On waiting (and expecting)

The hum of the space heater. The leaves rustling in the wind. The tap tap tap of the keyboard as i type. All of theses sounds keep time for me these days. And time goes by so slowly when I'm anticipating something, waiting for something to happen. I'm on the cusp of something new. I can feel it. I know it deep down inside, in the most hidden part of me that even I have never seen. What is it exactly? I don't know. I'm really unsure. What I do know is that I'm waiting, sometimes patiently, other times quite impatiently, to be honest. And sometimes I feel like I can take it, like I'm not so desperate for change after all. And then there are days like today. My work ethic is stunted, I feel absolutely uninspired to do much of anything except sit and write (and write and write and write some more).

Perhaps the Lord is calling me to give up the drudgery of this job. Perhaps I'm being challenged to do it (and do it well) despite my feelings. But this is more than a feeling. It's a deep longing, a sort of sorrow that with each tick of the clock reminds me that my time is limited. There's only so much time we're all given, and there's really not much we can do to prolong what little of it we have left. There are so many things my heart yearns for, so much so that the time I do spend rarely feels like time well-spent.

There are moments, though, in which things seem just as they should be. It is in those moments that I gain my strength because I know that there is more than this. So much more. The problem is that I don't want to deplete my balance of hours left by spending too many on things I don't care about. I want to stock them away for another day, another project, another time. And yet here I am, stuck providing a service so that I can afford to keep coming to the office to provide a service. What a truly flawed system we've gotten ourselves into. How can this be life to the full? How can this even be life?

Life is full of tears and frustrations, yes, but it's also full of the beauty of redemption, of forgiveness, of the joy that comes when song birds rouse me from my slumber and welcome me to a new day. The simple pleasure of a good cup of coffee sipped over an engaging book. The warm sunlight flickering through the window panes as the BART train passes overhead. In those moments, somehow I know it will all be ok. That it will all work out. That a life lived out of the depths of my heart is the only way to really live.

Today, I choose to live, despite the fact that it's a struggle to survive.