Waiting... It's a funny thing. There's the hopeful, excited anticipation of those before childbirth: new parents waiting to hear the cry of their infant. There's the waiting of the commuter, irate, as he waits for the delayed train that will bring him late to work. The slightly anxious, but mostly loving, waiting of a mother as she looks down the street after her child's first day of school, waiting to welcome him home to a hug and warm snack. The apprehensive waiting of patient as he awaits the results of a crucial test that could mean life or death. The hopeful waiting, sometimes sad, sometimes mad, but mostly longingly, of a girl waiting to meet her intended and start a new life together.
Is it the incident itself that shapes the flavor of the waiting? Perhaps it's the meaning that we give to the scenario. What is it about waiting that's so inherently frightening? Is it because with every circumstance we don't know exactly when or what will be? It's the lack of control that's scary. Although we recognize that there's a Master Planner in control, it's hard to give up our illusion of control. We want what we think is good for us, and it's hard to reconcile when we can't have it or don't know when we will.
Perhaps we can celebrate the waiting and elevate into something greater, an event of its own.
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