I spend so much time here but I couldn’t really tell you what it looks like. Not the way that I can tell you the desk in my bedroom is cluttered and filled with unfinished projects or how I could tell you that there are bright yellow flowers in the garden in the spring and burnt orange flowers there in the fall. I don’t pay much attention to this room because I spend most of my time trying to find a way out.
God calls this room my “waiting room”. To me, my waiting room feels more like a prison. Except it’s pretty easy to escape from, considering I do it all the time. The problem is, all the windows and doors I unlock as I sneak out of this room bever lead anywhere good. And then, I always end up back here.
It’s been this way my whole life. I’m here right now, but my hand’s on the door handle again. But where will this door lead me? I’m not sure, but it seems almost inevitable that I’ll end up back here, filled with more shame and regret and frustration. I could turn around and try to see why God wants me here, but even the thought makes me anxious.
Stay here?? But, it’s so small.
Well… maybe not as small as I imagined. I guess some might even consider it cozy. It’s a bit dirty, probably from all the years I’ve neglected it. But it’s not too bad.
There are two chairs and they look pretty comfortable, like you could sit in them for a while and not get sore, or even take a nap. They’re facing each other, and there’s a small table in between, like a set up for coffee with a friend.
And when you’re not more focused on crawling out of it, the view from the window is actually pretty nice.
Then there’s the door. The big one. It’s wide, and grand, and made of oak, and has gold trim. The handiwork of a master carpenter. I’m guessing that’s the door I’m actually supposed to leave out of, but it’s locked and as far as I’ve looked there’s no key. But I’ve always wondered where that door led, or what It might take to be able to open it.
Now that I’ve actually taken the time to look around, I think I might have an idea.
I guess God wants me to sit in one of those chairs, and it’s not too hard to figure who the second chair is meant for.
I don’t know why sitting still scares me so much. Maybe I’m afraid that if I sit in that chair I’ll never get back up, and life will go on without me. Or, maybe I’m afraid of what He’ll say, about where that door leads or what it will take to open it. Which doesn’t make sense, because it’s not like my own plans have ever gotten me anywhere.
All I know is, I’m tired of crawling out of windows and opening doors that aren’t meant for me. I’m tired of dead ends and crooked paths that only lead to more confusion and hurt.
I also know that staying still feels like the hardest thing in the world to me because all I’m used to is running away. But I don’t want to run away anymore.
So maybe I’ll clean this place up, and maybe I’ll try to see if I can bring that plant in the corner back to life. And maybe I’ll open the curtains and brew a pot of coffee and sit in one of those chairs…
and I’ll wait.
Because I know He’s waited for me long enough.
