While I Wait

Sitting in the crowd watching, as he climbed the mountain to reach for the long awaited promises. 

We wait and we worry, we grumble, and we pray that he hurry.

Waiting has never been our greatest strength, nor is the patience that could have kept us from the desert heat.

Forty long days and nights we wait and the wrestling gets to us, and the people complain, and they can no longer refrain, from bending their knee to the distant nothingness. 

Off their wrists and from around their necks come the thing they think they need, when all they had to do was wait a little longer for the perfection that would have been guarenteed. 

Why is this story, this tale of old, so familiar to me? 

Why is it that we have our own lives written on the pages of history. 

And yet it's in the waiting we lose all our patience, and turn to bow our knee, to anything but what will truly set us free.

I am not one for patience, and yet it should be my very identity. 

I'm not one for waiting even though the one whom I love waited so patiently for me. 

Maybe pain and patience don't walk so well together.

Maybe one will always take the lead. 

It's maybe in the surrender to both, the answers will be. 

Surrender to patience and stand through the pain. 

And maybe as he comes down the mountain with face aglow, he will find me without having taken a knee. 

(This is a spin off the story in Exodus when the people of Israel couldn't wait until Moses came down from Mt. Sinai and some personal touches)