As you grow up, you’ll find that patience is hard. Waiting for something great to happen means enduring a temporary boredom, a time of lesser importance. In these minutes that compile into days, and sometimes, even days that compile into years, it’s easy to compare your current status to a happier past or a potentially happier future. You’ll live according to an agenda scribbled onto a calendar full of tasks and goals and before you know it, your life turns into a kind of self-perpetuated purgatory -- a waiting room that shelters you from the consequences of lack of preparation, but leaves you dissatisfied and distressed.
As your three teenage sisters sat in the waiting room, our mom and dad off in a room behind two swinging doors, you were completely unaware of the life anticipating you. There was a crib that emerged from 15 years of retirement for you. Grandma’s hand-sewn baby blanket was hanging over the side of your crib. There was a spot especially saved for you in all of our hearts -- even if this was late to recognition.
The first glimpse of you possessed a certain permanence that assured us we’d know you forever. You were a living, breathing gift that would grow, learn, teach and love. Your round, pink stomach slowly bobbed up and down, your eyes were still closed to the world that had been waiting for you. You hadn’t yet seen Mom’s smile or felt Dad’s hug. You didn’t know a thing about me; I didn’t know a thing about you. You were a mystery.
I was 18 years old and months away from leaving home while you were making your grand entrance. You reintroduced our parents to the childhood I was leaving behind, and while I was excited to venture out into the world, the nervous part of me was fairly jealous of the security upon which you were embarking.
Everyone worries about the future. We prefer rules and structure to keep the order and to maintain our sanity. But the old saying, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans,” does hold a firm truth. There are unexpected curveballs that will interfere with a perfectly constructed agenda, and those are the things that will interrupt your life’s periods of waiting. In those moments, your attention focuses to the present, and the mystery of the now overshadows the anxiety of the future. Then, minutes turn to days, and days turn to years, and those mysterious moments -- the ones that are inspiring enough to be treasured -- constitute your past.
The dates when your tiny fist first clenched my finger, when you walked completely unassisted for the very first time, and when you ran into the kitchen to wrap your arms around my knees and say, “I love you so much,” were never written on the calendar. The genuine gestures of your acts came with time, and when they did happen, they happened without intention to please. They were raw elements of life unfolding in the most authentic and glorious of ways.
The best thing about the unexpected is that they require no waiting. An empty nest may not have been in mom and dad’s immediate future, but we all thank God that your stork eventually found its way. Be patient, but don’t be waiting, and understand that it’s the mystery of the unknown that makes life an adventure. You’re a testament to that.
