In the winter of life,
we often feel powerless,
stuck inside the house,
gazing with glazed eyes
at the cold, lifeless landscape
through a silted window,
waiting for snow to melt
as days pass slowly,
everything still looking bleak.
Days roll into months;
we let out a deep sigh.
Such is the season of our soul
when we are called to wait,
not knowing an end date
(or if there was one).
A delay programmed
by a kind creator,
to miss arbitrary timelines,
a delay by design.
The spirit is called to endure,
anchored on the promise
of God and His timing,
to persevere in
faith and prayer.
The heart is called
to guard itself from despair
and numbness,
as it hopes against hope
for the coming of
those good things
promised to those who wait.
However,
it is not the price paid for what is got,
but for who we become
in the waiting season.
