Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Today is a waiting room. I'm waiting on an appointment, with whom I'm not too sure. Well--that is, this expectant feeling can be chalked up to: a reply to a request for some advice that will lead to radical financial changes; a reply from IT saying they're coming to fix my monitor that is determined to display everything as if it were Super Mario Bros, circa 1989; an extra pair of hands to help me over the next step in this project; a student worker so that I have someone else to talk to. All of these things may or may not happen today, so I'll meet them again when I walk through this door tomorrow. Known waiting, known response.

At home, I'll walk into another waiting room. But there I'm less certain of what it will be for. For a phone call? A half-finished project or a half-read book? Enlightenment? Visitors? The exact dinner I want? My intuition--the indwelling of the Holy Spirit?--insists on "Wait. Wait." Wait? When I want to run on and meet whatever is coming. When I know I'm not, mysteriously, equipped for it.

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