I promised myself, I wouldn’t count down the weeks.
I promised myself, I wouldn’t get frustrated and wish the birth of our second child early.
Two days ago I broke my promise.
Fat, swollen ankles, legs that feel like they can’t take another step, piles of washing that I am struggling to carry to the line, another dinner waiting to be cooked.
I just want this baby out!
In the midst of my 36 week complaining, I have found a quiet little annoying word that has been growing softly from a whisper to a roar in my heart.
The word resounds in a gentle sentence that settles me ‘Patience my dear child’
I hate this word.
I have never been good at it.
I have an idea, I want to make it straight away.
I have a thought and it bugs me till it is expressed.
All those years of singleness nearly killed me.
It is in the midst of the wait though, that patience is formed.
It is in the midst of the in-between that our character is tested.
It is in the place of stretch that we become.
Patience can only be developed by moments of storm that produce the new season.
Patience is painful, but worth every moment of it’s heavy load.
I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature. Paulo Coelho
When will I ever learn to be content in the wait.
How are you going with waiting?