Waiting

August 21, 2017

Patience is not, nor has it ever been, a quality I’ve possessed, let alone actively sought after. I’ve written many, many, many times about my wishing for definite dates and thick, obvious lines from heaven directing me, or at least giving me an end date of “all will be revealed!” So far, it’s not happened.

I don’t like waiting. In high school my nickname was Matchstick, not because of my rudely orange hair, but because (as the second half of the slogan went) “one strike and she’s alight”. BOOM! Instant bonfire on the person who ticked me off. I’ve not been in a fistfight for decades, but my lack of patience shows no signs of moving on.

I want answers, and reasons, and detailed explanations of why…. now.

Please.

Ok, now. Now?

Next Tuesday also works for me, Lord. Hello? Can I put You down for a tentative 11am?

I’ve received some answers to prayers before I’ve even formed the questions. Some answers I’m confident I will be literally dying to receive. Sometimes, I’m learning, it takes years and apparently unrelated situations to bloom into a heavenly nudge, a spiritual kiss on the forehead, dreamy revelation (or metaphysical kick up the stubborn bum) that becomes as real and personal an answer as a text message from heaven.

I’m still open to angelic visitations, emails from hereafter and a detailed game plan of My Life So Far/Thrilling Final Innings! … but until they arrive, I’ll just keep looking for those connections that coax, cherish and remind me I’m not doing this alone.

 

Have Knots – a poem by Kel Purcill

I have been so mad

at God

or

Dammit, Dad,

as I so often spit in my prayers

that the sizzle of my skin

makes the Big Bang

as close as the pulse

thumping my eye

the crescent moons

birthing in palms

whispers and reflections

of the birthmarks

I’m grooved with every day

from trying

just to be a decent human

a mountain for my sons

-not a pebble-

So mad at my Dad

for the meteors

destroying my calm

and worlds

So mad at Dad

knowing me so well

that he sometimes stays out of sight

not because he’s annoyed back

But because –

 

I didn’t know why

until years after my sons

had been stabbing each other

with words and accusations

When my peacemaking hat

detonated like an ice-bomb

sending them both to their rooms

early bedtime for all!

But me and my

– oh so weary –

butt sat in the hallway

between their rooms

ignoring their buts,

frustration singeing their walls

clouds of hurt curling around the smoke detector

My butt and stubborn, twitchy heart

sat and read words of wisdom and love to

a fractured, wailing family of now-three

My butt and I sat, stubborn spooling from

All-three

Knotting us in our ugly

gnarled and furious glory

even though none of us

could see any of us

my stubborn butt

and theirs

sat, stewed,

sight unseen,

and loved despite us

in spite of our actions, our words

loved over and through our hurt.

 

And it’s only now

years later,

mad at Dad,

for other reasons

– and some still the same –

that I realise Dad was there

too,

in the hallway

in the heart rip and

ashes of us,

where we couldn’t see him either

but he was there

having my back

loving me in my supernova

maybe even

– absolutely because –

of my determination to be

a decent human,

a loving, present creator

whose love was obvious

even when unseen,

Even when

if

– Dammit Dad –

it takes years to see

the knots of stubborn

silent strength

throughout

the years

and us.

 

When have you seen the Lord’s work in your life, tying pieces together over long periods of time? What do you do to stay patient, or kinda-patient for the reasons to be revealed?

3 Comments

  1. Heather Bergevin

    August 22, 2017

    Oh. Oh, I love this. I love the repetition/juxtaposition of butt/but, and the times a living, loving Father turn into a Dammit Dad.

    I love all of this. And you, you fierce and wonderful one.

  2. Michelle

    August 22, 2017

    Have you heard Michael Wilcox’s thoughts on the Fourth Watch God we worship?

    For me, one of the compensatory blessings for getting older is having lived long enough to start to see that God really does show up. Sometimes it takes a LOT longer than we want, and sometimes it isn’t in the way we think He wants, but He always shows up. So I just keep trying to show up in my little life, which isn’t little to Him, and pray daily for eyes to see His hand in the little things while I wait on Him for the bigger stuff.

    I also take walks and stare at my mountains. A lot. If God can manage this whole earth (and the sun and moon and stars and universe), surely He can manage my little life. Mountains and sunsets help me stay centered and hopeful even when I feel lost at sea.

  3. Linda

    August 22, 2017

    I love this. Your poem reads like a tribal war dance around the KaBOOM flame of your heart – the words flick and merge, spark out and catch elsewhere. I am left singed with ferocity and wonder, heat and awe.

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