Musings on waiting

advent, life, for myself

I eased back into the van as our oldest daughter walked down the driveway of a new friend’s house, one Missionary of Charity on one side of her, the other on the other. I craned my neck and watched as they had stopped, smiling to our paralyzed friend whose powerchair rolled up to the window overlooking the yard. I checked my phone, doing the math of how long it would be back to the Sisters’ house and then on to the surgery center to pick up my mom. I waited.

The transcript from the live seminar video had downloaded incorrectly. My coworker sent me a message on slack, a polite question if I could send it again but no rush?. I took a look at the message on my phone, glanced over at my napping toddler, and peered into the hallway at my daughter’s door, her on the other side resting in bed, sick with chronic pain. And school pickup was in 21 minutes. I clicked “download.” I waited.

My husband texted me, “I got an offer.” And my heart pumped extra hard, bringing it right to my skin in the darkened room. The intention of countless novenas and Rosaries. The clear next step that needed to happen. The desire of his heart and mine for a new job for him. Our son stirred in my arms, asleep on his mama in the way only a decadent toddler can be who has no younger sibling. I burned to hear details. I waited.

I drove slowly into the sunset, edging my way to the hermitage retreat center, each road sign a breath closer to the quiet. This silent retreat had turned our schedule inside-out for me to be gone for four days. But the opportunity probably wouldn’t arise again with these unusual circumstances: a private retreat, a remarkable spiritual director, a weekend between the holidays’ rush. Car after car passed me on the winding country single-lane highway as my driving phobia battled my rational brain. I arrived just at dusk at the end of the long gravel driveway. I gathered my breath and summoned my energy to finish the drive and enter in. I waited.

One eye opened, the other sealed shut in silence, my daughter motioned to me that she would trail the toddler so I could pray. This brief visit to an Adoration Chapel while my husband was out of town was the long drink I needed. The oldest passed the fourth a rosary. The third stood around in the back in case the toddler went for the holy water font again. I rocked back on my knees, took a two-eyed glance around, and then retreated deep within. Encounters with God looked like bringing myself before Him again, hopes, fears, exhaustion, my very will. I knew He would take all of me and give me His will in return. I waited.

+ + +

Waiting during Advent in the past usually meant bracing myself. For the festivities, the obligations, the coordinations, the decorations, the envelope addressing (sorry, couldn’t get it together to get cards out this year!), the school break, the family expectations I already knew I wouldn’t meet.

Over the last year, I have softened, surrendered, and smiled. My life went rather sideways in 2022. It often needs to go sideways, into ways we can’t plan or foresee, into ways we can’t brace for, in order for real interior changes to take place. Otherwise “soften, surrender, and smile” would go on a list and just be piled over. Undone and ignored.

I resigned from a very meaningful and involved job almost a year ago on the nose, our daughter was sick, so chronically ill that she was out of the classroom a considerable amount of time, I embarked on a 19th annotated retreat, and I left social media for 6 months (facebook, never coming back sorrybye).

What I thought I was doing, God was undoing. What I thought I was building toward, He was setting back down. What I thought I was planning, He was gently unwinding.

I’ve written a lot here in the last year (archive dive!). My surrender, and the freedom of not being in charge of the plan, has brought about a softening of my tendencies toward rigidity and given me a rueful smile that His plan trumps, always.

My current work is flexible and fascinating, helping shape, support, and build communities for a Catholic non-profit. There’s the gift of being appreciated, praised, and seen for what I contribute, but more deeply, there’s the detachment from my productivity as a gauge of my value. I tell my team often that I’m happy that I’m here to help. That’s about it. Happy to help. No agenda. Just doing what’s been offered to me.

But my Advent this year has looked like different. Not because I’m doing anything differently, but because I’m letting Him do everything differently. I’m staying in His will, in His mind. That place of intimacy gives me utter freedom. Instead of asking Him for help, I’m asking Him to do it.

Auto-immune pain flared this week? Jesus, You are feeling it; You run the household.
Chronic pain on the rise for our daughter? Jesus, You are feeling it; You comfort her.
Holiday frazzle with teacher gifts (junior high why you got like 8 teachers man) and meal prep for family dinners? Jesus, You want me to love these people; You love them.

So as you end your Advent, this time of liturgical waiting, maybe more waiting will unfold in front of you.

Ask Him to do it. When you feel pain, He feels pain. When you suffer, He suffers. Whatever you’re waiting for, a beloved, healing, a new job, a diagnosis, that means He is waiting. Turn it over to Him and rest. He will do it.

Live in this freedom.

Love,

Nell

ps. I’m back on instagram like a week before I said I would be (wow hello) because I wanted to write all this down while it was pressing on my heart. So come say hiiiiiiii!