The Waiting

This morning began as all mornings have recently, up well before I need to be and in some pain.

My body never relaxes in sleep these days and that could be for a number of reasons. I am betting on one too many rum and cokes before bed.

I wasn’t going to entertain facebook today. I had spent a fair amount of time yesterday reading up on Holy Saturday and listening to Father James Martin’s book Last Seven Words, in a meditative format.

I did check messenger though and I had some lovely words from beautiful people who took the time to say they were thinking about Beatrice and me. I cannot tell you what this means. My niece’s message was the real game changer though. Up until her thoughtfulness, I had seriously considered not getting dressed nor doing a whole helluva lot for the rest of this day.

But when a young mother of three has to leave her family on Easter morning, don a protective face mask for work, and yet still thinks to reach out to her grieving auntie and cousin through all of that, I say it’s time to get my ass in gear.

I had a little cry, my sweet Angel, and finished my Neil Gaimen book. Then Beatrice and I bathed Sally for the first time! And before you knew it, I was posting pictures of our experience. I can never not be involved in the buzz of the day, not for too long anyway!

And then we were hungry. I made this fabulous sausage and egg sandwich, about as good as any Pat has made, and while I was waiting for it to fry, up popped this divine picture of him, on the first day of fishing season. The perfect profile picture.

And just like that the day is halfway over with Dr.Who and takeout turkey dinner to look forward to yet.

In his writing, Father James Martin talks about the different types of waiting: the wait of despair, the wait of passivity, and the wait of hope. I think we know all three rather intimately, don’t you? I have experienced all, several times over, in anticipation of this holiday that marks our first year without Pat.

Would we be like Jesus’ disciples as they huddled in hiding after His crucifixion, waiting in fear of what lay ahead? Would I be willing to just let the day come to Beatrice and me, and act accordingly without any plans one way or the other? Did I have any hope left at this point to even put a positive spin on this anniversary of sorts?

Can I just say that through the acts of questioning and meditating in the days leading up to the event, it provided me with the ability to see the hope as it landed in my lap: that message from Angel, my empath. Sometimes we are called to work a little harder for the ones we love, for the people whose love we remember, and especially for ourselves. But we are never expected to do it on our own. I believe that Jesus comes to us in so many forms, and sometimes very directly, as this message did this morning.

Hope is the thing that sustains me right now, and I am getting used to the waiting, with my ever developing faith, although I can still find myself pushing for answers from unwilling sources.

But I am really beginning to understand that it will be during the wait that the best solutions will arrive…

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