How about now, I mutter.
There’s demand in my voice.
I can hear the whine of a two year old
In my prayer
But sometimes I feel obligated
To use a more mature voice when I pray
As if I can hide
All the vulnerable pulses of my heart.
I trust you, Lord
I’ll surrender everything
I only want what You want
I’m being honest, but…
But it’s just this waiting,
There’s a such tension
In this thing we call waiting,
Because the Holy Spirit is still moving
Exciting places, unexpected ways.
Through open doors and illuminated circumstances
Except not in this.
Why not this, I cry
If this isn’t your dream, Lord
Then let it die.
I don’t want it if it’s not Jesus.
Not yet, He whispers
Except I don’t want not yet
I want now,
I’d even prefer never, I think.
I’d rather have to surrender the dream completely
Then give up my timetable for it
Then to wait,
Continuing a daily surrender of my perceptions,
A liturgy with a grinding, uninvited, glorious trust.
Was it as hard for Abraham and Sarah
To wait for one hundred years
Without a child?
To live their lives
Embracing other answered prayers,
As the clock ticked on?
As hard as it was to carrying him up to that altar?
Today, that’s my surrender.
Whatever you want, Lord
I trust you.
Wait, He says again.
So I’ll wait.