When I was in college I had this journal that I would mostly draw in but sometimes scribble in. One summer I was eager for fall to arrive. I had all sorts of plans about how it would go. I was dreadfully wrong of course. Still. I didn't know that at the time. I had these idealized images in my mind, falling down on my current situation like glorious fall leaves. So I drew them. Reds and oranges. Dark greens with hints of browns. Fall, falling. And then I wrote the hard words. "Wait. For. It."
Later on that same year at the ripe age of 21 I was starting to feel like an old maid. I went to my sixth wedding of close friends and started to lament a future of an empty apartment with many, many cats. So I put the colored pencil to page again and drew the dream: me in a wedding dress standing under an arch. And I wrote the words again. Finding it harder to add them this time. Wait. For. It. A short five years later, yes, only five, I was standing under such an arch. Watching my closest friends, including my older sister, decorate the church for my wedding.
Lastly that year, for it seemed a transitional year indeed, I drew me in my career. For at the time I was just starting out in the process of finishing my educations, doing internships, and embarking on adulthood. Waiting to be what I wasn't quite just yet. So I drew again future me and I wrote again the hard words and I waited. Then. I was.
Currently I am waiting for something else. Something simple to draw and harder to write over, on top, the words. A little house. Wait. For. It.
What if in all the wishing for what I don't yet have I am missing what I do have? That summer I was blessed to spend with my delightful nephew who oh-my-gracious! is turning into a teenager. I got to bond with that little toddler who nick-named me "tee tee" and it was glorious.
As for the husband-wait, well, had I only trusted in the words He told me perhaps it would have been easier. For the next summer he had told me, sweetly, gently, to trust him. That I would get married but I would have a career first. I did not know that my dream of being the stay at home parent would not be possible with my career, that instead I would meet a wonderful man who would assume that role.
And my career? It's stable. It's good. It's perfect for me. Heavens, I need reminding of that, but it is.
So why, oh why, would I think anything differently about our first house? That it won't be perfect for us? The timing of course is the hard part. It always is. Wait for it, Court, and trust him.