Waiting

March 2025. Philosophy.

You're sitting outside the restaurant. Or maybe it's the café. Take your pick.

It's a nice day. Maybe that means it's sunny and warm. You're wearing a cute t-shirt. Maybe that means it's cold and rainy. You have on a cozy sweater. It's a nice day, anyway, whatever that means to you.

You got there early. How early is up to you. Maybe you're the kind of person who's usually late. Just imagine this. Everything you need to do - finished your assignment, turned the oven off, a quick touch-up for your hair and makeup. It's all done and you still have plenty of time. So you go. You walk. You take your time. You enjoy the weather, because remember, it's a nice day. Look at all the beautiful things God made. Isn't this nice?

Then you get there and sit down. You might be the kind of person who's impatient or late, but just imagine this. You want to be there. You know it's gonna take a while. You want it to take a while. Life takes a while. Life is always taking a while. Sometimes we lose track of the while that life is taking. When you wait, you can get back to that. The fundamental rhythm.

Waiting is the bag of chocolate chips on the shelf in the fridge on the morning of the day you're going to bake cookies. But you're going to bake them in the evening. Look at you whizzing around, going to school, taking care of the kids, working a job, cleaning around the house, walking the dog. The chocolate chips will still be there, along with the flour and eggs and sugar. Delicious and full of potential. They could sit there all day and still be just as delicious. They don't mind.

Waiting is the dug-out, the place you go before you step up to the plate, and the place you come back to after you've made it home. Or after you've struck out or been tagged. Either way, here you are. Waiting doesn't judge. It always has a place for you.

So you're sitting outside the restaurant and you're exactly where you're supposed to be. The friend you're going to meet - they're not here yet. They're on their way. Or not. You don't know. You don't need to know. You're not going to check your phone. You're not going to say, "I'm here. were r u" 

Why should you? Why should you disrupt the fundamental rhythm?

The tide is going out. It comes in waves. The first wave isn't always the biggest. Sometimes it's the fourth or fifth. The waves are restless. The waves tell you to tap your foot, drum your fingers, stand up and stretch. The waves whisper "why," "how," and "who." They say it isn't enough. They point out all the cracks in the pavement and the dried up gum stains on the concrete. But you don't give them much thought. You just let them come, and recede. Wash up, wash down. A little louder, a little quieter. And a little quieter.

And then, if you've waited long enough, you start to believe. You're exactly where you're supposed to be. And maybe there's something so beautiful about waiting that time will take a lunch break. The same cars will drive past. The same people laugh as they walk to and fro. The same squirrels run up and down the trees. The same birds will chirp. The snowflakes twirl; or the dry leaves fall; or the flowers bloom; or the green leaves dance and shine. How pretty! The breeze will stir your hair and clothes and everything will be exactly as it should be. There's Time, sitting at the chair across from you with a grilled turkey sandwich.

"Isn't this a nice day?" he asks between crunchy bites.

You nod. "How's the hot chocolate?"

Time wipes the whipped-cream moustache off his upper lip. How many times have you seen that face? You love his stupid little grin.

The very fabric of reality will crystalize and gain a new level of texture, like putting your hand on the table and realizing the marble is real, not just printed on, and it has grains, substance, tiny edges too sharp to hurt and tiny pearls too small to be soft. You could spend a lifetime memorizing those little details, the nooks and crannies of time. That's what waiting is for.

Sometimes you might slip out of the zone. The waves start creeping back in. But you know exactly what to do. Nothing. Let them come. They'll have their fun. They'll say whatever they think is important. They'll make a fuss. Let them. Why shouldn't you? It's not like you're in charge. This time isn't yours. God gives you every heartbeat and every breath.

Our Father is patient. The least we can do is try to be like Him.