When I was home in Texas, my dad was taken into the ER suddenly because his left hand stopped working like it should. The ends of his fingers were numb, and he couldn’t tell if he was grabbing objects even when he was. I met him at the hospital right before he went back, and when we walked into that room the whole atmosphere shifted. The doctors and nurses were in full stroke mode. Smile again. Raise your eyebrows. Close your eyes tight. Squeeze our hands with both hands. Can you feel this on your left side? What about your right? The same tests over and over because they’re trying to figure out what’s happening and they don’t want to waste a minute.
They did a CT scan right away. Scheduled an MRI for the next morning. Transferred him to the MICU for a few days. My dad has stage 4 cancer. It’s in his lungs, liver, bones, and brain. He had just had radiation on the tumor in his brain, and the swelling had gotten significant, which is what caused the symptoms. He was discharged just before Christmas, so we still got to spend Christmas together, and I’m thankful for that. But it made for an eventful holiday.
And it reminded me how quickly life can turn into hospital hallways and waiting rooms and prayers you didn’t plan on praying that week.
In moments like that, you get a front-row seat to finding out what waiting really means. It’s not a Bible-study word anymore. It’s minutes that feel like hours. It’s trying not to read too much into a nurse’s facial expression. It’s your phone in your hand and you keep checking it even though there’s nothing new. It’s the temptation to spiral, and it’s the choice to keep bringing your mind back to what you know is true about God.
Anna fasted and prayed for decades. Simeon waited his whole life. And when the moment finally came, they were ready. Not because they had all the answers, but because they had kept their hearts soft and their eyes on God.
Waiting isn’t wasted when it’s aimed at Jesus.