Wanting. Waiting.

Lord Jesus, teach me to pray unceasingly, expectantly, leaning forward to wait with my eyes wide open. I don't want to miss seeing what You do.

I often fall into praying for my will to be done. (So human of me.) 

Surely what I want is good, right? It feels that way. 

I can reason out that if this whatever it is were to take place, it would help. All the circumstances point to it.

Yet as I pray fervently for it to come, I'm transported through time. I'm ten, swinging my feet as I sit in the pew. I want to go play, to escape the somber grown-up world. You, my Daddy, lean forward to place a hand on my shoulder, giving me a look that firmly and lovingly says, “Wait.” 

But I want it now. 

Wait, You assure me. Wait.

Ten fades, the fifty-odd intervening years resume their weight of reality, and I read:

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.

For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

2 Corinthians 4:18

The here-and-now can be so persuasive. What I lack presses on my thoughts, goading me, a constantly recurring frisson of anxiety nipping at parts inside me, the not-yet-here robbing me of peace.

On the days when I perceive life as going the way I think it should, I feel happy, yet I know that happiness is time-bound. It has a shallow root—it blooms and fades in a day. 

No, this isn't waiting for the other shoe to drop, it's just a fact that what is seen really is transitory.

Johnathan Edwards said, “Lord, stamp eternity on my eyeballs.” I get that. I want to view life through an eternal lens, focused on the unseen. 

Why does it seem so hard?

I groan again as I realize I have to try.

Lord, self-discipline is a fruit of the Spirit. Let trying grow out of me as naturally as a plum follows the pink blossom of spring. 

I will sit still on my pew, quietly trusting that today is custom made for me. 

Today I have. Don't let me poison it with wanting, when I can rest beside still waters, soul restored.

Each day lean over me, placing Your hand on my shoulder again, teaching me to trust You and wait. 

Remind me: Don't swing your legs, anticipating what hasn't come yet. Lean forward in prayer, yes, but abide in what is now. Today. 

Your will, Lord. Done.