August 28, 2009

• Waiting

  

  I don’t know of a person who enjoys waiting.  Sitting in a waiting room at the dr’s office or at the airport or train station seems to take up a great deal of my time lately.  I should think that it would be the vehicle for teaching me a great deal of patience.  Unfortunately it hasn’t done that, quite the converse has happened.  All the waiting that I have ever done has only made me more impatient.  Impatient with other people, the other inhavitants of the human race.  I could write a book about all that I have seen and heard in waiting rooms.  The complaints of people who know what they are going to experience while they are waiting.  Let’s face it folks, you are going to have to sit there and wait your turn to be called so just resign yourself to that fact, shut up, and sit quietly until you are called.  Why not bring a book to read or pick up a magazine. 

  But that is not what I am thinking of here, I am only distracting myself from the issue at hand.  My son is being prepped for surgery as I write this.  That fact alone is making this waiting stuff harder to bear.  Usually I am the one on the gurney waiting to go under the knife.  In the last 26 years and 6 children we have been blessed to have only one of them have a major procedure and the rest of them have only had to have stitches for minor injuries.  With the number of boys that I have raised that is a miracle in itself.  Waiting for your child to go into the OR is a terrible thing.  When it is me I get nervous thinking about the dumbest things.  I am not afraid of pain or of dying but rather of my family being inconvenienced by me being out of comission for the time it takes for me to heal.  Am I indispensible, no.  Are they incapable of doing without me, no.  They have all been trained to function on their own.  It is a matter of my upbringing and, yes I admit it, my pride.  I dislike being taken care of.

  This time it is my son.  I know too much.  Through my mind trails all of the possibilities.  It is a minor surgery but it is anesthesia, none the less.  So here I sit, praying and fretting.  O, Lord, hold him in your hand.  Guide the hand of the surgeon.  Bring him through to serve you another day.

  • 11:07 am
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