the one with the waiting

I hate waiting.

I mean, I HATE it. 

I hate waiting the two minutes for my coffee to brew and get into my cup. 

I hate waiting in lines at the grocery store. 

I hate waiting in traffic. 

I hate waiting for things I want.

I hate waiting for a baby.

Most people who read my blog probably know my big (ahem, skinny) sister. She's the real writer in the family - she effortlessly combines depth, story-telling, advice, and humor in the best kind of way. You also may know that she has four {beautiful, amazing, perfect} children -- and that before there were four, there was infertility. I watched my sister pray, fast, weep, persevere and everything in between during those trying years. 

I always feared that her struggle would become mine when I was ready to try for children. And here I am, relating in my own younger-sister kind of way. I haven't been trying for a really long time but I haven't been trying for a short time either. I'm not going to say exactly how long it's been because I'm sure there are people that have waited for less time / more time than I have who can relate to what I'm experiencing.

I'm consumed with waiting.

It's all I can think about right now. I want to say otherwise. I want to say that I'm fine, that I'm faithful, that I'm at peace, that I'm full of trust, joy, and all those qualities our Lord so perfectly embodies. But I don't feel that way right now. I feel far from that. I know that anxiety makes getting pregnant harder. But how on earth am I supposed to not be anxious right now? I know that this isn't a form of punishment and that I'm young and that Sarah had a baby when she was verging on...dead...but I was kind of hoping for something less difficult, less wrinkly.

I want to just bask in all that I do have - and I have SO much. I feel humbled by all that God's given me and I feel angry at myself for being consumed with waiting when God has done nothing but bestow mercy, blessing, grace, and love in my life. Who am I to question God's timing or God's plan? He's perfect and prayerfully, one day, with a baby in my arms, I'll look back and sigh all motherly and wise and say, "Wow, God's timing was perfect and so much better than mine."

But that's not what I feel right now.

When I was 14, I proclaimed Jesus as my Lord and was baptized into his name. As a young teenager, I remember making him Lord of my doubts, my selfishness, my young-teen emotions. And I meant it. I surrendered and I gave him control of my hormone-ridden life. But really, at 14, I was making a decision to keep making Jesus Lord. At every age, at every stage. I re-made that decision at 15 when my parents moved me to a different state, a different high school, a different culture, a different church; again at 16 when a teenage boy broke my heart and I felt ugly and unlikeable; again in my early twenties when I was in college, dealing with a painful breakup, single and vowing to stay faithful even if marriage wasn't in the cards for me; again in Georgia, again in New York, and here I am again, vowing once more to make Jesus Lord of this circumstance. I'm reminded that I made Jesus Lord of my life at 14 - but really, I'm called to re-make that decision daily. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's difficult. But I find that the real test for me is fairly consistent - will Jesus be Lord of the waiting? Will Jesus remain my Lord, the director of my life, the controller of my decisions while I wait between the mountain-tops, the victories, the blessings?

I answered yes at 14, I'm answering yes at 27, and I promise to keep answering yes.

At every age, at every stage:
Jesus is Lord.