the waiting place

It's true that sometimes (read: most of the time) I expect God to part the sea before I get there. Move the mountain before I see it. Calm the storm before I get on the boat.

When I packed up my car over a week ago and hit the road, I hoped for some giant drop of revelation to come hurtling out of the sky. Maybe a phone call. Or an e-mail. Maybe an airplane carrying one of those banner ticker-tapes, or a billboard+a song+a random prophet planted in a run-down mom and pop shop. You know —those kind of totally not normal things.

Shock of all shockers, that did not happen. I rolled into New York with nothing more than a revelatory "Hey, it's still winter." We came over the hills, into the valley and I realized I had driven thousands of miles to arrive with no great plan.

And now, I feel like I'm waiting. Perhaps it's the moment inbetween the question and the answer. The smidge of time as Moses drops the staff in the water and for a second, the water doesn't even ripple. The bit of wavering in my voice when I say, "My God is good." The stirring moments as Jesus wakes up from his nap on a storm-riddled sea. He stretches, takes a deep breath and the disciples wring their hands, wondering if he is going to do anything to save their lives.

Today, in the lull of the late afternoon in the country, my sister and I journeyed out for a walk. The hillsides looked ready for spring. Thawed, raw, but rich with fertile soil. A pileated woodpecker zipped over head and we looked for empty robin's nests, tiny blue eggs cracked and left behind. Wind-whipped and red-cheeked, we laughed and looked for green buds at the brook's edge.

Ever feel like you're living and breathing in the inbetween?
Really, honestly, isn't that life? We celebrate, grieve, give thanks, hope...all in this cradled in between.

The ripple is a split-second away. The mountains slowly groan when we say, "yes." And our Savior is not sleeping through our wringing of hands. In fact, it's my guess, He's telling us we can go ahead and stop the wringing. We're turning our hands raw for no reason.

This inbetween is just a second of time in a giant story which really isn't about us anyway.