Kristin loves Jesus. That's the main thing about her. She is married to Austin and lives in Austin. Together, they raise two daughters, Ryen (4) and Remi (2) and are pumped to welcome a baby boy come June of 2019. She spent all her post-grad working life serving in sports ministry with FCA, but is finding new joy in her role as wife/mom/daughter/friend/neighbor.  Things she loves: writing, speaking, peanut butter, being by the water, good questions, and slowing down her life (well, learning that last one.)

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THE WAITING ROOM

I began to write this little piece on a perfect April day in Texas. I flicked on the french coffee shop playlist on Spotify and selected the shadiest mini picnic table right outside of Mozart’s along Lady Bird Lake in Austin. The breeze carried notes of late spring and weathered wood. With my laptop propped open and my legs crossed, I prayed- God, what do you want to tell your kids? I start many writing pieces or chances to speak this way. I could guess, but how much better is it when he reveals?

So as I started typing on the black keys of my computer my heart silently whispered how I trusted him. I trusted him to show up, to take over my words, to encourage souls, to draw his kids a side-step closer to himself. When my heart whispers prayers of trust, time seems to slow down just a bit. Even if my heart is trying to trick my body, or my mind into trusting- it doesn’t matter. Time seems a little more tangible and a little less slippery. 

I think it’s because an ongoing, trust-conversation with Jesus is where we are meant to live. It may just be how we accomplish the ever-elusive task of present living. 

These days I’m paying special attention to anything that seems to make life slow down. Because that’s where I inevitably find God. And where God is found, his fruit follows. Fruit like peace. Like real, actual love. Like genuine joy. Like kindness without agenda. Fruit that tastes sweeter than I remember because it’s been awhile since I’ve taken a bite. 

Patience, though. This fruit of God’s spirit seems to be spiritually creeping into every corner of my daily living. 

My second daughter, Remi, insists on getting herself in her own carseat as of late. This means if I don’t plan an extra four to seven minutes each car ride, we’ll be late. She dawdles. She looks back for reassurance. She makes sure I don’t help even a little bit. And FINALLY when she is seated in her seat, she blends English’s Ta-Da! Into one, amazing toddler word, "TAAA!" Arms out, eyes wide, waiting for just how impressed I should be with her. 

My reactions range. Based off of just how much flesh vs spirit is winning in my heart that day. 

Patience.

Patience is making time slow down when all I want to do is go. Patience is the uncomfortable truth that maybe I don’t know the best timing for a decision, answered prayer, or speed of someone else’s actions. Patience means I’m able to be busy but not rushed. Living with purpose without living hurried. Patience sees the potential in the moment now without being seduced by the worry of the future or the shame of the past.

Patience can make my skin crawl and my breath deepen all at the same time. It makes my skin crawl when I attempt it on my own. Through fake smiles and foot tapping. Pretending I am JUST FINE with the speed of the circumstances around me. It doesn’t work this way and it doesn’t last. Patience makes my breath deepen when I let God do his full work in me using this tool. I relax in patience when I finally surrender to his timing, his control, his overall betterment for my life. Even though I act contrary to this truth: he is much smarter than me. He always has been and he always will be. 

I have some cool dreams and goals that God knows about. In fact, I believe he put them deep within me when he knit me together. But lately doors have been closing, time has been slipping, and each action step has felt forced and leads to ’no where.' Maybe you’ve been there. Or maybe you’re there now. You know, the waiting room. The space where you have ideas, passions and maybe even plans on how to get to certain place, become a certain person, or achieve a certain thing. But the only thing you’ve received back from heaven is a word that makes us roll our spiritual eyes: wait.

The waiting room means you’re at the mercy of someone or something besides yourself. Waiting can feel dangerously passive. Lazy almost. Like you’re being taken advantage of or you’re unimportant. But when God is the one calling out our name, we need not worry about any of these lies. Waiting while under the care and kindness of God is purposeful and even practical. It does stuff in us that no other room or space could. We just can’t see it.

Waiting gives legs to the trust we claim. It grows deep-rooted faith in the shallow parts of our souls. It’s the good stuff even though it feels like the hard, unnecessary, excruciating stuff.  

So, I ask you: what are you waiting for? Whom are you waiting on? How’s that been going? Where are you wishing time away instead of whispering prayers of trust (even if they don’t yet feel authentic)? Where does patience in God’s power need to replace worry/striving/hustle in your own power? 

Maybe it’s time to wait. To wait in trust and trust in wait. God is found there. In the less flashy and less instant. He dwells richly there- in the waiting room. In his power he promises your strength. Patiently. Let's become good- better even- in the waiting space. 

"Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength." Isaiah 40:31(NASV)

Thanks Kristin!