Waiting

A couple weeks ago, I found myself sitting in this room, waiting for the doctor to come in and begin the series of pokes and prods in an effort to figure out what was keeping me under the weather for weeks on end.  I've spent plenty of time in doctors' offices through the years, but most of it has been in a suit and tie with a sales aid in my hand.  The last time I saw a physician on account of my own health was about four years ago, and I count myself blessed and lucky to be in that minority.  Nonetheless, on this particular Friday afternoon, I rolled in to the office 15 minutes early (as requested by the staff), checked in, filled out the bevy of forms, and then proceeded to wait...and wait...and wait...and WAIT.  10 minutes.  20 minutes.  35 minutes.  Nothing.  Now, I've spent plenty of time waiting on docs when I'm on company time, but now that I was on MY time, I was becoming a bit less forgiving.  Finally, I decided I'd had enough and I opened the door and starting wandering down the hallway, looking for someone to complain to.  When I found the medical assistant who checked me in and monitored my blood pressure (slightly elevated - I'm sure the caffeine has nothing to do with that), I asked her in my most polite voice if it was still going to be awhile.  Her stunned, somewhat confused look indicated that she didn't realize I had been waiting this long, and so began her series of apologies and an effort to locate the doc.  We walked back toward the room I had been in and stopped just across the hall, where the doctor was sitting in her chair, dictating chart notes in to her digital recorder.  The MA informed her that she had a patient waiting, and yet again, a look of sheer bewilderment.  "I do?  I didn't realize anyone was waiting."  Nice.  Glad these guys are communicating so well.  We wandered back to the treatment room, and 15 minutes later I was out of there and on my way home.

Waiting is hard.  Sometimes really hard.  I occasionally find myself looking around at the chaos and insanity that surrounds me with 4 kids and a busy life and I think back to the days that became months and then years of waiting to have children join our family.  Such a struggle to understand why something so good that we both wanted was being held from us for what felt like centuries.  There was the waiting for college to be complete, jobs to be offered, and children to arrive.  Waiting for a house to call home, loans to be paid, and burdens to be lifted.  And yet, as I sit here today in the midst of it all, I'm comforted by the fact that there is happiness to be found in waiting.  Active waiting.  The kind of waiting that couples patience with action.  The kind of waiting that sends us out to the hallway to make things happen, instead of sitting on our hands, cursing our fate and wondering at the world's ineptitude.

In his talk entitled "Waiting on the Road to Damascus," President Uchtdorf artistically described active waiting:

One dear sister had been a faithful member of the Church all her life. But she carried a personal sorrow. Years before, her daughter had died after a short illness, and the wounds from this tragedy still haunted her. She agonized over the profound questions that accompany an event such as this. She frankly admitted that her testimony wasn’t what it used to be. She felt that unless the heavens parted for her, she would never be able to believe again. 

So she found herself waiting.

There are many others who, for different reasons, find themselves waiting on the road to Damascus. They delay becoming fully engaged as disciples. They hope to receive the priesthood but hesitate to live worthy of that privilege. They desire to enter the temple but delay the final act of faith to qualify. They remain waiting for the Christ to be given to them like a magnificent Carl Bloch painting—to remove once and for all their doubts and fears.

The truth is, those who diligently seek to learn of Christ eventually will come to know Him. They will personally receive a divine portrait of the Master, although it most often comes in the form of a puzzle—one piece at a time. Each individual piece may not be easily recognizable by itself; it may not be clear how it relates to the whole. Each piece helps us to see the big picture a little more clearly. Eventually, after enough pieces have been put together, we recognize the grand beauty of it all. Then, looking back on our experience, we see that the Savior had indeed come to be with us—not all at once but quietly, gently, almost unnoticed.

It's hard to think of waiting as anything resembling active.  The mere mention of the word sends shivers down spines, as it represents the antithesis to today's instant gratification mindset.  Everything is available soon if we want it and presently if we're willing to pay the "Download Now" fee.  The trick, it seems, is to lengthen our perspective and quicken our feet.  Wait yet keep moving.  See the beauty of the developing mural even as we find ourselves toiling away mixing colors and working in the most remote corner of the room.  Perhaps it's in enjoying ordinary that we find the extraordinary.

For every Paul, for every Enos, and for every King Lamoni, there are hundreds and thousands of people who find the process of repentance much more subtle, much more imperceptible. Day by day they move closer to the Lord, little realizing they are building a godlike life. They live quiet lives of goodness, service, and commitment. They are like the Lamanites, who the Lord said "were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not" (Benson, "A Mighty Change of Heart," Ensign, October 1989).