I was walking around a little lake by our house last Thursday when it hit me: this insatiable desire for spring. It was a warm day for January - twenty four degrees above the average high temperature - and as the sun settled on my skin so did this deep discontentment settle in my heart. The devastating reality is that spring is still months away. The Thursday thawing was a tease, the ground refroze in no time and they’re calling for snow tomorrow.
My walk in the sun left me crying on the inside, desperate for spring to come - and I cannot deny that these Minnesota winters have brought me to real stinging tears before. The winter seizes me in this state of impatience, as motherhood often does, where I cease to believe that God is moving even when I can’t see it; that He brings good things even out of these dreaded months of the year and seasons of my life; and that no season is ever too long or too short because all of time rests in His hands.
In these times of unwanted waiting, I find myself wandering into doubt, discontentment, and daydreaming of a “better” season. I start preempting what I think God has for me next and writhing when I have to wait. I refuse to remain where God has me - like when I left my hat at home on said walk, pretending it was spring instead of planting my feet where they actually were (I froze my ears off). Often I wait in hostility - feeling hurried, worried that life is passing me by, and putting hope in my circumstances instead of in my Risen King. I grow bitter and resentful as I carry the weight of waiting on my own instead of offering it to Jesus.
Why do I do this? Why do I cling so tightly to my timelines and grasp at my plans? I forget what’s True: He holds me, the universe, and all of time in His hands. He’s never in a rush, He’s never late or panicked. With Him, “a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8) - His concept of time is altogether otherworldly.
There’s a much better way to walk this marathon of motherhood and all things in life: waiting on God, with God, and for God. Walking in patience, even when it’s painful. Waiting on Someone instead of something (because won’t we always be waiting on something this side of heaven?).
There’s a shift we must make here: throwing the weight of our waiting and worries on Him, and lifting our eyes from the earthly to the eternal. We take the psalmist’s words to heart: "I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord" (Psalm 27:13-14). We wait in hope, trusting the God will take care of us and has good things in store. We wait with endurance and perseverance, pressing on and pressing into Jesus even when the waiting feels endless.
This type of waiting is not for the faint of heart. It requires great strength to wait like Psalm 130:5-6 describes:
“I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.”
Let’s be “watchwomen,” waiting for Him who is our only Hope and allowing our impatience to drive us into the Word and into His arms. As we moan and groan, waiting for better things to come, all of creation is right there with us (Romans 8:22), waiting for the restoration of all things.
One day, the beauty of spring will replace the wasteland of winter, and all things will be made new (Narnia, anyone?). There will be no more tears or mourning or death or pain (Revelation 21:4). We won’t feel impatient anymore, but rather completely and deeply satisfied - and God will dwell in our midst forever (Revelation 21:3). But for now, we wait in this “now but not yet” between the resurrection and Christ’s return. Our waiting is not in vain - Jesus is “the One who was and is and is to come” (Revelation 4:8), and He will fulfill all of His promises to His people. The best is yet to come - He tells us He is “coming soon,” and we plead along with John: “Come, Lord Jesus” (please, hurry!) (Revelation 22).
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