The waiting.

I’m having a fit with God this morning. Like a two-year old, I grind my teeth, furrow my brow, and wail on his tough chest with my small fists. I groan and yell and scream and cry. I throw punches over and over with all the strength I can muster through the tears and tiredness.

I don’t like this, Papa! This is hard. So hard. Make it better!

He kisses my forehead and hugs me tighter. Calm down, baby girl. I know it’s hard. I know it hurts. Be patient. The time will come, but right now I’m growing you. I’m teaching you. This is important. The waiting is important.

I know he is right, but it doesn’t take away the aching in my heart. Hearts weren’t meant to be stretched so far, and that’s what has mine aching; that’s what lies behind these closed fists that I hurl at my Papa. But my tired body can’t do it anymore. I’m exhausted. I give up and curl up in his lap. Tears overflow.

He kisses my forehead again and holds me gently in his strong arms. It’s ok, baby girl. Just rest here for a while. Be my girl. That’s all you have to be right now. Wait here and I’ll tell you when it’s time.

Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD. Psalm 27:14

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