In the waiting there are tears and confusion,
but there are compassionately held tissue boxes, hot cups of coffee and long embraces.
In the waiting there is worry over the unknown
but then there is space to consider what else might be possible.
In the waiting there are long nights of talking through brambles and burdens,
but there are dawns of hope that take us by surprise and show up at the door.
In the waiting there is waiting, and waiting and waiting,
but there are caring prayers, calls, texts, and conversations unnumbered that full the seconds, minutes and days.
In the waiting are moments we never want to live.
But once we live them, we learn who we really are.
In the waiting
we are not
alone.
In the waiting
we are loved.
In the waiting
we are called to live.
In the waiting we know whatever happens,
it was worth the wait.
but there are compassionately held tissue boxes, hot cups of coffee and long embraces.
In the waiting there is worry over the unknown
but then there is space to consider what else might be possible.
In the waiting there are long nights of talking through brambles and burdens,
but there are dawns of hope that take us by surprise and show up at the door.
In the waiting there is waiting, and waiting and waiting,
but there are caring prayers, calls, texts, and conversations unnumbered that full the seconds, minutes and days.
In the waiting are moments we never want to live.
But once we live them, we learn who we really are.
In the waiting
we are not
alone.
In the waiting
we are loved.
In the waiting
we are called to live.
In the waiting we know whatever happens,
it was worth the wait.
Art "Hearing" and poem by T.L. Eastman
Copyright 2015
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