Waiting is not part of the curse--it is part of paradise

If you are like me—you look at the concept of waiting as if it is some sort of “cosmic time-out” or divine punishment.
It is almost as if you aren’t ready to handle the good you are expecting.
Either that or some character quality in us needs to be perfected until we are “good enough” for it.

Faith and promises can feel like a slippery slop leading to condemnation when waiting for fulfillment.

I have found myself a part of this club for a while. I even have the routinely assigned certificates of condemnation. With pomp and circumstance they branded me with their labels:
You don't have what it takes to receive your blessing
Something is wrong with you
You just need to be refined
When you have grasped enough courage or self-confidence---then you will get what you want.

But now—now something deep inside of me is outright irritated from this mental stronghold.

Waiting is not a punishment. It is not part of the curse—the price men have to pay to get back to Eden. Waiting was already a part of Paradise. It was a symbol of love—patience—perfection. And it began before Eve wiped forbidden fruit juice from off her lips.
And do you know who waited?
God.

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Genesis three recounts God as walking through the Garden in the cool of the day. Scholars and commentaries note this as a routine practice for the Divine. He did not change this practice after Adam and Eve sinned. If that is so—then it speaks volumes to me.

Now I know this concept may seem elementary—but go with me for a second.
The cool of the day.
What is that all about? Commentary writers typically agree this meant late evening.
After all—the cool usually comes after the warm. The language just sort of suggests such logic.

So if God made this a routine and regularly came to mankind late in the day—to walk with them until the brush of star kissed heavens emerged—doesn't it mean he had to wait all day for that time to roll around?
In a sense—when God created the heavens and the earth and spun the galaxies into orbit he constrained himself with the same measures of time he gave to the humanity he created.
And the account of Genesis seems to hint that God placed himself under that same jurisdiction.

I doubt God waited in the garden for the cool of day because something was wrong with him, because he just needed to be refined, or he didn’t have enough courage and self confidence to get what he wanted (i.e. fellowship with his creation).

Waiting is a part of paradise—not a form of the curse.

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So this thought automatically brings up two thoughts.
1.) Why does God wait?
2.) Why is waiting so painful for me?
I believe the pain of waiting comes from the fact that after the fall—waiting got drafted into two mutually exclusive categories.
Divine
Human

Below is the human form.
What might be a form of the curse is the typical type of waiting we usually adhere to.
Anxious waiting.
Desperate wanting without current delivery.
Distant and lingering hope.

So what is the difference between Eden’s waiting and mainstream waiting?
I am highly curious what you might have to say…I would love your comments and thoughts on the matter, it is something I want to explore more and more.

What tears have I

What tears have I which fall like diamonds pure and clear
Evidence or a heart of brokenness
Evidence of a truth which penetrates
Further than any earthly fabrication or snare

If my heart were to be rendered
Would it glow as a ruby?
Free from the taint of sin
Covered in a liberating blood
Would it speak of a freedom purchased long ago

Would my broken cries echo a symphony?
Though they may be muffled requests and torn pleas
Perhaps they would testify of a depth I long for
Yet a vocabulary which can not contain

What tears have I which fall like diamonds pure and clear
Evidence or a heart of brokenness
Evidence of a truth which penetrates
Further than any earthly fabrication or snare

Trust=Dancing

She was on the dance floor.
She might have seemed out of place—some said she didn’t belong, didn’t fit in—but this was not her concern. She moved with her head held in confidence, yet stunning humility.
A pure light seem to flow from the edges of her flowing white skirt as it yielded to her ever turning movement.

She moved freely—barefoot—full of liberty to dance where few men dared and even fewer continued to follow.
And she danced the fullness of life. Her day to day habits, joys, motions were now here—present inside this life dance.
It was a symbol of her continuous yielding.

She took a step. Eyes closed—the music filled her ears, guided her steps. She was in perfect tune—awaiting the rhythmic leading which would light her next movement. The entire motion of her body came from the heart of Another.
His pulse was her rhythm.
His will— the motion of her steps.
His vision— the glint in her eyes.

Though her upward eyes may rain with crystalline tears—evidence of a pierced heart, which longs to trust, yet doesn’t understand—she kept dancing.
For she knew those moments allowed faith to step in as her dance partner.

And so she moved. No one understood “the why” behind her every step. Even she did not always know why. But who said you had to know why you danced before you did?
Besides— the song of life was already playing.
Are the feet ready? Is the heart?

The song continued. Life beckoned. The dancer yielded to the notes. Her eyes were open, her gaze focused. And then she saw him.
Jesus steps onto the polished hardwood floor. With a gesture, he asked for her hand—not to dance, but to go into something new.
But go where?

Her life had been about motion and movement for so long. But now, he stood before her and asked her to wait –to stop and grab the hand extended before her.

Her lengthened and flowing skirt halted its motion. She tilted her head. Now the purity of her abandoned love was called towards the loose black fabric hanging from his hand.
Why the halt? Why the wait?
She glanced as the fabric in his hand and knew.
No. Not my sight. Why would you take away my sight? How will I dance? How will I know how to move through life?
He gave her time to sort it out. He did not grow impatient or angered. His eyes steady on her—he waited for to decide. She glanced at his pure gaze and finished the battle of her will.

In the same way she yielded to the rhythm’s leading— she would yield to this. She drank in the sights around her for yet a moment more— closed her eyes—and melded her will to his.
He placed the fabric around her eyes. Blind. Un seeing. Not only were her eyes covered—but the fabric wrapped over her ears. Not a sound came in. All music vanished.
Panic rose inside of her—yet a reassuring sense fought it.
For he held her hand—and guided as they danced.
She ceased to trust a set pattern inside a songs composition—rather trust grew from the intimacy and connectedness of his touch.

He led her through many places she did not know—through a pattern of life she failed to grasp with her natural mind. Instead, she discovered she obtained a heart which could genuinely trust and a soul which surrendered to his slightest motion.
Within his touch— if she fell quiet within herself— she detected a renewed pulse. His heart beat.
Inside the rhythmic rush of his pulse, the journey of trust began.

The hidden promise

I feel as if some promises are embedded into us
they are woven into fabric of our personality,
tied into the framework on innate desire,
fixed into our core interior self.

They were placed at conception and continue to be unveiled through maturity.

The more I am obedient to a sacrificial surrender to a Kingdom my earthly sense often fail to grasp and the more I yield to a King my eyes have yet to see - the closer to the surface that promise becomes.

The more of the genuine me is revealed.

Some promises are there all along.



It is our job to obediently unveil them.

So I found this on my Xanga today (umm, yes that ancient site still exists..not that I log in anymore) But nevertheless...I felt it fair to post it.
It was my favorite part of my site. I feel like it should live on in a new corner of cyberspace. But its hard to describe why its my fav. It just was...

Interests: Dreams, Chai tea, being barefoot, an empty stage, journaling, hearing a thunder storm, drama, holding a baby and making a child laugh, learning the end of a dance, country roads, tear-stained journal pages, falling stars, Mexican food with friends, creating anything with music, walking the loop with a friend, wearing my brothers hoodie, catching a glimpse of a bride, creative expression, enter the worship circle, choreographing life, fighting for eternity, walking around big cities with boys, watching a friend try to explain God, the dictionary, my buses, daydreaming, using a passport, black and white photos, seeing old friends, tears that are valued, dancing amidst little girls, knowing that my closest friends are journaling, anything dark chocolate, scavenger hunts, walking on the beach, penny candy, being caught in a moment of remembrance...

Numb

Something about this video grasps a deep part of my emotions. I have watched it over and over for a week, trying to figure out what it is.
In between the violent and desperate movements, I see a girl...just one girl.
Girl America.
Tired.
Numb.
Unwilling to feel because she already felt so much.
She is desperate.
She is over it.
She is tired of being "the norm", and angry at being looked at as one thing only...
It is as if she is tired of being used.

I see these girls. And I know that they are not wearing a lot.
But I almost feel as if it wasn't their choice, rather it represents the fact that so many want to see skin alone, and not their true selves.
I see them being tossed from mattress to mattress and feel like it speaks of a life they lived and a lie they were told.

I see desperation.

"I-I feel so numb"

I see their numbness. I see it in pieces of myself. I see it in girls I've met from all over America.

And it makes me hunger for the Solution, the awakening of Life beyond what is numb.
It makes me want Jesus more.
It makes me want to be Him to those who truly are...
numb.

Valentines Day

I almost did it this year.
I wanted to.
I held it in my hand. But actually holding it. It made me feel kinda strange. Not wrong, just strange. Like I didn't know how to actually connect with a future side of me.
So what held such power?
The Husband section of Hallmark Valentines cards.
I mean, I perused through the aisle and looked opened a few to see what they would say, but then it hit me.
I don't know this side of me yet.
It wasn't a blah, depressive thing. I just kind of stopped me.
I want to be able to write to him because I know him, I know exactly which card he would like, not just what I thought he would one day be.
It made me excited to know him, so I could know his favorites, know which one of those overpriced pieces of paper would actually make him smile or laugh.
It made me quite excited.
So I put the card down and decided to wait for another year.
It will be all the sweeter then.

I keep trying to write to him.
But maybe-maybe I am just not ready.
Soon...
I look forward to soon.