I really, really, really hate waiting rooms.
If you haven't spent much time in waiting rooms Ill give you a quick snap shot.
Usually there are some very uncomfortable wool or vinyl covered honey oak chairs from the 90s that all sit in rows, like a strange set of church pews. And in this peculiar sanctuary, almost everyone is silently praying as they hold various versions of outdated magazines open in their laps. Between each person there is at least a one chair gap. This is necessary for the accompanying worry that tags along with each individual- It [worry] requires its own chair because, as everyone knows, it is very rude to crowd someone else's anxiety.
I'm quite convinced that the air in waiting rooms is actually different than the air elsewhere. Its tinged with something strange and sickly... and the more time I spend in these terrible places the more I am convinced that it is actually the tangible exhales of each person's worry panting in the spare chairs.
And the thing with waiting rooms is that you have to WAIT. Whether you are there for five minutes or five hours, it undoubtably will feel as if time has ceased to move altogether. And maybe it has. Clocks don't tick the same in waiting rooms.
Waiting rooms are the worst.
I have spent an inordinate amount of time in waiting rooms. I actually have a "regular" spot at several different hospital and clinics. I have one of those nice waiting room attendants who knows I take Lorna Doone cookies from the snack bar each time I'm there (in really bad situation waiting rooms they give you refreshments so that you can nervously stuff your face while you wait). Which is straight up sad.
I hate waiting rooms. But I seem to be living in them these days. And not just physically.
When I'm not in the physical waiting room, I'm in the metaphysical waiting room. I'm waiting for healing. I'm waiting for answers. I'm waiting for comfort. I'm waiting for blessing. I'm waiting for hope. I'm waiting for heaven.
I'm always waiting for something and it turns out I'm not a very patient person.
If I close my eyes I can see myself sitting in the waiting room of life. A sea of uncomfortable chairs and desperate souls seated with their accompanying shadow of worry. How do I get out?
T.S. Elliot once wrote in the Four Quartets:
"I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away... But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought,for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing."
Waiting rooms are filled with the movement of darkness on darkness; anxiety on anxiety; fear on fear. We think about what ifs, and how longs, why mes. Our thinking fuels our pesky neighbor, worry. And worry, he grows.
Dear friend who is in the waiting room- "Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought". Still your mind, stop feeding your worry. Look at the dark scene before you and trust that the darkness is but a shifting of scenery, a change in the act. And in the meantime, "faith and love and hope are all in the waiting... so the darkness shall be light, and the stillness dancing."
I believe that in the midst of the physical or emotional waiting room there can be faith and hope and love. Believe that in the darkness of waiting God is changing your story. That this room will not be forever, even if it seems the clock has stopped ticking. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (John 1:5).