The Waiting Game
Submitting to the waiting game and suppressing the itch to intervene
Hi friends,
I wrote this post years ago, but I felt it was timely for our current transition and waiting season. I also added a little related story at the end. I hope it encourages you, whatever season you find yourselves in! I think, regardless, we are all waiting for something!
Several summers ago, I was enduring the final stages of my second pregnancy and waiting, not so patiently, for my second daughter to be born. I was also waiting, not so patiently, to purchase our first house. This was to occur, preferably, in the reverse order. It was an anxious time because I could not predict or control the specific details of these two life-changing events, brewing simultaneously. I knew our baby would soon outgrow her space and that the wait couldn't exceed forty-two weeks. I also knew that unless something totally unforeseen happened, we would find a house and eventually hold the keys, but I was not in a good mood during the delay.
On one of those humid, hard-to-breathe days in Missouri, when there’s a haze above the asphalt, I pulled into the back-yard driveway of our rented duplex, which had an old basketball hoop cemented into the ground. I looked up and immediately noticed something out of place—a basketball was suspended in the net. I suppose I noticed it because I already had a reference point for all things round, swollen, and stuck, things that were supposed to be moving down and passing through—goals, due dates, and such. I sat with my heavy belly wedged behind the steering wheel, staring at this dingy, rust-colored basketball, wondering how it got stuck in a net that it is designed to pass through. Perhaps the ball, abandoned between two trash cans, had baked and swelled in the sun's heat. Perhaps the net had stiffened with age and elements. Perhaps a group of restless neighborhood kids engaged in a quick game they were forced to abandon once the ball failed to bounce back.
As I stared at the loaded net, I felt a sudden swell of frustration for myself and for everyone else whose game had been interrupted unexpectedly, whose dreams had been suspended in a way they didn't plan for or anticipate. I thought about how particular seasons of our lives often look like this stuck ball suspended in the net. We make neat plans and skillfully aim for things, expecting a certain result, but end up baffled and sometimes utterly disappointed when our plans and dreams get stuck in motion and the games we play get interrupted in ways we don't anticipate.
As I struggled out of my car and waddled past the net, I was tempted to fix the problem hanging above my parking pad. I could have easily fetched a broom or slipped off a sandal and taken aim at the ball, but for some reason, I felt the need to leave it alone as a symbol for the waiting season I was in. I walked past the frustrating image daily and glimpsed it from the bathroom window as a frequent reminder of the control I had to relinquish, of things that I longed for suspended without knowing when movement would come. The image irritated me because it was one of those things, like a slanted picture frame, or a bad spelling, I was itching to correct.
This temptation to get the ball unstuck and back into our hands in order to resume the game can be powerful, especially when fast solutions seem obvious to us. It’s in our nature to find quick and clever ways to get around discomfort, avoid disappointment, and change our situation, even when there's purpose in it. In the book of James it says:
"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so that you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way" (James 1:2 Msg).
Just as we would never hope for a premature birth, we shouldn’t want things we long for to be released before their appointed time. Important things are being formed in us and around us in the waiting, and even though it can be hard to believe, God is actually blessing us in our waiting. In According to His Promise, Charles Spurgeon writes:
"Love presides over the arrangements of grace, and strikes upon the bell when the best moment has arrived. God blesses us by his temporary delays, as well as by his prompt replies."
It’s His loving kindness that holds things in place and even withholds things for a time (though He never withholds His goodness). At just the right time, the stuck thing will be released, the suspended game will be resumed, and the promise will be fulfilled at the right time by the hand of a good and faithful God.
Suppressing that itch to intervene and speed up the process in a situation that God has asked you to give over to Him requires self-control. You may have to walk past that loaded basketball net every day and declare trust, ask for patience, strength, and even joy in the waiting. But each time you face that frustrating image, whatever it looks like for you, there is an opportunity to worship and embrace a wait and an order to things that, if from God, is ultimately good and purposeful. This is not a call to passive waiting, but to worshipful waiting, and hopeful declarations of trust when you know you need to relinquish control.
One balmy evening, my husband and I returned home and I noticed the once-stuck basketball lying on the warm concrete. I immediately asked him, "did you get that ball down?" "Nope" he replied, slightly puzzled as to why I cared about a seemingly inconsequential thing. I took comfort from it and smiled. I knew it was God reminding me that it was all in his hands and that the time would come for everything I was waiting for, not just babies and houses, but stuck dreams as well, to be released and held. And the game I was itching to play, I would play again.
July 19, 2024
In the end, things did not occur in the preferred order. We ended up closing on our house two weeks after my daughter’s arrival, not before. But God made it so obvious when the appointed time was. Currently, we are staying at my in-laws and they have a massive corn field, which at this time of year proudly hosts rows of tall corn stalks. It reminds me of that summer 8 years ago, when we were impatiently waiting for our second daughter to arrive. Since we just celebrated her eighth birthday, here in the house beside the cornfield, I thought I would include a picture of said cornfield and a story about when she finally made her appearance, two weeks “late”.
Her middle name was supposed to be June because that’s when her due date was. But June rolled into July and I didn’t prefer that name. After passing this magic due date by a week, my doctor insisted on scheduling an induction date: July 13th. I don’t have anything against inductions when they’re medically necessary, but I didn’t really want to be induced, I wanted her to come on her own. Nevertheless, I agreed to the procedure. On the eve of the induction, we dropped our oldest daughter off at the grandparents, stopped at the store for some good breakfast, and watched The Office, while I fervently bounced on my silver exercise ball. We then anxiously shuffled off to bed, knowing a rudely early hospital appointment was ahead of us. However, we had no idea just how early we would be leaving for the delivery suite. Having eventually dozed off around 11pm, I woke up in a state of confusion two hours later. A bleary-eyed trip to the bathroom at the end of the hall confirmed that I was in labor. We left for the hospital in the middle of the night with no opportunity to tuck into those carefully chosen breakfast items. Our lovely girl was born just before 6am, beating the induction appointment that was supposed to draw her out. As soon as she was placed in my arms, I said “I’m so glad she’s here” over and over. So much joy was released at her birth, a deep joy that we endured for. I love this story because God’s timing wonderfully superseded an impatient human intervention, and He graciously answered my prayer.
Since that July, things have sort of come full-circle in a funny way, and we find ourselves waiting expectantly by the cornfield again, not for babies, but jobs, houses, and other breakthroughs. When we first moved into our temporary residence here, the corn was barley two-foot high (I love puns so much!) Now, just 6 weeks later, it lushly towers over our heads; by fall it will reach its peak and its appointed time for harvesting. By then we will be in our new city. Be patient as you wait for your God-ordained time, though you may be weary, stretched, swollen (and possibly sweaty!) All that is meant for you will soon be released and held, along with all the joy that is well worth enduring for.
Much love,
Abi
