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My kids wait to be allowed to eat the candy off their newly constructed gingerbread houses.

I wait in car pool lines and at bus stops. I wait at the DMV, the grocery store check out aisle and the garage. I wait in dentist’s offices and at baseball practices. I wait for the ham to defrost, the bread to rise, the paycheck to come in and the trash to go out.

I’ve waited for babies and dreams and a rental house that doesn’t have faux bricks falling off its kitchen walls. 

I’ve waited years in between my visits home to South Africa.

I’ve waited for writing opportunities, a job that didn’t require 2 hours of commuting each way and for the last of my three kids to graduate from the potty to the toilet. I’m still waiting for my daughter to be able to wipe herself without an assist.

Waiting can be boring.

Waiting can hurt. It can be confusing.

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When we’re waiting for a diagnosis, an end to bedtime battles, a love that understands us in the deepest part of our gut. Waiting can feel empty and desperately lonely.

And waiting can feel small.

It can feel worthless.

Being the one who is always waiting can defeat you from the inside.

We are quick to dismiss waiting as a waste of time. We want to be doing.

Today is December 2nd. The second day of Advent. The season of waiting.

Won’t you click here to keep reading with me about what waiting might really mean for us? 

 

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