the art of waiting

I have spent the last week,

hour after hour,

through long days

and sleepless nights

listening to fleeting breaths. 

Watching the woman who first saw me enter the world,

exit it.

Her chest rises and falls in laboured effort;

humanity battling eternity

to its bitter end.

And as I sit,

holding the hand

that first held me,

I watch the strength

dissolve from her being.

The warmth of life

fade from her limbs.

Her earthly body

prepare for her heavenly one.

There is a wealth of years

collected in this fragile frame.

Her intensely blue eyes

that have witnessed

days of war,

immigration,

prosperity,

hardship,

love,

sickness, 

death -

gaze out at the world

with weary finality.

Her silent lips

that have told many a story.

Her heart,

slowing its pace in expectation,

that has held many a story back.

I have witnessed

that death is no respecter of persons.

It doesn't play to our schedules

or conveniences.

It is not easy.

It is not pretty.

It keeps it's own time.

I have realized

we are trained for expediency in our life.

We're uncomfortable

with the struggling.

The waiting.

The dying. 

I have learned

the challenge of shutting out the busyness of life

to be still

for hours…

days…

weeks…

and wait in the presence of death.

I won't pretend to understand the suffering,

but one thing I do know:

the journey has given us time

to share,

to grieve,

to walk through this season

together.

It is not always about the easiest pathway…

it is about the things you learn along the way,

and the gift of time spent with loved ones.

God is perfect in timing.

Even if it's not our own.

And so I pray…

For the patience to wait.

For the strength to persevere.

For peace that passes understanding.

For mercy in death.

For the promise of all things new.