It’s my birthday next week and I’m feeling reflective, sort of. I was having a think today about how I’m feeling at the moment versus how I was feeling last year and found myself thinking back past last year’s birthday to the one before, and the one before that, and the one before that. There were a few to reflect on. But that’s beside the point. What struck me as I was going back in time was that for the however many years, I’ve sort of lived my life in advance, thinking about what my life will look like when I reach the next birthday, the next milestone. By the time I’m ‘this’ age, I will have ‘this’, and by the time this ‘milestone’ (or whatever else you want to insert) comes around, my life will look like ‘this’. I realised that all the dreams and hopes I had as a kid had somehow fallen into a schedule of sorts, with me selecting the year that they should happen. The problem with that is that you get rather disappointed when your schedule doesn’t go to plan.
As I looked back today, I realised that my ‘schedule’ did not go to plan. The milestones came and went and what I had expected to happen didn’t happen. And I’m not talking about one thing in particular but a few different things. Predicting the future is clearly not one of my abilities. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like my life, because I do, I love it. However, it just looks different to what I expected it to look like. And I find myself, again, pondering why things didn’t happen, why they did, when they will. It’s something I go through each year (What can I tell you, it’s in my blood to ponder and question). And each year, I tell myself that it will be different by my next birthday; it’s a nice little cycle. But I think I finally understand why I do that; hope. I still have hope that the things I desire, the things I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl, will come to life. I’m eternally hopeful that it will all work out. Where there is hope, there is life. Without hope, life starts to lose its joy. Without hope, the heart and soul begin to slowly wither. We need hope. It keeps us going. So I hope. And hope. And keep hoping. But when you hope for something, it generally involves waiting for it. And waiting is not something I’ve ever been good at. Ever. I get frustrated when I’m made to wait. I get edgy and nitchy. I get bored, and when I’m bored I’m hungry, and I’m not even going to get started on what happens when I eat because that’s a whole other story.
Society preaches that if you want something, go after it. That’s all well and good, but some things you need to wait for. Everyone at some point has had to wait for something. Some people are waiting for a promotion, some are waiting for an organ that will save their life, and some are waiting for the doctor to tell them they have finally fallen pregnant. Some may be waiting to meet the perfect partner, while some have found the perfect partner but are waiting for them to propose. Whatever it is you’re waiting for, waiting can be hard. If you have been waiting for something for a while and don’t get frustrated, I commend you. Well done, I wish I had your patience. I’m not good at waiting and eventually end up having a tantrum where I rant and rave at God, then apologise for questioning the Almighty, then shed some tears in frustration (this usually happens in the shower where no one can hear me cry and I can blame the red rimmed eyes on the shampoo). So yea, I don’t like waiting. But as much as I don’t like it, I still do it because I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to stop hoping for the things my heart really desires because I trust that my God will come through. It may not happen when I want it, but it will happen (sounds like the slogan from the old pantene ad doesn’t it!). I’m confident of this because His Word promises it, and He is faithful. So I will let it go (I’ll try, but I can’t promise it will happen without some frustration), and keep believing and hoping.