ordinary sacred

A couple years ago, a friend of mine, who is a retired pastor, and I had this exchange:

Me: “I am tired and I don’t know how what I’m supposed to do right now.”

Him: “Well, the Bible says that if we wait on the Lord, we will rise up like eagles, run and not get tired, walk and not faint.”

Me: “Yeah?”

Him: “Are you still walking?”

Me: “I guess, maybe limping.”

Him: “That’s OK. If you are still moving, keep waiting.”

***

Recently life has been moving both incredibly fast and unbearably slow. The days are a big mush of preschool, pastors, therapies and treatments. It’s back and forth and up and down and all over the place. There are days when I am filled with this amazing sense of calm about the path we are on, and days I find myself panicked on my face before God.

But all the while, we know we are moving toward something. We are not “there” yet, but we are headed there. It’s not home yet, but we can see the lights from here. That last leg of a journey is the longest leg. When you can see home, when you can see everything that is good and comfortable, when you know it’s just another turn or a few turns and you’ll be there. But that last leg is so long. And it feels like the turns are endless right now for us. For our son, our little brave boy who has fought so hard to get here, to be here.

But we can see the lights. Some moments it seems like we will never arrive. Other moments it seems like we just have a few more minutes of travel. But we can see the lights.

And each time I wonder if we should take a different path, a different turn, I hear from somewhere deep within me and somewhere apart from me at the same time, to stay on the path. To keep going. Home is near.

So we keep moving. And waiting on God. Waiting for our prayers to come to life as fully as we dream. And finding with each difficult moment of waiting, of anticipation, new strength- just enough to take the next step. Keeping our eyes on the lights of home. We are still moving, so we keep waiting.