of growing can be heard if you listen closely. I hold the hose over the garden and watch as a rainbow of color is made, water and light nourishing the earth and bringing forth life. The plants reach for the sun and the water. 

I, too, am holding new life, full of water and light. Waiting. 
There’s a free lunch for children at the park every weekday. Our daughter sees her friends come to the park to play and then go eat under the shelter. She wants to join them. We’ve spent many days gathered together breaking bread and being nourished in our community. We sit under the shelter and tell stories. We learn about our neighbors. Everyone asks how I’m doing and if I’m ready for this baby. Yes, I am. My daughter keeps watching the other kids as they eat. She smiles and laughs when they do. We give thanks for the ministry of feeding. After the kids quickly eat their food they are off to the playground. One by one they each offer their thanks and run off to the slides and swings. My daughter follows suit. I’m grateful for the community and friendship developed, along with the chance to simply be present to a meal and to those with me. By sharing a meal we are connected.

We are giving thanks and waiting, together. 
My family and I are waiting to welcome a baby. Waiting to meet this new life that I hold. That we all hold. With each new day we hold our breath and wonder, could it be today? We wait. And in the waiting we’re listening. 

We’re loving. We’re living. We’re eating. We’re being in community. 

And the waiting is good, holy, and life giving.