Waiting room

I could use all sorts of words to describe myself but patient is definitely not one of them. No person, except for my dad who has a gift of seeing what nobody else sees, would dream of putting my name and the word in the same sentence. Perhaps my life just hasn’t been hard enough to provide sufficient opportunities to develop this character quality. Or, for all these years I somehow managed to miss them.

Today, however, I am proud to announce that the word finally fit me like a glove. At a doctor’s office. I was the patient. Dr. T was my physician.

Patience, I was warned in advance, wasn’t optional. Days before surgery I was instructed to come ready to wait, and wait, and wait… and perhaps come back tomorrow to wait some more. Be prepared to be bored. Such was the nature of the procedure to bring me back into full health.

I cleared my schedule and suit-armored myself with no less than four books, a journal and several extra pens (struggle that it was, I did leave my laptop behind). I was determined to accomplish a lot, catch up on all the reading and fill many a blank page of my much neglected journal. Part of me, I must admit, relished the prospect of this health-care induced boredom, since it’s a friend that rarely visits my shores.

When I arrived, I realized I was not the only patient – there were fifteen or so others sharing in this Medicaid Sabbath day. Some like me brought books, others brought food, or friends or family members to help the time pass faster. We all buzzed through our surgeries rather quickly and then entered the waiting room. I pulled the first book out of my bag and stuck my bandaged up nose inside its pages.

Twenty minutes.

Suddenly a thought started to buzz inside my head like a hornet.

I wonder if I’ll have to go under the knife again?... It sure would be nice to have it taken care of during the first round… but doctor T said she would like to gamble with this one… I really don’t like when doctors gamble with my nose! Buzzzz…. Buzzzz… And what about all these people? Is this their first time? Or are they regulars? They are all so quiet! Would they rather be left alone or talk their way through the waiting? Is it politically incorrect to ask what kind of surgery they had? Or an invasion of privacy? Buzzz… buzzzz….

Five more minutes have passed.

I should try to read some more.

I returned to the book sitting idly in my lap. Two minutes. Then the buzzard started again.

We are w-a-i-t-i-n-g! We are w-a-i-t-i-n-g! WE ARE W-A-I-T-I-N-G! WE ARE W-A-I-T-I-N-G!

One more minute passed. I looked around the room, noticing for the first time the large paintings of galloping horses hanging on the walls behind quiet patients.

Alright, God! What do you want from me????? I am being patient, am I not? I am waiting. I am willing to stick it out for as long as it takes. I’ll grit my teeth through this entire day if need be. But I can already tell it’s going to be a loooong day. I sure can think of many much more productive ways to use my time... But, hey, nobody is asking me? You call the shots.

…

What?!! Isn’t that enough?!!! What are You trying to accomplish? Is this some kind of a test? I know! Of course, it’s a test! It’s a test of my faith… to see how tough my faith muscle is! Fine! I can prove…

You don’t need to prove anything.

Huh…?

Nothing to prove. Not a test.

But..., but, then, what is it about..? … If it is not a test…

Inside the waiting room, the horses kept galloping in place in their imaginary race.

Can you just be… with Me…? Just… enjoy being with Me…?

Silence filled the room which a moment ago was occupied with the noise of the galloping horses.

Enjoy? Just enjoy… being… with You? I took a deep breath. And then another one. ... I shook my head in disbelief. What a fool! What a fool I’ve been and how slow to hear… and understand! The waiting rooms of my life are not some torture chambers designed to try the toughness of my faith. They are the oasis planted by my hopelessly personal, hopelessly relational God, intended to provide a place of rest and refreshment, hope and healing for my soul as much, or perhaps even more, as for my body.... A place… a time when I can, rather than proving the tenacity of my faith, cultivate the tenderness of my heart…

I’m sorry…

Mrs. S… the nurse’s chirp jerked me out of the unexpected revelation. I am a bearer of good news!

Oh… I slowly got up, putting the book away, a twinge of disappointment coloring my voice.

Does that mean I have to leave…right away?

"In repentance and rest you will be saved, in quietness and trust is your strength. But you were not willing, and you said, 'No, for we will flee on horses,'..." Isaiah 30:15,16