Wait
Author Unknown
Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried: Quietly, patiently, lovingly God replied. I plead and I wept for a clue to my fate, And the Master so gently said, "Child, you must wait."
"Wait, You say, wait!" my idignant reply. "Lord, I need answers, I need to know why! Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard? By faith, I have asked, and am claiming Your Word.
My future and all to which I can relate hangs in the balance, and YOU tell me to WAIT? I'm needing a "Yes", a go-ahead sign, or even a "No" to which I can resign.
And Lord, You promised that if we believe we need but to ask, and we shall receive. And Lord, I've been asking, and this is my cry "I'm weary of asking! I need a reply!"
Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate as my Master replied once again, "You must wait." So, I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut and grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting . . . for what?"
He seemed then to kneel and His eyes wept with mine, and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign. I could shake the heavens, and darken the sun. I could raise the dead, and cause mountains to run.
All you seek, I could give, and pleased you would be. You could have what you want~ but, you wouldn't know Me. You'd not know the depth of My love for each saint; you'd not know the power I give to the faint;
You'd not learn to see through the clouds of despair; you'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there; you'd not know the joy of resting in Me; when darkness and silence were all you could see.
You'd never experience that fullness of love as the peace of My Spirit descends like a dove; You'd know that I give and I save, for a start, but you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.
The glow of my comfort late into the night, the faith that I give when you walk without sight, the depth that's beyond getting just what you asked of an infinite God, who makes what you have last.
You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee, what it means that, "My grace is sufficient for thee." Yes, your dreams for your loved one overnight would come true.
But, Oh, the Loss! If I lost what I'm doing in you!
So, be silent, My child, and in time you will see that the greatest of gifts is to get to know Me and though oft' may My answers seem terribly late, My most precious answer of all is still, "Wait."
A Variation on "Footprints"
Author unknown
"Now imagine you and the Lord Jesus walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace. But your prints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures and returns.
For much of the way it seems to go like this. But gradually, your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently. You and Jesus are walking as true friends. This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: your footprints that once etched the sand next to the Master's are now walking precisely in His steps. Inside His larger footprints is the small 'sandprint', safely enclosed. You and Jesus are becoming one.
This goes on for many miles. But gradually you notice another change. The footprint inside the larger footprint seems to grow larger. Eventually it disappears altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.
Again, this goes on for a long time. But then something awful happens.
The second set of footprints is back. And this time it seems even worse. Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Deep gashes in the sand. A veritable mess of prints.
You're amazed and shocked. But this is the end of your dream. Now you speak. 'Lord, I understand the first scene with the zigzags and fits and starts and so on. I was a new Christian, just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with you.'
'That is correct.'
'Yes, and when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps. I followed You very closely.'
'Very good. You have understood everything so far.'
'Then the smaller footprints grew and eventually filled in with Yours. I suppose that I was actually growing so much that I was becoming like you in every way.'
'Precisely.'
'But this is my question. Lord.. Was there a regression or something? The footprints went back to two, and this time it was worse than the first.'
The Lord smiles, then laughs. 'You didn't know?' He says. 'That was when we danced'."
For He will turn your mourning into dancing!
"TABLE FOR TWO"
He sits by himself at a table for two. The uniformed waiter returns to his side and asks, "Would you like to go ahead and order, sir?" The man has, after all, been waiting since seven o'clock--almost half an hour. No, thank you," the man smiles. "I'll wait for her a while longer. How about some more coffee?"
"Certainly, sir."
The man sits, his clear blue eyes gazing straight through the flowered centerpiece. He fingers his napkin, allowing the sounds of light chatter, tinkling silverware, and mellow music to fill his mind. He is dressed in sport coat and tie. His dark brown hair is neatly combed, but one stray lock insists on dropping to his forehead. The scent of his cologne adds to his clean-cut image. He is dressed up enough to make a companion feel important, respected, loved. Yet he is not so formal as to make one uncomfortable. It seems that he has taken every precaution to make others feel at ease with him. Still, he sits alone. The waiter returns to fill the man's coffee cup. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?"
"No, thank you."
The waiter remains standing at the table. Something tugs at his curiosity. "I don't mean to pry, but..." His voice trails off. This line of conversation could jeopardize his tip. "Go ahead," the man encourages. His is strong, yet sensitive, inviting conversation.
"Why do you bother waiting for her?" the waiter finally blurts out. This man has been at the restaurant other evenings, always patiently alone. Says the man quietly, "Because she needs me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir, no offense, but assuming that she needs you, she sure isn't acting much like it. She's stood you up three times just this week."
The man winces, and looks down at the table. "Yes, I know." "Then why do you still come here and wait?"
"Cassie said that she would be here."
"She's said that before," the waiter protests. "I wouldn't put up with it. Why do you?" Now the man looks up, smiles at the waiter, and says simply, Because I love her."
The waiter walks away, wondering how one could love a girl who stands him up three times a week. The man must be crazy, he decides. Across the room, he turns to look at the man again. The man slowly pours cream into his coffee. He twirls his spoon between his fingers a few times before stirring sweetener into his cup. After staring for a moment into the liquid, the man brings the cup to his mouth and sips, silently watching those around him. He doesn't look crazy, the waiter admits. Maybe the girl has qualities that I don't know about. Or maybe the man's love is stronger than most. The waiter shakes himself out of his musings to take an order from a party of five. The man watches the waiter, and wonders if he's ever been stood up.
The man has, many times. But he still can't get used to it. Each time, it hurts. He's looked forward to this evening all day. He has many things, exciting things, to tell Cassie. But, more importantly, he wants to hear Cassie's voice. He wants her to tell him all about her day, her triumphs, her defeats....anything, really. He has tried so any times to show Cassie how much he loves her. He'd just like to know that she cares for him, too.
He sips sporadically at the coffee, and loses himself in thought, knowing that Cassie is late, but still hoping that she will arrive. The clock says nine-thirty when the waiter returns to the man's table.
"Is there anything I can get for you?" The still empty chair stabs at the man. "No, I think that will be all for tonight. May I have the check please?"
"Yes, sir."
When the waiter leaves, the man picks up the check. He pulls out his wallet and signs. He has enough money to have given Cassie a feast. But he takes out only enough to pay for his five cups of coffee and the tip. Why do you do this, Cassie? His mind cries as he gets up from the table.
"Good-bye," the waiter says, as the man walks towards the door.
"Good night. Thank you for your service."
"You're welcome, sir," says the waiter softly, for he sees the hurt in the man's eyes that his smile doesn't hide. The man passes a laughing young couple on his way out, and his eyes glisten as he thinks of the good time he and Cassie could have had. He stops at the front and makes reservations for tomorrow. Maybe Cassie will be able to make it, he thinks.
"Seven o'clock tomorrow for party of two?" the hostess confirms.
"That"s right," the man replies. "Do you think she'll come?" asks the hostess. She doesn't mean to be rude, but she has watched the man many times alone at his table for two. "Someday, yes. And I will be waiting for her." The man buttons his overcoat and walks out of the restaurant, alone. His shoulders are hunched, but through the windows the hostess can only guess whether they are hunched against the wind or against the man's hurt.
As the man turns toward home, Cassie turns into bed.. She is tired after an evening out with friends. As she reaches toward her night stand to set the alarm, she sees the note that she scribbled to herself last night. It says: 7:00 PM 'Spend some time in prayer.'
Darn, she thinks. She forgot again. She feels a twinge of guilt, but quickly pushes it aside. She needed that time with her friends. And now she needs her sleep. She can pray tomorrow night. Jesus will forgive her. And she's sure he doesn't mind.
