Waiting: Leaning into the Pain

With the global coronavirus pandemic in spring 2020, life stopped. Overwhelmed by the threat of a disease we couldn’t stop and for which we didn’t have the hospital capacity, everyone moved work and school into their homes. We were told our children would be back to school in three weeks. 

By then we’d flatten the curve and life would go back to normal. But as the months passed, as children didn’t return to in-person classrooms in the fall, the waiting for “normal” to return seemed like riding a rollercoaster of depression, anxiety, fear, and listlessness. We could only wait. 

There is a type of waiting where you remain walled off—you distract or numb yourself to move through time faster. You turn in on yourself. You fill up on salty chips, Netflix-bingeing, online political debate, or conjuring up imaginative vacation plans—anything to take you away from your own lack of control, your own unknowing. There is another type of waiting where you lean into the pain to more deeply experience a peace that passes understanding.

This is the sort of waiting we see Jesus do—leaning into his identity as a beloved son, feeding on the Word of God so that it nourishes his very body. This is the deep work of waiting, and while it feels barren, it strips us of our comforts so we can see what we’re actually feeding on. It’s a gift to feel our hunger pains and, as children, to expect God will feed us.