The Waiting Room

 

“The

Waiting Room”

            Congratulations! You are having a baby—but not until you are 100 years old.  Well, that’s how old Abraham was when Sarah had Isaac.  Way to go!  You got that promotion that you weren’t even looking for—but you won’t receive it for over a decade.  David found out when he was a young shepherd that he would be king of Israel.  He wasn’t able to assume the throne until he was 30 years old.  You are moving to a beautiful new neighborhood—but you will have to travel 40 years to get there.  Moses led the Israelites through the desert for what probably seemed like an eternity!  Yes, you may marry my daughter, but you must wait 14 years before you can live together!  Or at least that’s how long Jacob worked for his beloved Rachel.  Talk about being in the waiting room of life!

            Just a few weekends ago, I took my child to an urgent care clinic for a double ear infection.  It was a Sunday, and we needed to get him medicine quickly.  We waited an hour and forty minutes and finally left after the long wait and unsanitary conditions.  We grabbed lunch at home then went to a different place where we waited for a much more acceptable total of 40 minutes.  Waiting can be so frustrating when you have a small child with a small attention span.  That day left me feeling exhausted, but we finally got him the medicine he needed to start his healing. 

            I started thinking about a song I had heard almost 20 years ago by Shane Bernard about sitting in the waiting room.  I was thinking to myself “Have I been in the waiting room of life?”  I was married at the age of 34, and I had my child at the age of 37.  I felt like I had been in the waiting room of life many times—waiting on a job, marriage, a child, or a change.  Sometimes I waited patiently, or perhaps distractedly, and at other times I waited with an exasperated attitude.  Life has been so busy lately for me with a full-time, high-energy job, a very energetic small boy, a stressful global pandemic, and an active Bible study group.

 I have been in my same profession for about 17 years, and without a break for the pandemic and a lot of new safety procedures, I was fully burned out.  I tried a handful of side hustles in hopes of reducing my work hours or to start a different career path, but they all amounted to zero success.  I have been unable to get pregnant with a second child, and my energy level has seemed to plummet from its already low level.  Suddenly, it occurred to me, “I’m in the waiting room of life again!”

The waiting room—why is it such an uncomfortable wait?  We want to know, and we want to know now!  That’s why people sneak a peek at the last chapter of that mystery novel or rewrap their Christmas presents because they just have to know what’s inside.  Now I’ve had surgery, and I have one week of recovery at home.  I feel pressure that I must have answers, and I must have it all figured out in one week.  This is just not true, and it’s not going to happen.  I’m having to constantly cast those thoughts on God, and I ask him for help and guidance.  I do not know what to do, but I’m fixing my eyes on you, Lord. 

What does the Bible say about waiting?  Romans 8:25 says, “But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”  I am hoping for answers, change, and direction—oh, and patience.  “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.” (Psalm 37:7)  I’m trying to be still before the Lord, but with the busyness of life, I’m rarely able to be still and quiet until I’m falling asleep.  Isaiah 40:31 says ‘But those who hope in the lord will renew their strength.”  This verse brings me great comfort as waiting can deplete strength.  “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.” (Lamentations 3:25)  He is good, and he gives good gifts in and out of seasons of waiting.

Summer Camp Blunders

 

Summer is approaching and the days are getting warmer.  Middle-schoolers are abuzz about what summer camp they will be attending, and which bestie they hope to bunk with.  This takes me back to my brief camp experience years ago in the mountains of the Midwest.  Due to some serious homesickness and introversion, I did not attend a camp as a child.  However, during my sophomore year at college, I was persuaded by friends to interview at a popular camp for a summer position.  I did not have all the right spiritual answers, nor did I have any singing talent, athletic prowess, nor leadership abilities.  They really must have needed help because I landed the position as a kitchen server (basically a waitress and a dishwasher) for one month at their eighth and newest location on a beautiful lake. 

            Before summer arrived, I made plans to follow a few guys up since the camp was about five hours away, and I was navigationally challenged.  Many of my close friends had gotten jobs at different camp locations or had gotten jobs in their hometown.  The guys I was to follow were new acquaintances, and they were going to call me the night before we were to leave for camp.  Finally, it was the night before camp, and I had all the t-shirts, bug spray, and stationary packed, but I hadn’t received a phone call from the caravan leader.  My dad helped me plan my route as this was pre-gps/smart phone era.  I found my way to a very new, off-the-paved-road camp, and I felt quite accomplished.  Until I learned the reason that my caravan leader didn’t call-I arrived at camp a day too early.  There were several brochures with dates on them, and I looked at the one that had the wrong date.  There were many leaders already at camp, so don’t worry, I had a place to stay.  It turns out my navigator did call the night before I was to leave, but I wasn’t home.

            Little did I know, a camp has a specific culture full of songs, cheers, and stories.  I did not know one single cheer, but I tried to look the part by wearing sporty casual clothing and no make-up.  However, my sensitive allergies flared up with the screen windows allowing all the nature to breeze in and out of our living quarters.  Soon my eyes would not allow me to wear my contacts, and I developed a rash on my legs.  Most of the time I had my hair in a ponytail, and I was donning an apron.  Working in a hot kitchen in the summer didn’t agree with my face either, so my usual clear complexion disappeared.  I couldn’t compare with the athletic, tan counselors all around me, but I absolutely loved the fellow kitchen servers I worked with all day.

            Work week was loads of fun and just as the title of the week conveys: work.  We actually made the beach for the camp on the edge of the lake by clearing trees and rocks.  We cleaned, worshipped, and prepared for the campers.  We also had a little time to socialize with our college peers who had come to this woodsy sporty camp.  One afternoon after lunch, all the counselors were congregated in the cafeteria.  The staff called out all of us kitchen workers to the front porch.  They decided it was time for us to be properly introduced to the counselors.  But I did not categorize their method of introduction as proper!  They called out two strong male counselors who would be responsible for carrying a kitchen worker between them, each leg resting on one counselor’s shoulder.  Then a leader would announce their name over a loudspeaker as these two hunks burst through the doors of the cafeteria and into the crowd.  As an introvert, this was a nightmare to me.  I also have a tendency to worst-case scenario unexpected situations.  In my mind, I was definitely going to pass gas loudly onto the shoulders of these guys for all to hear.  The guys were quickly making their way around to the back of the cafeteria.  I had already positioned myself as the last in line.  I had to move swiftly, which isn’t really in my DNA.  I burst through the doors on foot, slapping high-fives all the way, with my face bright red, I’m sure.  The carrier guys behind me looked a little puzzled as they shrugged at each other.  I heard some laughter among the obligatory cheering in the crowd, and someone yelled, “Nice entrance!”

            There were many opportunities to meet other college students during the work week before campers arrived.  During one social event at the park, we were standing in a line.  I worked up the courage to turn around and introduce myself to the guy standing behind me.  “Hi, I’m Susan.”  “I know,” he said, “We’ve already met. I’m Blane.”  I was so embarrassed that I had no recollection of us meeting.  Fast forward a few weeks later to the cafeteria.  Blane approached the counter with an empty juice pitcher, and I said hello and reached for the pitcher to refill it for his table.  My sassy friend and fellow kitchen server ran up strictly to embarrass me, and to act as though I had been asking about him, which I had not.  She said, “What’s your name?” “Blane,” he said.  She turned to me and said, “His name’s Blane,” and she flittered away giggling to herself leaving me standing in silence with a red face.  She really had no idea of the name forgetting history I had with this guy, and she was just trying to embarrass me at random.  It worked!

            One of the traditions at this camp involved birthdays.  If it was a male counselor’s birthday, all the female counselors and kitchen workers were supposed to come give the birthday boy a kiss on the cheek in front of the whole cafeteria.  This thought terrified me, and as I heard them singing happy birthday, I ran quickly to the back of the kitchen behind the third row of supply shelving.  I heard a loud thwack of a broomstick behind me, and I turned to see another kitchen server hiding in the broom closet.  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who despised this tradition because another kitchen server questioned all ten of us later, “Where were y’all? I was the only one who went out there!”

            One final memory remains that happened close to the end of my month-long camp experience.  I was outside with my fellow kitchen workers.  One of the staffers had a bicycle that wasn’t currently being used.  I hadn’t ridden a bicycle in years.  I was interested in checking out this bicycle as I had never seen one with foot straps over the pedals.  I asked if I could try it out.  I managed the bike until it was time to disembark.  I was very distracted as I was talking to my friends, and I forgot to take my foot out of the stirrup before swinging my leg over the bike.  I landed on my side on the ground still attached to the bike.

            My camp experience was brief and quite frankly embarrassing.  The theme of camp that summer was “Worth It All.”  For those campers and counselors, I’m sure it was.  And for those lasting memories, times of growth, and laughter, I suppose it was for me too.

There’s a Monkey in the Passenger Seat of Your Car

                                               

            As I recall, there were about eight to ten large hostile gorillas surrounding us.  There were some stationed outside each wall of the white one-room schoolhouse. I felt intense fear, and I knew there was no escaping them.  This was one of those vivid childhood dreams that sticks with you for the long haul.

            I remember meeting people in my life that loved monkeys, collected monkey stuffed animals, or just thought they were so cute.  I recall thinking that was not the case for me and that any sort of primate made me uneasy.  I did not particularly desire to visit the monkey exhibit at the zoo, and I never saw the movie “Congo” nor preferred to study Jane Goodall. 

            As an adult, I went ahead and claimed it as a fear.  It gave my students a laugh, and it entertained my peers at gatherings where I had to give the three fun facts about myself.  It has provided some good-natured fun throughout the years, however I tested out this fear at the zoo a few years ago.  Yes, the fear still exists.  When I saw a rather large stringy-haired orangutan at the zoo, my entire body shuddered.  This fear hasn’t been helped by horror stories I’ve heard about unfortunate primate owners who were attacked by their pets or about the stories on the news of children falling in the gorilla cage at the zoo.

            Coworkers and students have enjoyed posting the occasional monkey picture in my office throughout the years, all in the name of a good laugh.  However, one particular monkey story is my favorite.  It takes place back in graduate school.  I was a student worker, grading papers to help with my tuition.  There was a table in a cramped materials closet where graduate students could gather therapy materials for speech therapy sessions.  Robert (we will call him), my fellow classmate was waiting for a few minutes for a therapy room to open for his next session.  I was trying to concentrate and get work done, but Robert, our class clown, would have none of it. 

            After several silly attempts to make me laugh, he grabbed an old dirty sock monkey off the shelf and made it talk to me.  “I’m scared of monkeys,” I said in a serious tone, and this time it was his turn to laugh.  The next day that pesky monkey showed up in my cubby in the workroom down the hall.  Two days later, he was in my lunch box.  Robert was giddy with his new pranking hobby.

            The next week on one particular day, I knew something must be in the works.  I had passed by Robert several times that day, and he just giggled and quickly passed by me.  That evening I was headed to a nigh class, and Robert passed by me in the hallway of our department.  He looked as though he would explode, and his lips burst apart with this confession, “Susan, the sock monkey is buckled in the passenger seat of your car.  I got your car keys from your roommate earlier today!”  He was so excited about this one, he couldn’t even wait for me to discover it!

            Years later, the sock monkey arrived in a box on my birthday.  I was living back in my home state, and it was so funny to see that ratty old sock monkey again.  I passed the sock monkey to another fellow graduate, and we discussed passing it around to other classmates for laughs.  We lost track, and I’m not sure who has the sock monkey now or if he found his way home to the university.  It is a fun memory, and I’m thankful we found ways to laugh during a serious and stressful time in graduate school.  And no, that did not get me over my fear of primates, and no, please don’t send me any—stuffed or real.

Heaven Is Going to Be Awesome

I've been thinking a lot about heaven lately.  With my cousin's passing in January, I find comfort knowing he is with Jesus, and that he is at peace although I am so mad and sad he is gone.  I recently heard about John Burke's book, "Imagine Heaven," and I am fascinated as I read each story.  With the global pandemic and the challenge of daily fatigue pressing in, I am so relieved to know there is a heaven with no more sickness and pain.

I wonder will we be able to make mistakes in heaven?  Will we sleep at night?  Will there be a night? For me personally I look forward to: no Celiac Disease, no fatigue, no nearsightedness, NO GLASSES, no worry, no anxiety, no body image issues, no impatience, no racism, no fighting, no sickness, NO ALLERGIES, no jealousy, no longing, no rudeness, no shaving?, no aches, no embarrassment, no terror, no school shootings, and so on and so on.  And as I read about personal encounters with Jesus, I look forward to a perfect person who loves me more than anyone ever has who brings me ultimate peace and unfailing love. Hallelujah!

Here are some verses on heaven.  There are so many more to study.

Revelation 21:4 

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

John 14:2 

In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

1 Corinthians 2:9 

But, as it is written, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him”—

John 3:16 

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Romans 10:9-13 

Because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. For the Scripture says, “Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; for the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing his riches on all who call on him. For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

Luke 23:43 

And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Matthew 6:19-21 

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Hebrews 11:16 

But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

2 Peter 3:13 

But according to his promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.

Luke 12:33-34 

Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

1 Timothy 6:17-19 

As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.

Hebrews 13:14 

For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.

Genesis 1:1 

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Revelation 21:1-27 

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” ...

I Want to Be a Weekend Mommy

            “Why are you so grumpy?” accused my three-year-old as we sat on his bed in the dark.  He was right.  We had completed the bedtime routine and depleted my patience.  He jumped around on the couch during bedtime snack.  He wiggled off the toilet and left a bit of a mess on the floor.  He was distracted by puppy tattoos during tooth brushing time.  So, after getting hit in the face by his pillow for the third hit during story time, I was done.

            He was just being an active three-year-old at bedtime.  His behavior is not out of the ordinary for his age, or for himself at any time, to be honest.  Why was I so grumpy? It was a weeknight.  I needed to finish loading the dishwasher and take a shower.  I had to go to sleep and try to be rested for my job requires me to talk and pour into others for seven hours the next day.

            Fast forward to Saturday.   We started out slowly—my favorite kind of morning.  I sipped on coffee and made bacon and eggs for everyone.  We took a walk together before the clouds rolled in.  When the rain came down, we sat on the back patio soaking in the sound and sights of a summer rain.  “Can I pway in the wain?”  he asked.  “Oh sure.”  Weekend mommy is more go with the flow.  We have more snuggles and smiles at naptime on the weekend. That afternoon, we ran through the sprinkler together and filled up the wading pool.  I took pictures of my happy boy and the blooming flowers that had grown from the seeds we planted three months before.  Weekend mommy is not rushed, therefore not stressed, therefore kinder.

            Ugh! How can I be weekend mommy all the time?  Well, essentially I can’t.  One thing that makes the weekend so special is that it’s not every day of the week.  I need to keep a mind of peace despite the fatigue and pressure of the daily grind.  I should dust off that yoga mat although I have been known to fall asleep in child’s pose at the end of a long day.

            The other night I was wiped out and frustrated by my son’s repeated attempts at averting sleep.  As I lay in the dark in his bed, he started tracing my lips with his finger trying to force them into a smile.  While I shouldn’t plaster a fake happy mask over the real mood, I can work to change my frame of mind.  I need to be thankful for my precious fleeting years with this little one, for one day I will yearn for them.  Just as he traced my frown, I choose to trace the timeline back to beautiful moments we’ve shared:  holding and staring at him when he was a baby, chasing his giggling little self around the kitchen, or hearing him say, “I wuv you.”  I cannot be a weekend mommy every day because I can’t have a weekend every day, but I can make each day count by being loving mommy every day.

Whiter Than Flower Snow

         “It’s snowing!” It was 92 degrees and thick with southern June humidity in my backyard.  My three-year-old son and I were splashing in his wading pool, leaning back looking at the treetops.  We called it “flower snow”—wispy cotton-like bunches floating down from a neighbor’s tree.  I tried to capture it on my phone camera, but it just didn’t look as impressive as it did in person.

            The next day was Sunday, and we slept in as a family, super late for a family with a little one: 7:30 am!  My little one had only taken juice that morning, ignoring other offers of food, so by 9:00, he was hangry.  We sat down to church online and crispy bacon and eggs.  Too late—the volcano of Mt. Threenager was about to erupt.  He wasn’t wanting to share the attention with the pastor on TV, who was teaching about the Passover feast.  My son was trying to distract my husband by pulling off the long brown rubber piece of coffee table edge protector knowing he was not supposed to do this.  He was waving it in my husband’s face taunting him.  After several redirection attempts, the piece was taken away.

            The fit that followed was quite a battle. Surely it lasted a few days it seemed, but it was only an hour because it was over when church finished.  He refused to be settled and ended up in time out repeatedly for hitting.  He reminded me of Paul’s words in the Bible about doing what he didn’t want to do.  My son would ask for me, then shut the door or run away if I came close.  He was a true picture of sin nature, for he got himself into that situation by his own poor choices, and he was miserable because of it.  The screaming, the wailing, and occasional banging were draining and unpleasant for all of us.  I managed to catch maybe two points of the sermon.

            Why didn’t he just give it up and let me sooth him?  I wonder if God has wondered that with us at times, too.  Just when I thought it was over, he asked for the brown table protector piece again.  Wow, talk about strong-willed, or maybe he was trying to make the situation right.  Regardless, he did not receive the brown piece after all that.  He was finally snuggled into my arms on the couch eating a small feast of bacon and dried strawberries.  As my husband and I took communion, I noticed my son watching it as he never had before.  Hopefully something good can come out of that fit for after sin and devastation, God can restore.  He gave his body and blood to save us from our sin and devastation.  My husband pointed to the window, and we looked out to see a huge drift of “flower snow”!  And this was all as the worship band sang about Jesus making us whiter than snow!

The Lord is a Sun

Okay, so I don't have the most mature drawing skills, but it's the message that counts.  I really liked this verse, so I spent some time thinking and researching to describe how I think God is our sun and shield.