Photo: Leslie Biggar, Sakura Photography.


I’m the antsy type.

When my bank told me this week that my credit card had been “compromised” and they had to cancel it (ie, someone tried to use its numbers for their own gain), and that it would take 7-10 business days to send me a new one, I was annoyed, even though I rarely use it.

When I stand at the bus stop, I always call the bus company and get the approximate time of arrival, even though it won’t make the bus come any faster.

When the lineup to the ladies’ room at the gas station is too long, I simply use the men’s.

And when I have a plan to do something, it overtakes everything else in my mind – I want it to happen now.

For the past three weeks, I’ve been waiting for my hip to heal, after sustaining an injury at work. Three weeks of doing nothing strenuous, three weeks of asking my husband to do the heavy lifting, three weeks of thrice-weekly visits to a physiotherapist and slow, slow progress.

But I shouldn’t complain. My mom has been waiting even longer. She’s been waiting years for a diagnosis of something tangible and curable, she’s waited months to see the right doctors, and she’s waited weeks for surgery.

And she’s practiced great patience in her life – putting her life into teaching, and then waiting for her children to grow up, and out of their bratty, rebellious, trying phases. (Actually, my brother and sister were angels. I had all the phases.) Waiting in faith for finances, waiting for reconciliation and new hope.

She’s been waiting patiently for a great many things, and today, something big is happening.

So while she’s on the operating table, I’m happy to do her waiting for her. I don’t know when the surgery will be finished, or how long recovery will take, but I’m willing to wait and pray with her on these things. She’s given me so much grace, and waited on me while I’ve been a distant and distracted daughter, and I’m honored to be able to wait with her today.

Her standard response when we’d come to her with plans and requests was “we’ll see.” In fact, when my father proposed, she smiled demurely and said, “We’ll see.”

We’ll see. Sometimes, it means yes. Sometimes it means maybe, and sometimes it simply means, have patience. Sometimes, it means refocus, letting possibilities you hadn’t considered come into view. It’s also an invitation – to wait together, to be a part of a process as a “we,” to see things unfold as a family.

How long will it be before she’s in full health?

We’ll see. Together, we’ll see.